And then came the frightening pause that comes at the end of every failed attack. The instant when the momentum shifts. When the attacker's overcommitment is turned from a crushing force to an imbalance that he can't immediately correct. The entire Syndran force was hit with the need to draw back, as the Yarmdon weapons were already descending down upon them, but with the ranks of their fellow men pressing back against them, such a thing wasn't done so easily.
Within the span of an instant, the entire front line was crumpled. This was where the Yarmdon men excelled – in this close-quarters melee, behind their shields. This was where the Syndran spears lost their efficacy, as they were forced in too close, almost on top of their enemies. This was where dozens and dozens of men lost their lives in an instant.
"GAHHH!"
"GURAHHHHHHH!"
"DIE, YOU SYNDRAN FUCKS!"
"GLORRRYYYY!"
"HAHA! VARSHARN PAINTS ME RED!"
