The second wave of the Coalition's army was better armed and of superior quality than the first, so as they began to suffer the harrowing of the Eclipse Empire's fire power, they stoically advanced, their formations as unyielding as the steal of their blades, and their armour as stubborn as the men who wore them.
And when they met the enemy they unleashed all they had endured back at them tenfold, rushing at them with little care for personal safety , which shook Eclipse line, as they began to lose ground under their relentless advance, but salvation was not far away, as the sky suddenly was lit up and the earth was set ablaze.
The Chimera Knights, who were thus far hidden in the forest to the north, near the Eclipse camp, took flight and glided down from the heavens and ravaged the Coalitions second wave, halting it in it's tracks almost instantly, then they would quickly ascend, fleeing to the skies to escape the pursuit of the retaliatory Murathicus projectiles, and a few seconds later they would return, bathing fire and poison on the terrified men bellow.
But such results were not without cost, as each time they dove they paid with the lives of a dozen or so of their precious chimeras and their riders. And this rather low casualty rate was only due to the relative experience of both sides, as the Chimera Knights have had centuries upon centuries of experience facing foes both in the air and on the ground; meaning they knew the best and most effective strategies to apply when battling an enemy such as the Coalition's army, by diving as low as possible to avoid their opponent's arrows, before unleashing hell.
But the Murathicus tribes had absolutely no idea what these monstrous abominations of bats, lions and goats were even called, let alone how best to fight them, which was all too apparent by how chaotic they became under the surprise attack.
Something which was not lost on Amhain and the other patriarchs as they saw the disaster unfold, but they were reluctant to do what must be done, as the only decision that could salvage the current situation was yet another humiliating retreat, or at the very least another early withdrawal. But whether it was because of over inflated egos, or their concern for their reputation, or whatever else, none wanted to be the one to say the obvious.
Until Amhain resolutely said "Command the second wave to withdraw back to our bank of the river and to quickly reform their lines. Also send someone to tell those useless archers and skirmishers to abandon their loose formations and reform behind the infantry at once. And tell them that I don't care if they lose half their men, they must stop those flying beasts from continuing to harass our warriors at all costs!"
Hearing this, one patriarch quickly criticized, capitalising on the moment "Another retreat?!"
"If you have a better suggestion then speak, but if not then do me a great service and keep your tongue behind your teethe!" The usually calm Amhain snapped at him, as he was beginning to feel overwhelmed commanding such a massive battle.
He'd obviously participated and lead many battles and even entire wars before, but they were never of this immense magnitude and they were certainly never of this importance, with so much on the line. And the last thing he needed now was the ear grinding barking of some self-important halfwit judging and critiquing his every move.
The wooden platform grew awkwardly silent, but Amhain didn't care, nor did his mother, who only smirked in reply to her son's outburst, before they all returned their focus to the battle, where they saw their men begin an orderly retreat, abandoning all the ground they gained after their last assault. But unlike the last time where the enemy just let them fall back without issue, this time they stormed forward after them, crossing the Thiar River and charging across the east bank, making it very difficult for them to reorganize.
But before anything else could happen, a rider rushed to them and reported "The enemy cavalry has begun to move."
He instantly snapped his eyes in that direction and tried to peer through the smoke and dust of the battlefield that began to obstruct his vision, as he thought he caught a glimpse of thousands of men and beasts quickly advancing, which made him furrow his brows along with everyone else, as they all silently asked themselves 'Where are they going?'
To the north lie thick forests, to the south are deep marshes and are already crowded with hundreds of thousands of men ready to fight, and the centre is still occupied by the grinding battle on the river banks, so unless these horses could fly as well, what were they doing?!
"Close the gap!" Amhain suddenly screamed an order, seemingly at no one and yet simultaneously at everyone, which only served to confuse the patriarchs even more, when it suddenly clicked for them.
The patriarchs finally realized to their horror that with the constant shocks and unexpected twists of the battle, they had inadvertently overlooked a major issue, which was as they dispatched their men to the marshes to face the coming enemy, and as they pulled back their main frontline, they accidently left a small opening in between their lines. An utterly undefended, wide open, disastrous door that could lead directly to their doom.
"Go! Go! Quickly warn the men and try to hold them off as long as you can!" Amhain urgently ordered his remaining half of the cavalry, but it was too little too late.
The subordinated Murathicus cavalry led by the terrifying Diaomedes Knights, charged fearlessly across the now blood stained river and sliced directly into the soft underbelly of the Coalition's army, the left flank of their newly formed line who were about to rush into the swamp to face the advancing enemy.
And these men of the previous first wave, the same ones who started the battle with their courageous charge; already tired from battle and all else they suffered this day, quickly broke before this black flood of steal and muscle.
Thousands fled, escaping the hooves and blades of their pursuers, but most were running from the Daiomedes Warhorses themselves. Many had heard that these demons of the north, with the aid of their sinister magic, had managed to corrupt the very nature of noble horses; turning them from gentle and mostly harmless animals, to some infernal spawn of damnation that feasted on the flesh and blood of their fellow man. But hearing about something and witnessing it with your own eyes were two very different things, and the sight of beautiful black stallions gorging themselves on the writhing, screaming bodies of their comrades, was more than enough to break what little bravery they had left.
Yet not everyone ran. As for every man who ran another took their place, their courage fuelled by the intoxicating dreams of yesterday. They stood and fought and died all in the name of that unshakable desire, that undeniable yearning to make true the dreams they grew drunk on the night before. To become legendary heroes like those their fathers read to them about as children, for their song to be heard for a hundred generations, for their actions to echo out in never ending glory, for their names to live on in eternity.
But while this inspiring tragedy was taking place the patriarchs were looking with pale faces at the unfolding disaster before them, only for their faces to grow even more pale and unsightly a few seconds later, as they heard loud trumpets ring out from the marshlands, followed quickly by a load roar and then the sound of battle. They all realized that the elite Eclipse infantry has now also engaged their men from the front, and that now their southern flank, which they had all deemed as all but secure due to the terrain and then the repositioning of hundreds of thousands of warriors to, was about to breached.
All the while Amhain was furiously grinding his teethe, as he thought 'He's toying with me!'
Never in his life had Amhain been so easily and so frequently outplayed before, not even against his terrifying mother, who understood war more than anyone he had ever met. But then his expression eased and a confident smile returned to his lips, greatly easing the hearts of many patriarchs, while greatly increasing the worry of others, as they wondered what sort of a lunatic would smile at a time like this.
He had to admit that his opponent was a strategic mastermind, whose abilities in a fair fight completely overshadowed his own, but thankfully this was no fair fight, this is war, and Amhain completely believed that this Hamilcar Seth of the Eclipse Empire, had played all his cards, leaving his hand barren, and his troops as stretched thin as possible to crush the Coalition's army in one fell swoop.
But he was different, he hasn't exhausted all his strength in the battle yet, he still had cards to play, he still has his invincible mother who could single handily turn the tide of the battle, he still retains tens of thousands of fresh troops who haven't seen any battle yet, including his elite Enkada Clan warriors; who make up the centre of the third column, and most importantly he still has a plan to drag this battle from the clutches of defeat, to the warm of embrace of victory.
"Deploy the third column's right wing to assist the struggling second wave, and tell them to hold fast no matter what, even if they all become charred corpses they must hold the line!" Amhain loudly said, with an excited look on his face, before pointing to another messenger and commanding "Order the third column's centre to head to the left flank and eliminate the enemy cavalry, before quickly advancing through the gap between the two fronts and striking the enemy's flanks!"
Amhain was exhilarated as he could see it, the path to triumph, paved by the efforts of this most challenging opponent, only to be used against him in the end. All he had to do was withstand the enemy's assault for the brief yet pivotal coming hour and victory will be his, with the most glory given to non other than his own Enkada Clan.
But at this moment where the figurative cloudy skies finally parted and Amhain could finally feel the golden rays of the sun shine upon him, bathing him in warmth, comfort, relief and majesty and all seemed right with the world; the dreaded sound of thunder echoed and the triumphant sun was again stolen from them as storm clouds once again took hold of the skies, as Hamilcar played his last wicked card.
Thousands of black armoured men, with red masks covering their faces emerged from the northern forests, and charged across the now empty plains, bringing with them endless despair, grief and confusion, while the patriarchs only stared blankly at this scene, with only a single thought 'How?'