Having said that, he ignored Castiel's still-grave expression and returned his attention to the container in his hand, as though he had merely confirmed some trivial matter.
But his stance undoubtedly gave the inwardly tormented Winchester Brothers a much-needed sense of reassurance.
"Then we'll be troubling you, Mr. Castiel," the two said solemnly.
Castiel, however, still frowned slightly. His gaze repeatedly swept over Wu Heng, the scrutiny and suspicion in his eyes undiminished—especially whenever he looked at the test tube in Wu Heng's hand.
The darkness inside that tube was far too concentrated, too dense. It was practically like the combined power of hundreds, even thousands, of demons.
To him, it was like a heap of garbage that could not be ignored.
Under the dim yellow light of the apartment, John Winchester lay on a hastily laid mattress. His face was ashen, his breathing weak. The wound to his soul had left his brow tightly furrowed even in sleep, as though he were suffering invisible torment.
His body occasionally twitched without conscious control.
Castiel stood beside the bed. His eyes, utterly devoid of emotional fluctuation, calmly swept over John's body as though reading a damaged document.
Then he raised a hand and held it above John's forehead.
A soft, pure white glow began to shine from the tip of his index finger, gentle beyond measure yet containing indescribable power.
"His soul is severely damaged. The filth of Hell has penetrated deep into its core," Castiel said without a ripple in his voice. "Completely repairing it would consume an enormous amount of energy. It is not worth it, and his soul would not be able to withstand it. Therefore, I will combine purification with awakening."
His words were blunt. He did not regard John as a life worth saving at all