With a lazy swing of his colossal hammer, Mac turned the last lingering Hive Brood into a fine, and disgusting smelling, black-ish red mist that splattered across the abandoned Elven streets.
Without their Lord and Master, the Brood Hives were little more than walking, festering carcasses filled with maggots and buzzing pestilence. Any true danger they posed was reserved for the nice vegetables in your garden or a sweet treat you had forgotten that you left out on a hot summers day.
That is to say, they were completely harmless. Without the intelligence to bind them together into an all consuming horde, they resorted back to their basic instincts, which usually revolved around laying their eggs in faeces rather than complexly piloting corpses through a series of coordinated movements.
