Cthulhu America, I can see the kill line.

Silver flakes, like fine snowflakes, swirled in the cold wind and slowly drifted down onto the snow at Winchester's feet.

She looked down at the wreckage of what had once been her beloved gun, her brows furrowing as if confirming a fact she didn't want to believe.

After a moment, she raised her eyes, her gaze as sharp as an ice blade as she looked at the purple-robed man who was strolling slowly toward her.

Snowflakes landed on his shoulders, but seemed to be gently bounced off by an invisible force, leaving no trace of moisture.

Farah approached step by step, his demeanor as composed as if he were strolling in his own backyard, a faint smile playing on his lips.

"The Purple Light Cult?"

Winchester repeated the unfamiliar name, his voice filled with undisguised contempt.

She turned her head and glanced at the menacing church standing in the wind and snow.

The building's spire twisted like struggling limbs, the stained-glass windows glowed dimly under the clouds, and the whole church exuded an unsettling and oppressive atmosphere.

"Could it be some kind of cult that specializes in taking people's lives?"

Farah didn't respond immediately. He just smiled slightly.

His gaze passed over Winchester and landed on the group of survivors huddled together behind her.

"I was wondering why there was a subspace fluctuation," Farah finally spoke, her voice as gentle as if she were chatting. "Turns out we have guests."

As he said this, the pale blue in his eyes suddenly brightened a bit.

A gentle yet irresistible force lifted up all the survivors, including the children who were still jumping in the snow, as if they were being steadily supported by an invisible hand.

"We escaped from the plane!" one of the bolder boys shouted first, pointing to the gray sky.

"Yes, a plane, the kind that's going to crash!" the other children chimed in, their voices still trembling with the shock of surviving a close call.

Farah listened quietly, maintaining that gentle expression on her face throughout.

"Alright, kids. Wherever you've come from, you'd better go have some soup to warm up first, and stop jumping around in the snow."

The psionic energy surged like a gentle tide, carrying the survivors safely to the shelter under the church eaves.

After doing all this, Farah turned around and turned her gaze back to Winchester.

Eyes facing each other.

"This lady, and this... miss, if you are a miss."

Farah's voice broke the silence, and his gaze fell on Mina, his eyes becoming somewhat strange.

As an Englishman, he naturally recognized those characteristics:

An overly pale complexion, and eyes that faintly blushed red even in dim light. Those were the marks of bloodline.

He happens to have 1/1024 of the bloodline, making him extremely familiar with this ethnic group.

The appearances of these ancient beings often contradict their true age. This Eastern girl, who looks no more than a teenager, could very well be an ancient monster who has lived for hundreds of years.

But why does she have an Asian face?

A hint of doubt flashed through Farah's mind, but he quickly suppressed it with caution.

He cleared his throat, his tone becoming serious: "Gentlemen, perhaps I am not someone you can count on in front of you."

As he spoke, he pointed to Kong Jiu, who was lying unconscious at Mina's feet, half of his face buried in the snow.

The young man was breathing weakly, and his black hair, damp from the melting snow, clung to his pale skin.

"Believe it or not,"

Farah continued, even winking deliberately in an attempt to lighten the mood.

"My friend... no, he probably doesn't consider me a friend... but my colleague is a proper messenger of God."

"Hahaha--"

Winchester was taken aback at first, his eyes widening slightly.

Immediately afterwards, an uncontrollable burst of laughter erupted from her throat.

Laughter echoed through the wind and snow. She laughed so hard she almost fell over, and even raised her hand to wipe away tears from the corners of her eyes.

Farah and Mina frowned. The relaxed expression on Farah's face gradually faded, while Mina subconsciously took a half step back and held the unconscious Kong Jiu even tighter in her arms.

She opened the black umbrella in her hand, tilting it to shield Kong Jiu from the falling snow.

"A messenger of God?"

Winchester finally stopped laughing, repeating the word as if savoring something utterly ridiculous.

"A cult leader claiming to be a divine messenger? That's incredibly authoritative and prestigious."

Farah raised an eyebrow: "You don't believe me?"

"I believe you, but it just happened."

Winchester said this while his hand was already inside his satchel.

What was pulled out was a piece of emerald green gemstone. It was about the size of a finger joint, carved into the shape of a finger bone, and its surface had a warm luster.

Ten minutes ago, she still believed it.

As a seasoned B-level psychic, Winchester's perception of psychic energy fluctuations is exceptionally keen.

In the very instant before the plane crashed, she clearly sensed some extraordinary being interfering with the flow of time in a way she couldn't comprehend.

That power was vast, ancient, and divine, far beyond the reach of ordinary extraordinary beings.

At that moment, Winchester's heart almost stopped beating.

She understood: Kong Jiu had a profound and unspeakable connection with certain beings who transcended the mundane.

He might be an emissary of some deity! Or perhaps even closer, a disciple or successor carefully nurtured under the divine wings!

Hope had once ignited in her heart like a spark.

But what happened next extinguished that spark of hope, plunging it into oblivion.

Kong Jiu actually led everyone on the plane—those panicked ordinary people—to make a deal with the devil in exchange for a chance to escape.

Winchester was unwilling to make any black-and-white moral judgments about the "devil's agent" and the "divine messenger".

But throughout her long demon-hunting career, one bottom line remained clear: never make a deal with the abyss. Kong Jiu, however, crossed that line.

Based on this alone, she had already secretly added this name to her list of dangerous individuals.

When blood-red emblems appeared simultaneously on the palms of Mina and Kongjiu, this conjecture was cruelly confirmed.

A couple of blood relatives?

Winchester had to admit that when she saw those two blood-red marks, the horror in her heart almost broke through the dam of reason.

How could the son of the Crimson Dragon also be a bloodline?

These two individuals did not possess the sticky, sweet-smelling odor characteristic of those who had consumed blood for years. Their demeanor and bearing bore no resemblance to those gloomy, arrogant, and cursed subhumans.

But the emblem doesn't lie.

Bloodline beings, these blasphemous, wicked, greedy subhumans who feed on human blood, could never save others out of pure goodwill.

Behind every drop of their generosity lies a calculation and a demand ten or a hundred times greater.

This realization pierced Winchester's heart like an icicle.

As the former director of the ICE Bureau of Spirit Summoning 173 years ago, hunting down evil and protecting the innocent was an oath etched into her soul.

At that moment, in the wind and snow, she clenched her fist tightly, her nails digging deep into her palm.

She was determined to capture those two blood descendants and get to the bottom of things!

"Ten minutes ago, I also thought he was a good person."

Winchester shifted his gaze from the unconscious Conjurer to Mina's face.

The girl was supporting her unconscious companion with her thin shoulders. The black umbrella was tilted, and the ribs trembled slightly in the wind and snow.

Looking into Mina's reddened eyes, at the undisguised wariness and protectiveness within them, she felt not sympathy, but an increasingly intense hatred.

"But there can't be good people among those of bloodline."

She spoke these words softly, yet each word was as firm as iron.

The moment she finished speaking, she suddenly clenched her five fingers!

Splat!

A crisp cracking sound rang out, drowning out the howling wind and snow.

The 'Emerald Green Finger Bone' exploded in her palm, sending crystal fragments flying everywhere. Instead of scattering, the fragments floated in mid-air, slowly rotating around her.

Each fragment emitted a faint glow, the green light growing stronger and stronger, gradually weaving together into a hazy curtain of light.

Within the light screen, a figure slowly materialized from the ethereal realm.

He was a man with a thick beard, dressed in heavy hunting clothes, wearing a wide-brimmed hat, and holding an old-fashioned rifle in his hand.

The gun barrel gleamed with a cold, metallic sheen under the green light. He steadied himself, raised his head, revealing a weathered yet sharp-eyed face.

"Abel Link"

The man raised his gun, gave Winchester a brief salute, and said in a hoarse, grating voice, "At your command..."

"It is I, Abel."

Winchester said calmly, a hint of gentleness appearing on his face for the first time, "Don't be so polite, we've known each other for a long time."

As she spoke, her gaze passed over Abel's shoulder and locked onto Mina and Kongjiu again, all hesitation, probing, and doubt in her eyes vanished.

The wind and snow intensified, and the cross on the church steeple creaked in the gale.

"It's time to hunt down the vampires, Abel."