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Sabas’ gray-bannered Phocians rush across the ridgeline, driving into their counterparts – but their attack immediately stalls upon contact with the enemy. With no room to maneuver, and bodies stacking up against one another, the front-most Phocians in each army are battered together, trading ineffective spear-thrusts.
Hyperenor is shrieking – <span class="mu-i">“BACK, BACK!”</span> – but his shrill cries are barely audible in the pandemonium. You temporarily lose sight of the linothorax-clad Sabas, although you’re sure that he’s buried amongst his men somewhere. Hyperenor’s soldiers now begin the counter-push, ignoring their commander's orders to retreat, and begin attempting to drive Sabas’ men back – but it is a halting and ungainly thing, and they fail to clear space on the ridge. Chaos swells as what slim order there had been in the lines begins to dissolve - a fair number of Sabas’ men are thrown off the ridge, left and right, as their compatriots press them from the back, and Hyperenor’s men from the front. In only a few seconds, nearly half the men of Sabas’ first troop are either gutted or tumbling down the slopes - you see the exact moment when the remaining men of Sabas’ first troop realize that they are trapped – that their reward for their eagerness is death. With hunched shoulders and howls of panic, they attempt to turn and flee – but only manage to expose their backs to Hyperenor’s men, who hold firm.
The slingers on each side of the ridge synchronize their firing in organized volleys at the confused mass of spearmen – the smooth river-stones crash against the Phocians, rippling impacts against the unarmored men. One group of Sabas' slingers are still too far distant to be effective, a rudimentary error in judgment - but regardless, by the end of the third volley, hundreds of men have collapsed, bleeding profusely, and are trampled by their peers. Some are thoroughly concussed, stumbling off the ridge like drunken barbaroi. Hyperenor’s back-lines begin to quail under the onslaught – they reverse course, leaving their commander and front-most troop stranded. Sabas’ backlines manage to hold together – only to bar the escape of their panicking compatriots at the front.
You roar with laughter – you’ve never seen such terrible performance in battle! You take detailed mental notes of the ongoings to regale Argyros with later; a truly disappointing showing from Phocis…
Suddenly, Sabas emerges from the frenzy of the lines, washing up upon the ridge like a branch from the sea – his troops have abandoned him. Hyperenor is suddenly on him, leaping faster than you might have guessed, and begins to swing wildly with his kopis. He delivers a series of poorly-timed sweeps that miss Sabas entirely, but by accident or design, Hyperenor’s kopis manages to lop off Sabas’ speartip. Sabas throws his sheared-off spear to the ground, and clearly panicking, draws his own bronze sword as he stumbles backwards.
