Infinity: Kill your way through the movie world.

Kyle's figure was faintly visible.

His white eyes would occasionally open to glance at the audience, then close again. He was always searching for someone, someone who had saved him.

"Where are you?" he thought to himself.

Lyra stood there, enveloped in warm light, her eyes on the back of her hand darting across the stands to the injured, those still in pain.

"Wait a little longer, let me come down."

Karim crouched on the other side of the platform, his scorpion tail swaying slowly, watching those who, like him, had come out of the desert, those who had lost their homeland.

"The desert," he said, his voice like sandpaper, "I'll guard it for you."

Hans's eyes were twitching; the numbers in front of him were moving too fast to see clearly.

He was calculating—calculating the sincerity of the people before him, the rate at which the Holy Light Barrier's energy was decaying, the attack route three months from now, the minimum casualties, and the maximum gains.

“I won’t let you down. There are 327 options,” he muttered to himself. “There’s always one that will win.”

Martin stood on the far right, looking at the witchers, survivors, and ordinary people. Countless images flashed on the bone spikes on his back: the battlefield of the future, the possibility of death, but he did not regret his current choice.

“I will let you win,” he said in a muffled voice.

The applause continued.

Hundreds of thousands of people are still applauding.

These applause traveled across the square, across the streets, across the ruins, and through the cracks in the air-raid shelters, reaching the ears of everyone who was still alive.

In a basement in the ruins of Chicago, a few people huddled together, listening to Wu Heng's speech coming from a radio, followed by boundless applause.

"The Demon Hunter Knights..." an old man murmured repeatedly, "We still have hope."

In the ruins of London, in a makeshift shelter, hundreds of people huddled together, hearing the applause coming from the radio, flooding their ears like a tidal wave.

A mother held her child, tears streaming down her face.

"Did you hear that?" she choked out. "Someone is protecting us."

The wounded soldiers lying in the field hospital on the outskirts of Paris heard it. They turned their heads and looked at the radio, at the small box that made the sound.

Some people started to applaud.

Those lying in bed, sitting, standing, and everyone who could move began to clap.

Applause echoed through the field hospital.

In the ruins of Tokyo, a boy sits in front of his bombed-out home, clutching a charred photograph of his parents.

Applause came from the radio.

He listened to the applause for a very long time.

Then he pressed the photo to his chest and closed his eyes.

"Thank you," he murmured.

The applause in the square finally began to subside.

Wu Heng stood on the high platform, facing the hundreds of thousands of people and the ten demon hunter knights.

"The awarding ceremony is over." He looked around the room and raised one index finger. "One month from now, the Holy Light Barrier will open three gaps."

"Back then—"

He paused.

"We'll take them home."

Cheers erupted in the square once again.

This time, the cheers were louder and more intense than the applause, as if they were about to overturn the sky.

On the high platform, ten people stood there, looking at the hundreds of thousands of faces below. They were still in human form, but they knew that their bodies were no longer human.

They crawled out of hell.

They were pulled back from the brink of death.

They were disassembled into parts and then reassembled.

They are knives.

It's a shield.

Is hope.

It is the last barrier for humanity.

But their hearts will always be human!
The sun rose high in the sky, its golden rays bathing the square, the ten black iron medals, and the ten faces that no longer resembled humans. In the distance, the direction of Africa remained unknown, but ten of humanity's sharpest blades had already been drawn.

Seven hours after the awarding ceremony, the ten Demon Hunter Knights officially entered the seven war zones.

One or two people are assigned to each war zone to become the core combat force of that war zone, ready to respond to any emergencies at any time.

The North American theater command was located on the third basement level of the Kansas base.

This place used to be an ammunition depot, but it has now been converted into a operations room and training ground. Dean sat in front of the main control console, staring at the constantly updated monitoring data on the screen.

Sam stood next to him, holding a document that had just been sent from headquarters.

"When will they arrive?" Dean asked.

Sam glanced at his watch. "One hour later."

“An hour later,” Dean repeated, then put his feet up on the table. “Do you think we’ll still have to work after they get here?”

Sam didn't answer; he was thinking about the same question.

An hour later, the roar of transport planes came from above the base.

Dean and Sam stood on the tarmac, watching the black transport plane slowly land. The hatch opened, and two figures stepped out.

The first one is Isaac.

He was wearing the guild's specially made combat uniform, which was black and loose-fitting, but it still looked tight on him.

The glowing cracks shone through the collar and cuffs, their dark red light clearly visible even in daylight.

He was over 2.5 meters tall, and standing there, he was like a moving fortress, with the surrounding air swirling around him and waves of heat surging outwards.

The second one is Thomas.

His combat suit was a specially made scale armor that covered his entire body, leaving only his face and hands exposed.

The scales gleamed coldly in the sunlight. As he moved, the scales rubbed against each other, making a rustling sound. The tips of his fingers were black claws, curved like hooks, gleaming metallically in the sunlight.

Dean stared blankly as the two men stepped out of the transport plane.

Then he spoke.

"Damn it," he grinned, "you guys are really not human."

Isaac looked at him, his dark red eyes devoid of pupils, containing only two burning flames. He stared at Dean for three seconds, then said:

You're missing half an ear.

Dean touched the notch in his left ear.

"It was cut by the Holy Light."

Thomas walked over, the scales rustling, looked at Dean and then at Sam, and said indifferently:

"You are the Winchester brothers?"

Sam nodded.

“I’ve heard of you,” Thomas said. “Captain Liz mentioned you.”

Dean grinned, but the smile was a little awkward because the wound on his left ear was being pulled.

"Hopefully, that's a good thing."

She said it was really not easy for you to survive.

Dean paused for a moment, then his smile became even more unpleasant.

"Is that supposed to be a nice thing to say?"

Isaac stood there, watching the busy demon hunters around the base, watching the transport vehicles, radars, and rune cannons, a dark red light slowly pulsating within his cracks.

"How many people are here?"

Sam thought for a moment: "There are about 1,200 permanent staff, and with those temporarily deployed, it can reach 2,000."

Isaac nodded.

"enough."

"Enough of what?"

"Sufficient to defend."

The headquarters for the European theater was located in an abandoned castle outside Paris. (End of Chapter)