The darkness gradually began to fade. At some point, a brilliant light had risen along the distant horizon.
The morning sun rose, beginning to dispel the hazy darkness.
Before long, daylight would break in full.
A new day had arrived.
Gargoyles died one after another, exposing the drawbacks of having no minds of their own.
Had they been humans, those behind them would either have collapsed at the sight of so many being sent to their deaths or changed tactics long before, rather than continuing to attack in an endless stream and throw their lives away.
But gargoyles were different. They had no minds of their own.
Once they received an order to attack, they would keep attacking unless ordered to retreat or change targets.
Unfortunately, this would not have been much of a problem under normal circumstances.
Before launching an attack, the undead always made arrangements, assigning a commander to each force.
All their commanders had to do was issue orders. This time, however, the undead had been caught in a surprise attack.
With the undead plunged into chaos, the rigidity of their command structure-its inflexibility and lack of adaptability-was laid bare.
Gargoyles began dying in droves at Rex's hands.
Only after Rex had wiped out more than half of the densely packed gargoyles charging toward the Portal did they receive orders to change targets.
Rex watched coldly as the gargoyles wheeled around and began flying back.
His gaze shifted to the undead fleet below.
The flames kept burning. Though the undead were fighting the fires, their efforts had little effect. As time passed, the flames spread across more and more ships.
By now, it was no longer just the oil burning. The ships themselves had caught fire. The only difference was that ships in areas thick with oil