The coordination in which these men moved seemed supernatural. Gilgamesh felt the fear rise in him once more, but he battled it back, rejected it. He knew it would only mean a swifter death.

“Keep your shields forward, match their charge and their formation,” Gilgamesh ordered. “Hold your fire until after the shield lines meet.” 

With some quick calculating, Gilgamesh realized the projectiles from above were mostly distraction. The wind and rain would make it impossible to set them on an accurate course from that angle. They were simply trying to scare his men into a misstep. He would not allow it.

His men hastily formed a wedge, bowmen and slingman close behind. Gilgamesh was impressed with their competence. It seems they did in fact, want to live. “Spearmen. When you see the gleam of the metal in their shields, thrust your own forward with all your might.”

Gilgamesh knew their unit would have to match the momentum of their enemy’s, or it would mean a breaking of the shield line, which would mean a brutal and quick death for them all. 

As Gilgamesh suspected, the projectiles from above missed their mark. His gamble had paid off, winning him the advantage. His ranged units would be loaded with a volley when their shield lines met, while the enemy’s would not.

“Dig deep. Let the earth be your ally!” Gilgamesh shouted, but a gust of wind made it impossible to know if his men had heard him. There was a thunderous cacophony of noise as the two shield lines crashed into each other.

Gilgamesh’s unit had successfully matched their enemy’s momentum. The wedge formation on both sides collapsed into a line. Both sides heaved, attempting to toss the other aside. To Gilgamesh’s surprise, his men were edging out an advantage in this tug-of-war. Their short, squat bodies made them particularly good at holding their position. Their low center of gravity and farmer frame had them pushing the opposing shield line back.

Gilgamesh ordered his ranged units to unnock and join in. Gilgamesh himself pushed as well, aiding his shield line in pushing their advantage. The enemy was on their back foot. If they pressed this position, their shield line would either falter, or they would be cornered on the wall of the arena.

“Push! Push with all your strength! Push these dogs right into the nether!” Gilgamesh roared. He could feel it. The enemy shield line was starting to lose their footing. They were back peddling to prevent being toppled over. 

Gilgamesh saw the enemy general break away from their shield line and disappear into the roaring rain. Was he running? This was their moment. They had a numbers advantage on the line now. Spears would only be a hindrance in such close-quarters combat. 

Gilgamesh ordered his men to drop their spears and use their free hand to help push their shields forward, doubling down on this tactic. The men obeyed, sensing that victory was close at hand. If they could break the shield line, that was all the advantage Gilgamesh needed to win the day. He was unrivaled in close combat. 

They had pushed the enemy shield line near the furthest arena wall. Soon they would either have to break their line, or fight with their backs pinned to the wall. Gilgamesh could already taste the glory of another arena triumph.

It was at that precise moment, that everything plunged into chaos. With stunning coordination and speed, every soldier on the enemy line fell on their backs, using Gilgamesh’s men’s own momentum against them. 

Gilgamesh and his men all tumbled forward into a heap of metal and flesh. He heard the crashing of wood and bronze, and the cry of wounded men, as the battlefield descended into madness…

The rain was relentless, coming down in sheets. The wind roared, men’s screams carried on the breeze. When the shield lines collapsed, the fighting got vicious. Gilgamesh saw men rolling in the mud stabbing at each other through holes in their armor. 

One man was face down in the mud, trying desperately to stand up, but he was being trampled underfoot by friend and enemy alike. It was not long before the flailing man in the mud went limp. 

One of Gilgamesh’s unarmored bowmen was screaming on top of an armored infantryman, savagely stabbing him in the face. The infantryman was stuck in the mud, made heavy from his armor, but he showed no fear. Even as he was being stabbed, he shoved his own dagger into the bowman’s belly, dragging it across, carrying the man’s entrails with them. 

When the armored man in the mud finally stopped moving, the bowman stood. It was only when he saw his own entrails spilled out on the arena earth, that he collapsed. 

Any advantage either side may have had was nullified now. This kind of fighting had no civility, no rules. No longer was it a matter of tactics or intellect, or even strength, only pure savagery and force of will. 

That must have been the gambit of the enemy general. He saw that they had lost the advantage. The only way to equalize the fight at that point, was to embrace chaos. The enemy general lost the advantage playing by the rules, so he changed the game entirely.