[AUTHOR NOTE: I emailed patreon again on Sunday for my data after not getting any answers from them. A guy from their support team emailed me saying my patreon account is back(I shared screenshot on discord). He gave me my account back. The problem was with the woman that reviewed my account first time and also the one that reported my account(I still don't know who?). Thanks for the support guys. My friends say that people on webnovel are toxic but I have gotten much support from here and wattpad too. I gave patreon members one month gift membership because they weren't able to access it during my account ban. If I forgot someone. Message me on patreon. Have a good day guys.]
[Manhattan - 6:00 AM]
The sun rose over the East River, casting a golden hue over the steel canyons of New York.
Commuters sipped their coffee, stuck in the early morning gridlock. It was a Tuesday. Mundane. Boring.
Then came the sound.
CLANK. CLANK. CLANK.
It was a rhythmic, heavy thudding, like a pile driver hitting the asphalt.
The Bronze Soldiers marched down the center lane. They moved in a column of three, their pace slow, deliberate, and terrifyingly synchronized.
"Hey! Get out of the road!" a taxi driver yelled, leaning on his horn.
The lead Bronze Soldier didn't break stride. He walked straight into the taxi.
CRUNCH.
The bronze greave hit the bumper. The car folded like an accordion. The soldier walked through the engine block, stepping over the wreckage as if it were tall grass.
The driver screamed.
Panic rippled through the gridlock. People abandoned their cars.
The Bronze Army didn't care. They were a river of metal. Anything in their path—cars, dividers, lamp posts—was sliced apart or trampled.
Blood began to mix with the oil on the pavement.
[The NYPD Cordon - 34th Street]
"Back! Get back!"
Police sirens wailed, creating a wall of noise.
The NYPD had set up a hard perimeter. Dozens of patrol cars formed a barricade. Officers crouched behind doors, shotguns and service pistols aimed down the avenue.
At the front, Captain George Stacy held a megaphone, sweat beading on his forehead. The media was already swarming the sidewalks, cameras flashing. The Mayor was on his ass. He had to contain this.
"This is the NYPD!" Stacy's voice boomed, echoing off the skyscrapers.
"You are in violation of city ordinances! Drop your weapons and surrender immediately!"
"This is your final warning!"
The Bronze Soldiers were fifty yards away. They didn't stop. They didn't speak. They just marched.
Clank. Clank. Clank.
Stacy lowered the megaphone. He looked at the towering figures. Two meters tall. Ancient armor. Halberds that dripped with fresh blood.
"Captain," a rookie officer whispered, his hands shaking. "Those... those aren't people."
Stacy gritted his teeth. He had a bad feeling about this.
"Open fire!" Stacy commanded.
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!
The street erupted. Hundreds of rounds slammed into the advancing column.
PING. PING. PING.
Sparks showered the pavement. The bullets flattened against the verdigris-covered bronze like rain against a window.
The soldiers didn't flinch. They didn't slow down.
Then, the lead soldier stopped.
His eyes flared crimson.
[Combat Mode: Engaged]
The slow march vanished.
BOOM.
The bronze figure launched itself forward, cracking the asphalt. It moved faster than a human eye could track—a two-ton projectile moving at highway speeds.
"Run!" Stacy screamed.
Too late.
The soldier crashed into the police barricade. A patrol car was flipped into the air like a toy.
The bronze halberd swung in a horizontal arc.
SLASH.
Three officers were cut down instantly.
"Retreat! Fall back!"
The police line broke. It wasn't a retreat; it was a rout. Officers dropped their guns and ran, scrambling over civilians in a desperate bid to survive.
Captain Stacy was dragged back by two sergeants, his eyes wide with horror as he watched his men being butchered.
The street became a slaughterhouse.
THWUP-THWUP-THWUP.
The sound of rotors cut through the screams.
Three Apache Attack Helicopters roared over the skyline, banking hard between the buildings.
"Target acquired," the lead pilot reported, his voice tight. "Engaging."
The chain guns under the noses of the choppers spun up.
BRRRRRRRT!
Heavy caliber rounds tore up the street. The sheer kinetic energy of the assault finally had an effect. The Bronze Soldiers stumbled. Sparks flew like fireworks.
"Keep pouring it on!"
The guns ran dry. The smoke cleared.
The Bronze Soldiers were still standing. Their armor was dented, scratched, and glowing hot from the friction, but they were unbroken.
"Impossible," the pilot gasped. "Switching to rockets!"
WHOOSH.
A Hydra rocket streaked from the rail, slamming into the center of the formation.
KABOOM.
Fire and shrapnel engulfed the intersection. Windows blew out of nearby office buildings. The smoke billowed, thick and black.
"Target neutralized," the pilot sighed, banking the chopper. "Let's head back to base."
Suddenly, the smoke swirled.
Three bronze spears pierced the cloud, flying upward at impossible speeds.
"Evasive maneuvers!"
CRASH.
A spear tore through the cockpit of the lead chopper. It spun out of control, slamming into the side of a building and exploding in a ball of fire.
A second spear sheared the tail rotor of the wingman.
"Mayday! Mayday!"
The second chopper dropped like a stone, crashing into the street below.
The third pilot pulled up hard, climbing vertically to escape the kill zone.
"Retreat! Abort!"
As the surviving chopper fled, the smoke on the ground cleared.
The Bronze General stepped out of the fire. He reached down, pulled a piece of helicopter shrapnel from his shoulder, and tossed it aside.
He looked South. toward Hell's Kitchen. toward the Dragon Soul.
He raised his sword.
CLANK.
The march continued.
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