Infinity: Kill your way through the movie world.

The first person went in, then the second, the third, the fourth... one by one, seven thousand four hundred and twenty-five people disappeared at the end of the passage.

The door slowly closed behind them.

The sky is invisible throughout the entire Dead Zone.

Above, a perpetual, low, dark red mist hung in the air, occasionally punctuated by flashes of sulfurous lightning that illuminated the writhing, living earth beneath our feet.

The air was thick with the stench of decay, blood, and some kind of pungent chemical smell; every breath felt like swallowing scalding mud.

The moment Isaac stepped onto this land, he felt a churning in his stomach.

It's not fear, it's familiarity.

This place is exactly like purgatory.

He thought of Benny, of the days he struggled to survive in purgatory, of the witchers torn apart by the Abyss Chewers, of the survivors who were corrupted into idiots by the Dreamweavers.

Now he's back.

This time, however, there was no Benny to lead the way, no Sam to cover him, and no Castio's angelic power. He was only himself with this standard bone blade issued by the guild, which didn't even have all the incantations engraved on it.

Footsteps could be heard landing around them.

More than 7,000 people were scattered across this dark red wasteland, like a group of abandoned ants.

No one spoke; everyone was observing, adapting, and calculating.

Then the first roar came from afar.

That was the cry of the Chewers of the Abyss, deep and deafening, like the rumble of thunder before a mountain collapse, followed by a second, a third, and countless more.

The entire wasteland seemed to awaken in an instant, and countless infernal creatures surged from all directions, rushing towards the group of humans who had suddenly appeared.

"Run!" someone shouted.

The team instantly erupted into chaos.

Isaac didn't run away.

He stood still, staring at the attacking biteer directly in front of him. It was a humanoid monster with twisted joints, moving so fast that it was just a blur.

He had once witnessed this monster tear a Witcher apart in Purgatory in just three seconds.

He now only has a Bonebreaker Blade in his hand.

But he didn't run.

Because there's no way to escape.

The biteer lunged at him, its sharp claws aimed straight for his throat.

He turned to the side, letting the claws graz his collarbone, while simultaneously slashing upwards with the bone blade, slicing open the monster's abdomen, its foul-smelling entrails spilling out and splattering all over him.

The first one fell.

The second one pounced.

He did the same thing, turned to the side, drew his knife, and cut open his abdomen.

The third one, the fourth one, the fifth one...

He didn't know which monster he was killing; all he knew was that he was surrounded by monsters, blood, and corpses.

Some of the bodies were murdered, while others belonged to people who were slow to react, or simply unlucky.

Someone collapsed next to him.

It was the man named Harris; his ribs were pierced by the biteer's claws, and he was pinned to the ground, still convulsing.

“I…Isaac…” He reached out his hand.

Isaac glanced at him.

Then he turned around and slashed at the next monster, which was beyond saving due to its injuries.

Harris's hand fell to his side, but his eyes remained open.

The battle lasted for an unknown period of time.

When the last biter fell, Isaac was surrounded by corpses, monsters and humans alike. Only a few people remained alive, scattered among the bodies, panting heavily.

He looked down at his hands.

The bone blade was already dull, and the hilt was covered in blood and pieces of internal organs. His own blood was also flowing, and he didn't know when he had been slashed open. The wound stretched from his left shoulder all the way to his back, deep enough to expose the bone.

But he is still alive.

A sharp buzzing sound came from afar; it was the cry of the Dream Weaver, a mental attack that could erode consciousness.

He bit his tongue, using the pain to dispel the rising dizziness.

Then he stood up and walked in the direction from which the shouts came. He couldn't stop; there were still six days left.

Seven days later, the first trial ended.

Of the 7,425 people who entered the Death Zone, only 1,073 survived.

More than 7,000 people were reduced to less than 1,100; the rest died.

Wu Heng stared at the numbers on the monitor screen, his face expressionless. Renault stood beside him, his face grim.

"The first-round survival rate... is less than one in seven."

Wu Heng remained silent.

He pulled up the next segment of the surveillance footage.

It was an island shrouded in dark red mist, isolated in the center of the dead zone.

The island is riddled with runic traps and energy barriers, offering no escape or hiding place. There is only a bare, black rock with a line of text carved into it:

Seven days later, only one hundred people will remain on the island.

"The second round of trials," Wu Heng said, "Death Island."

There are no monsters on Deadly Island.

There are no infernal creatures, no angel puppets, and no demon soldiers.

There are only 1,073 humans and one set of rules.

Isaac stood on the black rock in the center of the island, looking at the words. More and more people gathered around him from all directions, quickly crowding the area around the rock.

"Only one hundred people will remain in seven days." Someone read the words aloud, their voice trembling. "That means...we have to kill each other?"

No one answered.

But everyone knows the answer.

Wu Heng's voice came from the sky, from the ubiquitous monitoring runes, steady, cold, and devoid of any emotion:
"The rules for the second round of trials are as follows."

"Escape and hiding are prohibited on the island until the number of survivors drops below one hundred. If the number exceeds one hundred, the period will be extended indefinitely."

"The methods are unlimited. You can kill alone, form alliances, betray, challenge openly, or stab someone in the back. There are no prohibitions."

"I only have one request."

"Survive."

"Now, let's begin."

The sound disappeared.

One thousand and seventy-three people stood still, looking at each other.

Someone drew a knife.

Some people retreated.

Someone started running.

Then the first scream rang out.

The first night on Deadly Island: 137 people died.

Isaac did not make a move.

He found a relatively secluded crevice in the rock, stuffed himself inside, and used his corpse to block the entrance.

The bodies were strangers who had just died nearby. He didn't know them, but their blood was fresh, and the smell could mask his own.

He huddled in the deepest crevice of the rock, listening to the sounds outside.

Screams, the clash of blades, the sound of running, pleas for mercy, and the cold laughter of betrayal.

Every few minutes, people would run past his hiding place; some were being chased, while others were chasing others. No one noticed that a living person was hiding in the crevice of the rocks piled with corpses.

He closed his eyes and covered his mouth with his hand to prevent himself from making any breathing sounds.

Outside, the killing continues.

Night Three on Deadly Island: 472 dead.

Michelle stood on a rock, holding the runic knife she had picked up from the corpse. The knife was stained with blood, some of her own and some of others'.

There were three people lying next to her.

One was her ally from three hours ago, named Peter, a Londoner, with whom she had made a pact to survive. But just now, when they were surrounded by another group, Peter was the first to turn and run, leaving her trapped in their encirclement. (End of Chapter)