Infinity: Kill your way through the movie world.

His skin flowed down like candle wax, revealing the blood-red muscles and stark white bones beneath. His eyeballs were slowly sliding out of their sockets, still hanging on his face, still turning, still looking at him.

"Dad, why didn't you come to save me?"

Her voice came from that melting mouth, mixed with the gurgling sound of flowing flesh and blood.

"It's so dark, so cold, and so painful. I'm so scared. Why won't you come?"

Isaac stood there, motionless.

He knew it was fake, a hallucination he had created. He knew his real daughter had turned to ashes in that holy light explosion, leaving not even a body behind.

But that voice, that face, that voice calling him 'Dad'
He clenched his fist, his nails digging into his palm, drawing blood.

"Daddy, won't you hug me?"

The melting thing walked toward him, leaving a pool of blood on the floor with each step.

Isaac closed his eyes; he needed to sever his inner demons with a single blow, that's what the rules said.

But he couldn't open his eyes, because it wasn't a demon in his heart, it was his daughter.

Elena stood in her cubicle, facing the door.

An ordinary wooden door with a faded Christmas sticker on it. It was put on by her son when he was six years old. It was pasted crookedly at the time, but she never removed it.

She opened the door.

Behind the door was her living room with its sofa, coffee table, and TV cabinet—everything was just as she remembered. Sunlight streamed in through the window, casting warm dappled patterns on the floor.

Her son was sitting on the sofa with his back to her.

His back view at age seventeen: tall and thin, wearing a gray hoodie.

"mom."

He turned his head.

That face belonged to her son; he was seventeen and just had stubble growing in his beard. He had a dimple on his right side when he smiled.

"Mom, why don't you come to Manchester to see me?"

His voice was normal, just like usual.

"When communication was cut off, I waited for your message for three days, but you didn't send a single one."

Elena opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

"Later, I was trapped in the basement for fifteen days without food or water. All I could see outside was that blue light. Every day I wondered if my mother would come looking for me. She's so powerful, she killed so many demons, she must be able to come looking for me."

He stood up and walked towards her.

"I waited for you for fifteen days, Mom, a full fifteen days."

His face began to change.

Her skin turned pale, her eyes became sunken, and her lips cracked and bled—that was the final stage of hunger and dehydration, a sight she had seen countless times on the faces of survivors who hadn't made it to rescue.

Why didn't you come to find me?

He stood in front of her, only a step away.

Those sunken eyes stared at her, containing no resentment, only questions.

A question she couldn't answer.

There was no light in Kyle's cubicle.

There was no darkness either.

There was only a hazy gray fog, and in the fog, there was a figure standing three meters in front of him.

The figure had no face, or rather, its face was obscured by a blurry light.

But he recognized the silhouette, the tattered robe, the posture, and the air of composure that remained even in his weakness.

"You've arrived."

He remembered that voice.

During the two weeks he hid underground, he could hear that voice every night. It wasn't loud, it was a little hoarse but always very steady. When he was most afraid, that voice would say, "Don't be afraid, I'm here."

“I’ve come to find you,” Kyle said.

The figure remained silent for a moment.

Do you know who I am?

Kyle nodded.

Do you know I am an angel?

Kyle nodded again.

"How many angels were killing people in the Angel Fall incident?"

Kyle didn't know the exact number, but he had seen the terrifying figures of over 100 million in the battle reports.

"Is it possible that I am among those murderous angels?"

Kyle was stunned.

The figure took a step forward, the light on his face dimming slightly to reveal half of his face. That face was exactly as he remembered it: young, weary, with a hint of melancholy that would never fade. "How do you know I haven't killed anyone?"

Kyle opened his mouth.

How do you know I hadn't killed anyone before saving you?

"How do you know that after I was taken away by the Witcher, I didn't reveal the whereabouts of the other survivors out of fear?"

How do you know I'm still alive?

He held out his hand and pointed to the knife in Kyle's hand.

"Are you here to kill me or to save me with this knife?"

There were no hallucinations in Michelle's cubicle.

She was all alone.

But not the Michelle who is now covered in scars and with empty eyes; the Michelle before the day the angel fell, seventeen years old, a high school student who loved drawing, loved music, and loved the boy who sat in the back row.

Seventeen-year-old Michelle stood before her, wearing her favorite floral dress, her hair tied in a ponytail, her face unmarked, and her eyes devoid of despair.

Do you know how they died?

Seventeen-year-old Michelle said softly.

"It's those nineteen people, the nineteen people you led who hid for a month."

Michelle didn't say anything.

"The first man died on the third day. He went outside to find water and was discovered by the patrolling mad angel. You heard his screams, but you did not go out."

"The second person died on the ninth day. His wounds became infected, he had a high fever, and there was no medicine. You could only watch him burn to death."

"The third person died on the thirteenth day. He starved to death. You shared the last of your food with others and didn't eat for three days. When you fainted, he thought you were about to die, so he fed you his share and then starved to death."

"The fourth, the fifth, the sixth... a total of nineteen."

Seventeen-year-old Michelle took a step closer.

Do you remember their names?

Michelle remained silent for a long time.

"……Remember."

"Read it out."

Michelle closed her eyes.

"Emily, seven years old, her mother died on the third day, and she always called me sister."

“Old John, sixty-three years old, had his leg crushed. We carried him into the basement, and he told us stories every day, but he would fall asleep halfway through.”

“Lily is nineteen, the same age as me. She said that after the disaster is over, she wants to go to New York University with me.”

"besides……"

She opened her eyes.

"I remember everything."

Seventeen-year-old Michelle looked at her.

"Do you know how they perceive you?"

Michelle didn't say anything.

“They call you ‘squad leader.’ They believe you can lead them to survival. Tell them the Witcher Guild will come to rescue everyone, and that we just need to hold on for a few more days.”

"You lied to them."

Michelle nodded.

"I know."

Do you know what their last thought was when they died?

Michelle didn't say anything.

“It’s ‘The squad leader will come to save me.’”

Seventeen-year-old Michelle stretched out her hand and pointed at the knife in Michelle's hand.

"Are you taking this knife to save someone, or to prove yourself?"

In Isaac's cubicle, the melting thing was still getting closer.

He had retreated to a corner, with nowhere left to go.

The face, still streaming down its face, was right in front of him, the eyeballs hanging out of their sockets, still moving.

"Daddy, why aren't you hugging me?"

He stretched out his hand.

It wasn't a hug, it was a punch. (End of Chapter)