Empire Ascension: The Rise of the Fated One

90  Assault on the Camp Part - 2

 Mughal camp, chandanpur village.

The cold night air was thick with tension as the disciplined lines of musketeers advanced with precision from three sides of the forests surrounding the village, their movements almost mechanical in their efficiency. The Mughals, already on edge from the earlier chaos and bombardment, now faced a new and terrifying threat.

The musketeers halted abruptly, their muskets raised in unison. A tense silence filled the air for a moment, broken only by the muffled cries of the wounded Mughals and the crackle of fires in the tents. Then, with a thunderous roar, the first volley of musket fire erupted, the sound echoing like the wrath of an angry god.

Mughal soldiers screamed and fell as the bullets tore through their ranks. Panic spread quickly, fear overtaking reason as the soldiers scrambled for cover.

"Hold the line!" Faiz Khan shouted, but his voice was nearly drowned out by the chaos of disoriented soldiers.

Desperation drove them towards the wooden barricades they had built to fortify the village, now ironically becoming their prison.

"Break the barricades! Get inside the village!" one of the soldiers yelled, his voice trembling with fear.

The Mughals, in their frantic state, began hacking at the wooden barriers with their swords and axes, splinters flying as they desperately tried to create an opening. Another volley fired from the musketeers, more Mughal soldiers falling lifelessly on the barricade itself.

"The barricades won't hold! We need to get inside anyhow!" Saif ud-Din urged, pushing through the chaos to help his comrades.

As the musketeers advanced closer, their relentless volleys continued to cut down the Mughal soldiers. The survivors, seeing no other option, started to climb over the broken barricades, jumping into the village in a bid to escape the deadly fire.

"Inside! Get inside the village!" Faiz Khan bellowed, trying to maintain some semblance of order, but the panic was too great.

Rumors spread quickly through the ranks, whispered first in fear and then shouted in desperate hope. "The eastern side is clear! The eastern side isn't under siege!"

The words were like a spark in dry tinder. Mughal soldiers, already fleeing into the village, began to stampede towards the eastern entrance, believing it to be their only hope of escape. The narrow streets of the village became clogged with bodies as men pushed and shoved, the will to survive turning comrades into obstacles.

"The eastern side! Head east!" soldiers cried out, the rumor spreading like wildfire.

Faiz Khan, trying to keep his head amidst the chaos, realized the danger. "Wait! Don't all go that way! It might be a trap!" But his voice was lost in the noise of fear.

The musketeers, now within striking distance, continued their relentless advance, their bayonets gleaming menacingly in the flickering light of fires. With the Mughals' defenses shattered and their forces in disarray, the disciplined line formation of the musketeers moved like a well-oiled machine, tightening the noose around the village.

The Mughal soldiers, driven by terror, surged towards the eastern entrance, many stumbling and falling in their haste. Some were trampled underfoot, while others, too slow to escape the oncoming musketeers, met a grim fate at the end of a bayonet.

As the eastern entrance came into view, the Mughals could only hope that the rumors were true and that salvation lay just beyond the gates.

"Yes, we are finally being saved!"

"Allah is with us!"

As the front line of Mughal soldiers finally crossed the threshold of the village, a sense of relief washed over them. They moved with urgency, eager to put distance between themselves and the chaos behind. Like water flowing through a breached dam, more and more soldiers streamed out of the village, their steps quickened by the hope of escape.

"Ya Allah! What sorcery is this?!"

"Look at the sky, what is that?!"

But just as half of the Mughals were about to exit the village, a lone fire arrow ignited the sky above. The sudden burst of light startled everyone, causing them to instinctively look up. What they saw sent chills down their spines: a foreboding cloud of golden hues began to form, defying the darkness of the night. It wasn't a natural occurrence; it was a deadly cluster of arrows unleashed from the fearsome hwacha.

The night sky transformed into a mesmerizing display of fiery trails, as the arrows soared high above, leaving behind streaks of light in their wake. But instead of marveling at the spectacle, the Mughal soldiers felt only dread and despair. They knew all too well what this meant—a rain of death was about to descend upon them.

With a deadly hiss, the arrows began their descent, creating a lethal canopy over the crowded village entrance. The sky darkened as the arrows fell like a relentless downpour, their sharp tips gleaming ominously in the dim light. The scene transformed into a chaotic nightmare.

Saif ud-Din, caught in the thick of the crowd, looked up just as the arrows began to fall. There was no time to react, no cover to find. An arrow struck his shoulder, another pierced his leg, and then several more impaled his chest and abdomen. He fell to the ground, gasping for breath, his eyes wide with pain and disbelief.

His hands clawed at the earth, trying to pull himself to safety, but the relentless rain of arrows offered no mercy. Within moments, his movements ceased, his body a tragic testament to the sheer brutality of the assault.

"Shields up! It's an arrow barrage!"

"Take cover, where is the formation?"

Desperation gripped the Mughal soldiers as they tried to shield themselves with whatever they could find. Some raised their shields above their heads, but the sheer volume of arrows in disoriented formation made this effort futile. The arrows punched through their defenses, impaling limbs, torsos, and heads. The sound of arrows striking flesh and the screams of the wounded filled the air, creating a symphony of horror. n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

The hwacha's onslaught was devastating. Thousands of soldiers fell within minutes, their bodies littering the ground like discarded dolls hammered with nails. The entrance to the village became a deathtrap, with bodies piled upon bodies, blood soaking the earth. The once-coalition of forces of Mughals and Agra was reduced to a mere shadow of its former self, their numbers dwindling from thousands to hardly a thousand in the blink of an eye.

Panic reached the next level among the masses. The surviving soldiers, driven by an instinctive desire to escape the carnage, tried to flee the haunted village. Their faces were etched with terror, eyes wide with the primal fear of impending death. But as they turned to run, a new horror awaited them.

With the clearing of smoke, the ground began to tremble with the thunderous approach of horse hooves. The Rajput cavalry emerged from the horizon which looked like ghosts riding in the dark, charging towards the fleeing Mughals. By the time the camp's fire revealed their formidable presence, the distance was too close to prepare for any kind of defensive formation.

Caught between the bayonet charge of musketeers behind and the charging Rajputs with no less than their number, the Mughal soldiers instinctively chose to fend them off, not to win but to make their way off to escape. Within the available moments, they poised with their shields, swords, and spears.

The Rajputs, their war cries echoing across the battlefield, crashed into the fleeing soldiers with brutal efficiency. Swords slashed, spears thrust, and the Mughal ranks, already decimated, were torn apart.

Jafar Khan, struggling to maintain order amidst the disoriented Mughal soldiers, attempted to rally them into formation.

"Soldiers! Gather around me!"

But the confusion was overwhelming, and their defense formation remained weak and scattered, allowing Rajputs to penetrate their ranks easily. Amidst the chaos, a spear from a Rajput cavalry pierced through Jafar Khan's eyes with brutal force, shattering bone and penetrating his skull.

The impact caused his head to splatter brain matter, a horrifying sight that sent shockwaves of terror rippling through the surrounding soldiers. Panic seized their hearts, driving them to fight their way out of the encroaching enemy onslaught.

In the end, only a handful of Mughal soldiers managed to escape the carnage, their minds scarred by the horrors they had witnessed. They fled into the darkness, haunted by the images of their fallen comrades and the relentless onslaught that had decimated their ranks.

Faiz Khan, among the survivors, looked back at the battlefield one last time, his eyes burning with a vow of vengeance.

"This is not over," he whispered as he turned to make his way, but only to get caught by a few musketeers patrolling in the shadows. He dropped his sword and yelled, "I surrender, please spare me."

The musketeers exchanged glances, which brought a fleeting smile to Faiz Khan's face, thinking his desperate plea had worked and he was planning his next step to escape.

'BANG!'

But then, suddenly, a gunshot echoed through the night, followed by a hole appearing in Faiz Khan's skull. He fell to the ground, lifeless.

Prince Aditya emerged from the shadows, a musket still smoking in his hand. He looked down at Faiz Khan's body with a stern expression.

"Mercy is for the innocent," he declared, turning to face the rest of his units. "We take no Prisoners!."

"Kill them all!"