Infinity: Kill your way through the movie world.

He looked at Isaac, at the volcano-like body, at the glowing cracks.

“Lava.” He looked you up and down. “You look like an active volcano.”

Isaac raised his hand, watching the dark red light flow beneath his skin.

“You look like a pangolin too.”

Thomas grinned at this, as if he had heard a very funny joke. The scales rustled as they opened and closed with his smile.

"At least I can still laugh."

Marcus stood up, a thin layer of frost forming on the ground around him.

"What's the use of being able to laugh? You need to be able to kill."

Michelle turned around, and the golden spikes trembled slightly with her movement.

“Killing.” She narrowed her eyes slightly. “That’s what we’re best at right now.”

Kyle's figure emerged from the darkness, his white eye opening on his forehead.

"What happens after you kill him?"

No one answered.

Lyra walked over and put her hand on Kyle's shoulder. The eyes on the back of her hand all looked at him at the same time.

"We'll talk about what happens next later."

Karim's scorpion tails stopped swaying and all pointed in one direction: the direction of Africa.

“Over there.” His pupils focused. “They’re waiting.”

Hans raised his head, and the metal tentacles on his head trembled wildly.

"The energy of the 18,000 angels is decaying 17 percent faster than expected. In a month, three weak points will appear on the east side of the Holy Light Barrier."

Martin's physical outline finally stabilized, and he became a middle-aged man who looked very ordinary.

"Then we'll make our move in a month."

Isaac turned and walked toward the edge of the testing platform.

“A month,” he said coldly. “Enough for a good night’s sleep.”

Thomas followed.

"Are you able to sleep?"

"You have to sleep even if you can't."

Marcus walked slowly, leaning on his shotgun.

"Seventy-three years have passed, and I've slept all kinds of sleep."

Elena gripped the silver sword, its blade gleaming with a cold light.

"Sixty-seven years."

Michelle walked beside her, the golden tentacles slowly wriggling.

Nineteen years.

Kyle's figure was faintly visible.

Nineteen years.

The eyes on the back of Lyra's hand were moving.

"Twenty-seven years."

Karim's scorpion tail was swaying behind him.

"Twenty-two years."

Hans's fingers were moving.

Forty-five years.

Martin walked last.

Thirty-nine years.

They seem to be saying goodbye to the past and summarizing their lives as ordinary people.

Ten people, ten bodies that were no longer human, slowly walked into the barracks, and the door closed behind them.

The Witcher Guild headquarters plaza has never been as crowded as it is today.

The plaza, covering 30,000 square meters, was originally a training ground and assembly area, but now it was filled with demon hunters from the seven major war zones around the world. The dark mass of heads stretched from the center of the plaza all the way to the surrounding streets, and even squeezed onto the rooftops and balconies of the surrounding buildings. Dozens of huge holographic screens floated in the air, ensuring that everyone could clearly see the temporary platform erected in the center of the plaza.

At seven o'clock in the morning, the sun had just risen.

Golden sunlight pierced through the clouds, falling on those tired but excited faces. The air was filled with the smells of sweat, blood, disinfectant, and a kind of restlessness that came from finally seeing a glimmer of light after being suppressed for too long.

The North American theater troops stood on the east side of the square.

Dean leaned against a telephone pole at the edge of the group, a half-smoked cigar dangling from his mouth. Half of his left ear was missing, severed by the Holy Light Blade during the final battle in Chicago. The wound had just scabbed over, still pinkish, and granulation tissue had already grown.

Sam stood beside him, arms crossed, looking at the high platform in the center of the square.

"What did those ten people look like?" Dean's voice was muffled because he had a cigar in his mouth.

Sam thought for a moment: "I don't know, Lor said they... are not quite the same."

"Not quite the same?" Dean took his cigar off and spat. "What do you mean 'not quite the same'? Did you get stronger or uglier?"

Sam didn't answer; he didn't know either.

The troops from the European theater were on the south side of the square, with Reno at the very front, followed by more than two thousand soldiers who had been withdrawn from the Paris defense lines.

Their faces still bore the marks of gunpowder, and many of them were wrapped in bandages, but all their eyes were fixed in the same direction—the high platform and the ten weapons stuck in metal racks on it.

"Those are their weapons?" a young soldier behind Renault muttered quietly.

“It should be,” the other person replied. “It doesn’t look like something a human would use.”

Renault didn't turn around; he just stared at the weapons in silence.

The Asian theater forces are on the west side of the square.

Liz sat in a wheelchair with a thin blanket over her knees. Her leg had been pierced by the Holy Light Blade during the last Mosul raid and she still couldn't stand. Martin stood behind her, pushing the wheelchair.

The burns on his back have healed, but the scars remain, like a wasteland scorched by fire.

"Have you seen them after they were enhanced?" Liz asked.

Martin shook his head.

"No, I just heard... that they're not quite human anymore."

Liz didn't speak; she just stared at the platform, something gleaming in her eyes.

The troops in the African theater were at the very back.

Calderon stood at the front, his one eye fixed on the weapons on the platform. His left arm was wrapped in thick bandages, and blood was still seeping out, but he refused to go to the medical station.

"I want to see them receive their medals and see if they deserve them," he said coldly. "I'll go after I've seen them."

Teams from South America, Oceania, and Antarctica were scattered throughout the square. Hundreds of thousands of people from all over the world had gathered in the square, waiting for the ten people to appear.

At eight o'clock in the morning, the rune arrays around the high platform suddenly lit up.

A pale golden light rose from the ground, spreading upwards along the intricate patterns, and finally converging into a pillar of light that shot straight into the sky.

When the light faded, ten figures were already standing in the center of the platform.

The square fell silent instantly.

Then came the sound of people gasping for air, hundreds of thousands of people gasping for air at the same time, the sound like a gust of wind sweeping across the square.

Dean's cigar fell to the ground.

Sam's pupils contracted sharply.

Renault clenched his fist.

Liz's hands rested on the armrests of her wheelchair, her knuckles turning white.

Calderon's one eye was wide open.

Because of those ten people, the ten people standing on the high platform—
"What is that?" someone blurted out.

No one answered.

Isaac stood on the far left, like a living volcano.

His skin was dark gray, covered with glowing cracks that emitted a dark red light, like molten lava from the earth.

He was over 2.5 meters tall, with shoulders so broad they looked like they could carry a building. Standing there, the air around him seemed to distort. His eyes were a pure dark red, without pupils, just two burning flames.

Thomas stood beside him, his scales gleaming coldly in the sunlight.

Its entire body was covered in scales, each the size of a fingernail, with sharp edges like countless blades. (End of Chapter)