The sky above New York had turned an unnatural shade of purple, like some sickly bruise across the horizon. Even in the middle of the night, the city didn't sleep—lights still blinked from the tops of buildings, the streets still ran with traffic. But there was something different now. A presence, heavier than usual, pressing down on the world.
The old warriors came back with a vengeance. They were not like the warriors people remembered from history books. They had been buried—forgotten by time, buried under centuries of ash and dust. But someone, something, had summoned them.
The ritual was simple, really. Just blood, dark words spoken in ancient tongues, and the snap of bones—old magic, from a time when the world had a different name for power. The ground trembled, cracked open like the skin of a fresh wound, and through the ruptures, they climbed out. Some were ancient kings, others generals.
Some were no names, lost to time, their faces scarred by the years. But now they were back. Back to walk the earth with the strength and fury of immortals.
In the middle of a dead street, one such warrior knelt. His hands touched the cracked pavement. The smell of asphalt and gasoline stung his senses, yet it was nothing like the scents he knew—blood, iron, sweat.
He shook his head, trying to clear the confusion, but the body he had once had, strong and war-hardened, was now like a strange suit that didn't fit. A sound came from the distance—a car, someone screaming. The man's eyes snapped toward it. Instinct. The need to kill, to fight.
He stood up. And then they all did. The others rose from the cracks in the earth, as if summoned by the same call, drawn to the same thirst.
Their blood was not their own anymore. It was the blood of gods, and their bodies were immortal, as they should have been in life. They were hungry for the taste of war, but there were no wars left to fight, no honor to defend. They'd been summoned for destruction.
The rampage began.
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Jenna had just gotten off her shift at the small café in the Lower East Side. The night air, crisp and heavy, hit her face as she stepped outside. She'd always hated working the late shift, but tonight was different. There was something about the way the city felt tonight that made her skin prickle.
It was a feeling she couldn't shake, like something terrible was waiting. She tried to push it down, but the unease stuck with her. Her fingers clutched her phone as she walked, eyes darting around. She couldn't put her finger on it, but something was wrong.
That's when the first scream split the silence. Then another. Then several more. The distant sound of gunshots echoed in the streets. Jenna's stomach dropped. She turned toward the sound, as if her body was already moving before her mind had processed the decision.
The streets were filled with people running. It was chaos. People shouted at each other to get inside, to hide, but there was nowhere to hide. The warriors had arrived.
Jenna saw them in the distance, standing tall—too tall for the streets, their figures dark against the flickering streetlights. Their faces were war-torn, ancient, and unfamiliar. Eyes that had seen thousands die now scanned the city with cold indifference. They were no longer human. Not entirely. And they were not here to negotiate.
One of them raised a hand, the bones cracking as if it had been centuries since they last moved. Then, with a horrifyingly quick motion, the man swung a blade through the air, cutting down anything that came too close. People screamed, falling to the ground in heaps. The blood sprayed, painting the sidewalks red.
Jenna froze. She didn't know if she could scream. She wanted to, but it didn't feel like she had a voice anymore. Her feet wouldn't move, her mind too consumed with the sight before her. She watched as the warrior brought his blade down, cleaving through a woman's body like paper. The woman's scream was cut off with a sickening gurgle.
Jenna felt herself take a step back, but the ground beneath her cracked, and she stumbled. Her hands grasped for something to hold onto, and she found herself clutching the cold, stone wall of a nearby building.
The warriors were moving through the streets now, each with their own brutal methods. Some swung their swords, others used clubs, axes, anything they could find. Buildings crumbled as they smashed through them. The warriors were like a plague, sweeping across the city, leaving nothing but destruction in their wake.
Jenna's phone buzzed in her pocket, but she couldn't bring herself to answer it. Her hands shook too violently. She didn't know who was calling. Maybe it was someone from the café, checking to make sure she was safe. It didn't matter. She wouldn't be safe. No one would be.
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In the heart of the city, another warrior stood atop a skyscraper, watching the bloodshed below. The sounds of death, of terror, filtered through the air. It was intoxicating. The last time he had felt this alive, he had been a conqueror, leading his men to the gates of some forgotten kingdom. They had all fallen, in time, but he had never truly died. Not in the way men were supposed to. The magic had kept him alive.
It had kept them all alive.
Now, all that remained was carnage.
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It was hours before the soldiers arrived. But by then, the warriors had already moved beyond the city. They had swept through New York, cutting through the streets, laying waste to everything in their path. It was like nothing anyone had ever seen before.
The warriors didn't just kill. They reveled in it. They took their time. They were monsters, free from the constraints of time, of the rules they once had to follow. The modern world, with its advances, its machines, was nothing more than a toy to them. A tool to be crushed underfoot.
Jenna finally made it to her apartment, her heart still racing. She couldn't stop shaking. She locked the door behind her and stumbled toward the window. Outside, the city was on fire. The screams had quieted for the moment, but she knew it wasn't over.
The phone buzzed again, and this time, she answered.
"Jenna… is that you?"
It was her sister, Carrie. Her voice was ragged, like she had been crying.
"Carrie… you need to get out of the city," Jenna said, the words barely coming out.
"I can't. I can't leave. They… they're everywhere. They're in the streets, in the buildings. I'm trapped, Jenna." Carrie sobbed into the phone, the sounds of distant explosions filling the background.
"Don't worry. I'm coming for you." Jenna's voice was steadier than she felt. She grabbed her jacket and rushed out of the apartment.
It wasn't long before she reached the street. The air smelled like smoke, and the distant glow of flames painted the skyline. Her heart beat louder now, but she couldn't stop. She had to find Carrie. She had to save her.
------
Carrie didn't make it.
By the time Jenna arrived at the building, it was already too late. She found her sister's body in the lobby, crushed under the weight of a collapsed beam. Her eyes were open, but lifeless. Her mouth was frozen in a silent scream.
Jenna collapsed beside her, tears streaming down her face. She couldn't move. Her body shook with sobs, but there was no one left to hear her.
A step sounded behind her.
Jenna didn't turn around. She didn't have to. She knew who it was. The warriors had come for her too. The last thing she heard was the scrape of metal, the rasp of breath, and the final silence of the world.
The warrior reached down, his hand brushing the side of her face. His eyes, ancient and cold, stared down at her, but there was no recognition. No mercy.
The blade came down, and Jenna's scream was swallowed by the noise of the world falling apart.