Create a new version of paste:

My spear whips around my wrist as I lower my shield and thrust forwards with my right shoulder. The tip of the spear catches the Spartan across his chest, drawing a long gash. With one fluid motion, the spear draws back, I step forwards with my left foot, and drive the ten-foot Dory through his chest in a spray of blood.

I pull it back out with a well-practiced motion, and return to my position as the Spartans tighten their Phallanx and crash back into our own numbers. No Hoplite flinches at his duty, and as one, both sides stab out in well-practiced and drilled moves. At least four javelins clatter sharply off my shield, a third impaling the man behind me's arm. My own spear breaks just past mid-way as it's caught between two shields, and I hurl the useless shaft at the enemy futily.

My Xiphos comes free of the leather frog and flashes up as the Dogs of Agamemnon push in. Brothers to the end, my fellow Trojans put their weight into their shields, and get ready to shove back. With a clack, my own shield connects with the side of Diphodes, and with a gutteral roar of fury, I put all of my weight into my shield as bothnsides slam into one another.

The groan of straining bodies and tensed muscles permeats the air for a tense fifteen seconds, the Holy Tug-Of-War, a neccessary part of honorable war, ends too quickly. Diphodes yelps like a pup as a harsh shove knocks him back, and our Phallanx is broken. I pray to Ares for but a single chance to get my shield up, but it is not to be.

I feel the cold steel of a Spartan spearhead stab down into my shoulder as another lances up into my stomach. I bite my tongue in shock, tasting blood and my pain mounting even more, I can't help but watch, helpless, as the embrace of Hades closes in on the tip of a shimmering blade. I don't feel it enter my eye, but I certainly feel it scratch the bone. With a bloody scream, a fountain of crimson explodes from my now ruined right eye and mouth as I'm shoved back and promptly trampled under foot.

Sandaled feet stomp into my stomach, knocking the wind out of me, as I numbly recognize that I should be in a lot a pain. On que, I am immediately beset by a pain I have never before had to endure as my tongue flops half-attached in my mouth, spots dancing in what remains of my vision, and of course, the cut muscles flaring with pain. I don't even really remember when I was grabbed, but slowly as my wits returned, I saw Diphodes and Sortos dragging me away from the battle, the massive gates of my home city just above me.

"Are.. We winning?" I try and fumble out, getting out a barely understandable gurgle. Hope as I may, Helios still blesses this city, even if it would seem that all of Greece decided to descend upon us.

"The Spartans are pulling back, old friend," I hear my blood-brother report, "We take this day. If it weren't for Hectors arrival, we would have been forced back to the gates themselves."

Good. Hector still lived. As long as we kept the Greeks off the gates, we still held potential to drive them off of our beaches and back to the sea. Unconciousness embraces me, content in the arms of my friends, understanding my duty done.