Chapter 37: The Purge IV Battle for Stormwind II

(Chapter 37 The Purge IV Battle for Stormwind II)

A deafening volley of musket shots echoed across the battlefield, followed by the anguished screams of Mengsk's soldiers. They were still disoriented by the bright flare in the sky, confusion and panic spreading among their ranks as they struggled to comprehend the unfolding chaos.

"Shields up!"

Pierre shouted commands, urging the men to raise their shields. Some of Mengsk's soldiers managed to respond quickly, forming a defensive barrier, but many were still disoriented by the blinding flare and failed to protect themselves. Chaos reigned as those without shields fell victim to the relentless musket fire.

"Pierre! What the fuck is happening!?"

Mengsk shouted, panic evident in his voice. A group of Knights of The Golden Hand swiftly moved to his position, shielding him from the relentless musket fire. Moments later, the thunderous roar of Gatling guns filled the air, and the screams of Mengsk's men intensified as they were cut down in droves. The battlefield descended into chaos, with Mengsk's forces struggling to regroup under the deadly barrage.

"I told you! Your Grace! This was a trap! But, because of your pride, you refuse to listen to me!"

"Shut the fuck up! I didn't tell you to insult me! Pierre!"

Mengsk snapped angrily at his commander, his voice barely audible over the relentless gunfire and chaos surrounding them. The musket and Gatling gun fire continued to rain down on them, intensifying the urgency of their situation. Knights of The Golden Hand formed a protective barrier around Mengsk, but the panic and confusion among his troops were palpable as they struggled to regain control.

Finally, the blinding flare in the sky began to fade, and the relentless barrage of musket and Gatling gun fire ceased. Mengsk took a moment to survey his surroundings, the battlefield now littered with the bodies of countless soldiers, blood staining the ground. Despite the heavy losses, a significant number of his men still stood, ready to continue the fight. Mengsk then turned his gaze to the entrance of the abandoned village and saw his son, Tempest, riding his horse, resolute amid the chaos.

"What the fuck are you doing!? Tempest!?"

Mengsk shouted, his voice filled with rage and confusion.

"Succeeding you... Father."

After Tempest spoke, the ground beneath Mengsk's forces erupted in a series of explosions, killing many of Mengsk's men instantly. Almost immediately, rebels and Mekas began pouring out of the foxholes scattered across the battlefield, seizing the advantage amid the chaos.

"For Fontaine! For Stormwind!"

"Death to the old age!"

"Kill them all!"

The rebels erupted in a unified war cry, their voices echoing across the battlefield. The clashing of swords and the roar of combat filled the air, adding to the cacophony of chaos. The once orderly ranks of Mengsk's forces were now a tumultuous scene of battle, with the rebels pressing their advantage and fighting fiercely against the disorganized soldiers.

"Let's join the fray! Young Master!"

Constantine shouted with a wicked grin spreading across his face, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of the fight. Eager to join the fray, he unsheathed both his rapier and scimitar, expertly wielding them in each hand.

"Rohan! Falric! With me! Hahahaha!"

Constantine laughed manically as he charged headlong into the battlefield, his excitement palpable. Rohan, with a determined expression, followed closely behind.

"Falric informed the musketeers, Gatling gunners, to shoot at the backlines of Mengsk's army."

Tempest instructed firmly. His voice carried over the din of battle.

"Yes! Young Master!"

Falric replied and ran off to inform the musketeers and Gatling gunners.

Tempest surveyed the battlefield, his senses bombarded by the cacophony of screams and the clash of steel. The field was littered with countless bodies, a grim testament to the ferocity of the fight. Through the chaos, he finally spotted his father, Mengsk, riding his horse from the safety of the backlines, where the Knights of the Golden Hand formed a protective barrier around him.

"This ends here, Father..."

Tempest muttered to himself, his Delusion flaring to life as it amplified his anger and thirst for vengeance. A fiery Pyro sword materialized in his right hand.

"Hyah!"

Tempest commanded his horse, which reared up on its hind legs with a powerful neigh. He raised his Pyro sword high, its flames blazing fiercely, and spurred the horse forward. With determined fury, he charged directly at his Father.

Tempest cleaved through every man of Mengsk's army who crossed his path with relentless determination. His Pyro sword blazed through the ranks, but then, without warning, a musket bullet struck his horse. The powerful impact sent the steed crashing to the ground, and Tempest was thrown off, tumbling onto the battlefield amidst the chaos.

"Mmpf! Damn it!"

Tempest muttered to himself as he swiftly got back on his feet. He scanned his surroundings desperately, trying to locate his Father amid the chaos. All he could see was a battlefield drenched in carnage, with the relentless clash of steel and the cries of combatants echoing around him.

"Traitor!'

A Knight of the Golden Hand shouted at Tempest, spinning his sword in a display of skill meant to intimidate him. The rapid motion of the blade and the Knight's fierce expression were intended to unsettle Tempest, challenging him to a fight amidst the chaos of the battlefield.

"I have no time for this..."

Tempest muttered to himself, his gaze cold and focused. Without hesitation, he drew the flintlock from his holster and fired, the shot ringing out sharply. The Knight of the Golden Hand fell dead, his intimidating display cut short by Tempest's decisive action.

'Why aren't musketeers and Gatling gunners not firing?'

Tempest thought to himself as he rejoined the rebels, slicing through Mengsk's forces with fierce determination. The clash of steel and the shouts of combat surrounded him, fueling his resolve as he fought through the chaos of the battlefield.

'We're gonna be overwhelmed soon, why in seven hells are they not firing?!'

Tempest thought to himself, his mind racing with frustration as he slashed through Mengsk's forces. His clothes were stained with blood, but he showed no sign of fatigue or weariness, his focus unwavering amidst the chaos of battle.

"You! Informed the musketeers and Gatling gunners, to fire at the backlines! We're gonna get overwhelmed if we don't have support!"

"You!" 

Tempest shouted to a nearby rebel who was fighting alongside him.

"Inform the musketeers and Gatling gunners to fire at the backlines! We're going to be overwhelmed if we don't get support soon!"

 His voice was urgent, cutting through the din of battle as he continued to fight with relentless determination.

"Yes! Young Mas- Argh!"

Before the rebel could finish his words, he was suddenly stabbed in the chest. The wound was deep and bloody, yet the assailant who had delivered the fatal blow was nowhere to be seen. The rebel's eyes widened in shock as he crumpled to the ground, his last breath escaping in a gasp.

Tempest's eyes widened with alarm as he scanned his surroundings, gripping his Pyro sword tightly. He raised it high, its fiery blade casting a fierce glow through the chaos, searching for any sign of the unseen attacker.

'Ghosts... Damn it...'

Tempest thought to himself, and suddenly, he felt goosebumps, all over his body.

'Behind!'

Tempest angled his Pyro sword with precise calculation and drove it backward, impaling the Ghost without needing to turn around.

"Mmpf!"

The Ghost groaned in agony as the Pyro sword's flames consumed his suit, turning it from invisible to visible with a sudden flare. His entire form was engulfed in a blaze before he collapsed to the ground, finally visible and lifeless.

'I gotta watch out for those...'

Tempest examined the burned suit closely. Its design bore a striking resemblance to the Primal Constructs found in the deserts of Sumeru, their intricate patterns unmistakable even in the charred remains.

"Mm?"

Someone bumped into Tempest's back, jolting him. He turned around swiftly, his Pyro sword poised and ready, the fiery blade casting a harsh glow as he prepared for any threat.

"It's me! Young Master!"

Rohan shouted, his clothes battered and bloodied from the relentless battle.

"Rohan?! Why in seven hells are the musketeers and Gatling gunners shooting?!"

Tempest shouted, his voice rising over the chaos of battle, as the most critical phase of the ambush was unfolding. They were still not receiving support from the musketeers and Gatling gunners, and the situation was growing increasingly dire.

"They're dead! Young Master! Ghosts! Came out of nowhere, and slaughtered them all!"

Rohan shouted, his voice strained and breath coming in ragged gasps.

Tempest's eyes widened in shock as he processed the grim news. His heart raced with a surge of adrenaline.

"What?!"

"That's not all, Young Master! Mengsk's reinforcements have arrived! If we don't act quickly, we'll be completely surrounded! We need to consider retreating before we're overwhelmed!" 

Rohan shouted, his voice strained amidst the chaos.

"No! Gardon will be here shortly, we nee-"

Before Tempest could finish his sentence, he was jostled by a fellow rebel. He turned around to see a tide of rebels turning their backs and fleeing in panic. Tempest and Rohan were soon engulfed by the retreating crowd, finding themselves displaced and trapped in the middle of the chaotic battlefield.

"Young Master!"

Rohan reached out desperately towards Tempest, his hand straining to close the distance, but he was quickly swallowed by the retreating crowd. The surging mass of rebels pushed him further away, and soon, Tempest found himself isolated and separated from his ally.

Suddenly, the rebels retreat came to an abrupt halt. Tempest's pulse raced as he surveyed the dire situation. They were now completely surrounded by the shields of Mengsk's army, forming an almost impenetrable barrier. 

The enemy's formation was meticulously tight, with shields overlapping to form a nearly solid wall. Pikemen stood poised behind the shields, their spears jutting out menacingly through the gaps. The rebels found themselves ensnared in a deadly trap, their escape routes effectively blocked, with the threat of the encircling spears looming ever closer.

Mengsk's voice boomed across the battlefield, laced with a cruel satisfaction. 

"You think you've fucking got me cornered, Tempest?!"

He shouted, his eyes gleaming with malice

"This is where you'll die! And your pathetic rebellion will crumble with you!" 

A wicked smile stretched across his face as he relished the moment, his words dripping with contempt and certainty.

A brief, tense silence fell over the battlefield. Tempest found himself at the center of the encirclement, surrounded by the terrified faces of the rebels. The atmosphere was thick with fear and desperation as the rebels realized the gravity of their dire situation. Their eyes darted around in panic, the once fierce resistance now overshadowed by the looming threat of their impending defeat.

"Infantry! Advance!"

Pierre's voice cut through the chaos as he issued his command. The shield bearers, following his orders, began to slowly close in the circle, their shields forming an unyielding wall. The pikemen, thrusting their spears with deadly precision, methodically advanced, stabbing the rebels trapped within the encirclement. The rebels, now fully surrounded, were left with no escape as the enemy's formation tightened around them.

"With me lads! Break their line!"

Constantine shouted defiantly, undeterred by the dire situation. With a fierce determination, he charged forward, aiming to break through the shield wall. His powerful charge, accompanied by several rebels who followed suit, created a relentless assault against the tightly packed shields. They threw their shoulders into the wall, pushing with all their might in a desperate attempt to breach the encirclement and create a path for escape.

But his attempt was thwarted as he was met with fierce resistance. Constantine's charge faltered when he was struck in the shoulder by a well-aimed spear thrust.

"Constantine!"

"Get him back!"

Thankfully, Constantine was swiftly pulled back by the rebels surrounding him before another spear could find its mark. The rebels, though desperate and disheartened, managed to shield him from further harm, dragging him away from the immediate danger as the pikes continued to stab at the edges of their dwindling circle.

"Infantry! Advance!"

Pierre shouted once more, his voice carrying an edge of finality. This time, the shield bearers and pikemen continued their relentless advance, pushing forward with a crushing force. The rebels, now pressed into an even tighter circle, had no choice but to fall back further, their options dwindling as the encroaching line of shields and spears closed in around them.

"Mmpf!"

Tempest fell to the ground, the sheer weight of the panicked rebels pressing down on him as they were forced to take another step backward. The pressure of the retreating crowd and the relentless advance of the enemy made it difficult for him to rise, his movements restricted by the crushing mass around him.

"No... I can't die here... I have to keep my word for her... Mmpf!"

Tempest struggled to speak, his words coming out as strained whispers. The chaotic situation around him made it difficult to breathe, and the relentless pressure of the surrounding rebels left him unable to rise. Each attempt to move only intensified his struggle, as the crush of bodies and the looming threat of the encircling enemies made every breath a battle.

"Young Master!"

Rohan fought his way through the chaos and finally found Tempest. With a determined grip, he grabbed Tempest's hand and pulled him up from the ground. Tempest gasped for air as he was lifted, taking a deep breath to recover from the suffocating pressure. As he steadied himself, he looked around, his vision still hazy from the ordeal.

Tempest scanned his surroundings, his heart sinking as he took in the grim sight, their numbers were rapidly dwindling, and the enemy was pressing in with relentless advance. The once formidable rebel force was now struggling to hold their ground, the advancing lines of Mengsk's army tightening their grip and closing in on them from all sides.

"It was an honor to serve you, Young Master..."

Rohan said, his voice ragged and strained. Tempest turned to him, his eyes filled with a mix of shock and anguish as he saw the toll the battle had taken on his first ally who joined their uprising.

And suddenly, as all hope seemed lost, a horn sounded from the horizon. Gardon Vance, accompanied by his 1,000-strong knights mounted on horseback, charged into the battlefield with overwhelming force. Their powerful advance shattered the shield wall, driving through the ranks of Mengsk's forces and creating a critical breach in the encircling line.

"For Fontaine!"

Gardon roared with commanding authority as he and his knights cut through the shield wall with ferocious precision. Their blades carved a path through the encircling ranks, creating a decisive breach in the wall of shields. This brave assault provided the rebels with a crucial opening, allowing them a chance to escape from the tightening trap and regroup.

"I won't let you die yet, Rohan."

Seeing his Uncle kept his promise, Tempest felt a surge of adrenaline flood his body. With renewed vigor, he summoned another fiery Pyro sword in his left hand. Reinvigorated by the sight of Gardon's timely intervention, he plunged back into the fray with a fierce determination, his resolve to turn the tide of battle stronger than ever.

"Gardon!"

Mengsk shouted angrily, his voice dripping with fury as he spotted his brother-in-law, Gardon Vance, fighting alongside Tempest. The sight of Gardon and his knights breaking through the shield wall and creating an opening for the rebels infuriated Mengsk even more.

"Vance! You traitorous dog! Fighting for that insolent whelp of a son! This treachery will not go unpunished!"

Mengsk roared, his voice echoing across the battlefield.

"Your Grace! We must retreat now!"

Pierre shouted at Mengsk, his voice urgent and desperate. The battlefield was a maelstrom of chaos, with Gardon and his knights cutting through Mengsk's forces and the rebels rallying with renewed vigor.

Fuck! Leave the soldiers to buy time! Take the Knights and Ghosts with us!"

 Mengsk shouted, his voice filled with desperation and fury.

Mengsk shouted.

Pierre and the Knights of the Golden Hand mounted their horses swiftly, their movements precise and coordinated. The Ghosts, too, mounted abandoned steeds, they changed their forms from invisible to visible as they prepared to retreat. With grim determination, they left their soldiers behind, sacrificing them to buy precious time for their escape.

Mengsk, accompanied by 130 of his Knights and 27 Ghosts, swiftly retreated back to the mansion to regroup. Their horses galloped at full speed, hooves pounding the ground as they put as much distance as possible between themselves and the battlefield.

"I will fucking kill you! Tempest!"