It had taken over half an hour for the three chosen races to fully separate themselves and migrate to the designated area I had pointed out.
The logistics of moving half a million beings was a logistical nightmare, and from my elevated vantage point, the sheer scale of the displacement was nothing short of epic.
Once the lines were drawn, I didn't hesitate. I looked down at the four hundred and thirty-five thousand "useless" individuals—the Werewolves, Zulbors, Reaters, and Shriners—standing in a huddled, terrified mass.
"Kill them all," I said. My voice was flat, devoid of the slightest tremor of doubt.
Without batting an eye, I gave the signal for a total slaughter. My warriors, bound by the same absolute loyalty that now chained the survivors, moved instantly. There was no hesitation, no moral questioning; there was only the cold, mechanical execution of a master's will in the most brutal fashion imaginable.
