Infinity: Kill your way through the movie world.

When she broke free alive, Peter was still running, and the group of men chased after him and hacked him to pieces.

She looked at his corpse without feeling anything; neither anger nor sorrow.

He was just thinking: next time I need to find an ally, I need to find one who can run slowly, because I can't keep up with the speed of young people.

She jumped off the rock and disappeared into the night.

Night 5 on Deadly Island, death toll: 789.

Elena crouched under a dead tree, counting the people who were still alive.

She didn't know the exact number, but she could sense that they were decreasing. The screams were no longer as frequent as in the previous nights; they would only occasionally ring out once or twice before quickly disappearing into the darkness.

She held in her hand the silver sword that had been passed down from her grandfather.

There were three new nicks on the sword, left from last night's battle. Last night she killed four people, not because she wanted to, but because those four people wanted to kill her.

One of them was a boy who looked to be under twenty years old.

As he rushed over, he kept saying "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," but the knife in his hand still stabbed into her chest.

She dodged it, and with a backhand thrust, pierced his throat with her sword.

When he fell, his eyes were still open, looking at her, and he was still muttering "I'm sorry" until he breathed his last.

Elena closed her eyes.

She thought of her son, and the last time he called her "Mom".

If that boy is still alive, is his mother somewhere waiting for him to come back?

She can't think about these things when she opens her eyes; thinking about them will kill her.

The seventh night on Deadly Island, the final three hours.

Kyle leaned against a rock, covered in blood.

He could no longer distinguish what belonged to others and what belonged to him. He had broken two more ribs, and his left forearm was slashed open by a knife, bleeding profusely.

He pressed his right hand against his wound, gritted his teeth, and looked at the night sky, unaware of how many people he had killed.

All he knew was that if he didn't kill, he would die.

He remembered the angel who saved him, and the way he was taken away.

What would that person think if they knew what they were doing right now?
"Saved a murderer"? Or "Luckily, I didn't die at the hands of that murderer"?
he does not know.

All he knew was that he wanted to live.

He wanted to get out of this place alive. His mind was numb, and only one thought remained: he wanted to see that person alive and ask him in person, "Why did you save me?"

Even if that person is no longer there, even if all he finds is a corpse, he still wants to ask.

Footsteps could be heard in the distance.

He gripped the knife tightly and stood up.

The seventh night on Deadly Island, the last second.

Wu Heng watched the numbers jump on the monitor screen.

Remaining number of people: 100.

The trial is over.

The screen switched to an aerial view of the island, where a hundred figures were scattered in various corners on the dark red land. Some were standing, some were lying down, some were kneeling on the ground, and some were leaning against each other.

No one moved.

No one speaks.

Only the wind blowing across this land soaked in blood can lift a few tattered pieces of clothing.

Renault stood behind Wu Heng, remaining silent for a long time.

“One hundred people,” he finally said. “They survived.”

Wu Heng remained silent.

He turned off the screen and turned to walk towards the door.

"The next round of trials," he said coldly without turning back, "will continue."

The door closed behind him.

Those who survived in the dead zone began to stand up one by one.

They looked at each other, at the fallen corpses, and at their own blood-stained hands.

No one spoke. They simply walked slowly in the same direction—the direction of the exit, the direction from which the next round of trials would begin.

Isaac crawled out of the crevice in the rock.

His legs buckled and he almost fell, but he managed to stay upright.

Michelle emerged from the darkness, the spell knife still clutched in her hand. Her eyes were red and swollen, but there were no tears.

Elena walked step by step, leaning on her silver sword. The blood on the sword was still wet, and it dripped onto the ground.

Kyle, clutching his wound, staggered over, leaving a bloody footprint with each step he took.

There were also ninety-six people who came from all directions.

They stood on that land strewn with bones, looking at each other.

No one speaks.

But they all knew
The next round will continue.

The blood on Death Island had not yet dried when the 100 survivors were sent deeper into the Myriad Tribulations Domain.

There was only a pure white space here; the walls, the floor, and the ceiling were all pure white without any texture.

There was no light source overhead, but the entire space was blindingly bright.

There was no shadow underfoot, because light shone from all directions at the same time, illuminating every corner in minute detail.

One hundred people stood in this pure white space, looking at each other without speaking. Seven days of mutual slaughter had taught them to be silent and to speak with their eyes.

Isaac stood in the middle of the crowd.

He had two broken ribs, and his left forearm was still bleeding, but it had been tightly wrapped with strips of torn clothing. He looked like a homeless man scavenging for food in a garbage dump, but his eyes were brighter than before.

It's not more spiritual, it's more empty and profound, so empty it seems to swallow up light.

Michelle stood to his left, her nineteen-year-old face bearing three scars, the deepest of which ran from the corner of her left eye down to her chin, nearly blinding her.

She didn't treat the wound; she just let it scab over on its own. The scab was thick, like a black centipede crawling on her face.

Elena stood at the front of the crowd, the bloodstains on her weapons wiped clean, making them look brand new.

Kyle stood at the very back, his left hand still bleeding from a wound, and he needed to hold onto the wall to walk, but he stood very straight.

Wu Heng's voice came from all directions, still as steady as ever, and as devoid of any emotion:

"Congratulations on surviving the second round."

No one responded.

"The third round of trials shall now begin."

Suddenly, the pure white sky above them cracked open, and beams of light descended from the heavens, separating the hundred people.

Each beam of light forms an independent compartment, and the compartments cannot see or hear each other.

Isaac was trapped in a five-square-meter pure white space. There were walls all around, no doors, no windows, and only the beam of light above his head was still shining.

Then the beam of light went out.

dark.

Absolute darkness, devoid of any light.

Isaac held his breath and waited, then he heard a voice.

"dad."

That was a little girl's voice.

She was six years old, with two little braids, and a missing front tooth when she smiled. Every time he came home from get off work, she would run over with open arms, calling out "Daddy, Daddy, Daddy."

This is his daughter.

"Daddy, it hurts so much."

The voice came from the darkness, right in front of him.

He reached out and touched a small, warm body.

Then the lights came on.

He saw her.

His daughter stood in front of him, wearing the same pink dress she had worn that morning when she left home.

But her face was melting. (End of Chapter)