The two gangs, thirty-seven people in total, had all evaporated.
Castiel stood in the middle of the warehouse, staring at the clothes on the ground. He vaguely remembered what he had done. Slowly raising a hand, energy erupted from his palm, and pale golden ripples swept through the entire space. Then... then there was nothing.
No pain, no struggle—not even ashes remained. They had been broken down directly into their most basic particles.
The memories in his mind were gradually fading, like recollections of a dream after suddenly waking up.
He lowered his head to look at his hand. Dark lines beneath his skin were slowly writhing, as though countless tiny insects were crawling through his veins.
This time, the lines did not vanish quickly. They lingered for a full minute before slowly receding.
He had clearly seen all this, yet some will interfered with him, making him continuously overlook that something was wrong with him. He could only vaguely sense that something was off.
Castiel left the factory and stepped into the rain.
Raindrops struck his body, chilling him to the bone, yet he could not feel the cold. All he felt was a fire burning inside him, growing fiercer and fiercer.
Just then, his communicator rang.
It was Dean.
After hesitating for a moment, Castiel answered, but said nothing.
"Castiel?" Dean's voice came through. Wind could be heard in the background; he was probably driving. "Where are you? We received an Internet Addiction alert. A pastor in Kansas died under mysterious circumstances, along with several other supernatural incidents. At every scene, there were... traces of you."
Castiel was silent for several seconds.
"They deserved to die," he said.
"What?"
"He deceived his followers and squeezed them for money, so I judged him in God's name."
The other end