Infinity: Kill your way through the movie world.

When Wu Heng returned to the Hell Palace, it was already three days later.

He placed the silver Rubik's Cube on the table and stared at it for a long time.

The Rubik's Cube is small, a little smaller than a fist. Its surface is smooth and without patterns, but something inside is moving, like trapped light.

The knife backfired on Metatron, and Wu Heng used "skills" to reforge it into this thing. It is no longer a knife, but a piece of authority.

The authority of Heaven, the authority of Apocalypse, a part of the authority of the Three Realms.

Hans crouched by the table, the numbers in his eyes jumping: "The energy readings on this thing... are higher than anything we've measured before."

Wu Heng nodded: "It was originally used by Metatron to kill people, but now it can be used for other things."

"what's up?"

Wu Heng looked at him: "Save people."

For the next month, Wu Heng locked himself in the core area of ​​the incantation, with the silver cube floating in mid-air and surrounded by energy crystals collected from all over Hell.

Those crystals contain the holy light of angels, the darkness of demons, the chaos of purgatory, and divine fragments and incantation remnants left behind by outer gods collected from the human world.

He mixed all of these things together.

It wasn't with a hammer, but with three different forces that it was polished all day long. The crystals melted, turned into liquid, and flowed into the silver cube.

The Rubik's Cube started to glow.

It wasn't the blinding light of a knife, but a gentle, moonlight-like light that flowed across the surface of the Rubik's Cube, forming incantations.

The incantation was very fine, like strands of hair, densely covering the entire Rubik's Cube.

Hans stood by, recording every change: "Energy stable, integration rate 97%, we can begin."

Wu Heng pulled three beams of light out of the Rubik's Cube.

He directed three beams of light—one golden, one dark red, and one grayish-white—into three different containers.

The containers were prepared in advance by Hans; each one was as tall as a person and filled with basic potions, raw materials extracted from angelic energy, demonic blood, and infernal toxins.

When the light entered the container, the liquid inside began to change color.

The golden jar turned pale gold, like melted amber, while the dark red jar turned deep red, like congealed blood.

The grayish-white can turned milky white, like thin milk.

Wu Heng withdrew his hand: "It's done."

Hans crouched down and used instruments to test the liquid in the three containers.

The readings on the screen jumped around, and he stared at them for a long time: "Enhanced Angel Potion: Triple physical enhancement, Holy Light resistance, basic healing ability, and a 50% chance to gain angelic power."

He moved on to the next one: "Enhanced Demon Potion: Five times the power, can sense the energy fluctuations of newly born demons, immune to the seduction of low-level demons, and has a 50% chance of gaining demon power."

He then moved on to the next one: "Enhanced Plague Potion: 90% virus resistance, pollution source purification ability, and 50% probability of gaining genetic evolution power."

He stood up.

"President, this 50% probability... the sacrifice is still a bit too great."

Wu Heng looked at him.

"War is a gamble."

On the day the news spread throughout the seven war zones, long queues formed in front of the registration points. It wasn't to recruit new soldiers, but to select from the existing elite forces.

Only 45,000 of the million demon hunters are needed; less than one in ten can be selected.

London, registration point.

Old John didn't come; he was too old to fight anymore. But Billy came; he came back alive, with three scars and two fingers missing, but he was alive.

He stood in the line, with hundreds of people ahead of him.

A young man next to him asked, "Were you injured in heaven?"

Billy nodded.

Were you scared at the time?

Billy thought for a moment: "I'm scared, but I won't be scared after I fight."

The young man was silent for a moment: "I also wanted to participate, but I wasn't selected because I wasn't strong enough."

Billy looked at him. "That's a good thing. The battlefield is no child's play." "I know, but I'm not afraid."

The line moved forward slowly.

One by one, the people in front of Billy were called in. Some came out with smiles on their faces, while others came out with their heads down.

When it was his turn, he went in. The examiner sat behind the table, not even looking up: "Name."

"Billy."

"age."

"nineteen."

Past performance record.

Billy rattled off a few numbers. The examiner looked up and glanced at him: "Battlefield of Heaven?"

"Yes."

The examiner put a checkmark on the form: "Go get your blood drawn."

Billy paused for a moment.

"Blood test?"

"Draw your blood to determine which medication is suitable for your constitution."

Billy went to the next room and rolled up his sleeves.

The nurse drew a vial of blood and put it into the machine. The machine beeped three times, and a line of text appeared on the screen. The nurse glanced at it and handed him a note: "Demon Potion, report to your post in Hell."

Billy held the note and looked at the words on it.

"Hell," he read aloud. An old soldier next to him patted him on the shoulder and said, "Hell is good, it's warmer than heaven."

Billy was amused by the lame joke, folded the note, and put it in his pocket.

Paris, registration point.

The bald man and the girl stood in the line. They had both signed up, passed the physical fitness test, and made it to the final stage.

After the bald man finished drawing blood, the nurse looked at the results: "Plague potion, station troops in the human world."

After the girl had her blood drawn, the nurse looked at it for a long time and said, "Angel's potion, troops stationed in heaven."

The bald man looked at her and said, "We've broken up."

The girl folded the note and put it in her pocket.

"It's not like we'll never see each other again."

The bald man was silent for a moment, then said, "Be careful."

The girl nodded: "You too."

New York, registration point.

The doctor arrived, and his wife woke up. The empty shells gradually regained consciousness after Metatron's death, and his wife was among the first to wake up.

The first thing she said to him was, "You've lost weight."

He cried. Now he stands in the group wearing a Witcher uniform with his guild badge pinned to his chest.

He didn't know which medicine was suitable for his constitution, but he knew he didn't want to sit and wait any longer.

The blood test results came back: Demon Potion, Hell Garrison.

He put the note in his pocket, turned around and walked out of the registration point. It was already dark outside, and the streetlights were on.

Two weeks later, 45,000 people had been assembled.

Heaven has 15,000 troops stationed there, led by Michelle and Leila. Michelle stands at the front of the ranks, his six golden spikes having grown back, shining even brighter than before.

She looked at those young faces and thought back to when she was nineteen.

Back then, she was hiding in a basement in New York with nineteen people, struggling to survive every day. Now she's taking fifteen thousand people to clean up Heaven.

"The place you are going to is the ruins of heaven." Her voice wasn't loud, but everyone could hear her. "There lie the remains of berserk angels, the nearly dissipated essence of heaven, and the traps left behind by Metatron. Your task is to clean it all up, and then build a Holy Light Oversight Station at the core altar to seal away those remaining blessings, preventing them from harming anyone again." (End of Chapter)