Bronze Horned Goats, Rampaging Buffaloes, and several other herbivore-type mutant beasts that had somehow turned feral were not easy to attract. Unlike the predators, they didn't immediately flock toward blood or movement.
Their senses weren't as sharp, their instincts not as predatory as the carnivores. But in the end, even they came.
It took actual effort from Bruce, layers of bait, scattered blood essence, and calculated noise, to draw them in.
But when they came… they came in herds.
In the end, every last one of those mutants was slaughtered that day. The sheer number of corpses was absurd. The entire territory of his trap was drenched in bodies, soaked in blood thick enough to seep into the soil. The metallic scent was so overwhelming that even someone with a terrible sense of smell would still gag on its intensity.
It was everywhere. It clung to the soil, the grass, the wind. It seeped into the atmosphere like a living fog.
