Phalanx inferna

The sun stood hot over the battlefield,
it was the year 1366.
A phalanx from hades had yet invaded
and the last battalion prepared for counterattack.
Burning arrows penetrated the whirring heat
and arms drenched in blood craved for revenge.
Bestial screams even resounded from snowy mountains at the far horizon and were only drowned out by the thunderous stamping of this marching crowd.

Crossbows were bend, lances were levelled, to hail down on the cohorts of death.
Hindsights were closed, cannons were loaded, to blast down the army of hate,
to prevent the threatening conquest and not to be trapped into slavery.

Battle axes were sparkling in the sun light,
craving for chopping some flesh,
effusing a shine of forthcoming decease.

Cannons were thundering, gun emplacements positioned,
to support the vanguard on its advance.
Troops of riders were encircling the enemy, a blood curdling thriller was to be launched.
Thousands of soldiers were murdered.
They died for a disgraceful master.
Their blood would quench the thirst of the triumphant horde of evil and would strengthen their pride to rule forever.