"It's your turn now," I said, my voice rasping as the waves finally subsided and the world began to grow calmer.
I looked at my Bulltors, those towering hybrids of muscle and rage. "Go, scatter in groups of five, kill anything you meet and don't leave anyone alive!"
Although I had set my eyes primarily on the Gollems, they weren't the only enemies in the vicinity.
The Hudson's waves had washed away the bulk of the smaller forces, likely crushing the Kobolds and drowning the less fortunate humans.
But the remaining survivors—the Werewolves with their high Constitution (around 22) and the lucky human traitors—might create problems for me once they gathered their wits.
I wouldn't show them mercy, not when I held the upper hand like this. Not when I had such impatient and eager Bulltors on my side, eager for battle, eager for blood, eager for revenge.
