Bridal Crises

The Living, The Healed And The Wicked

The shattered remnants of the wall groaned under the weight of countless dead soldiers pouring through, their grotesque forms stumbling over the debris in a nightmarish flood.

They surged into the battlefield like a tidal wave of rotting flesh, a ghastly procession that defied the very laws of life and death.

Each step they took was a reminder of the horror that awaited, their hollow eyes and gaping wounds creating a macabre spectacle of decay.

Bheem led this horrific charge, his presence a terrifying contrast to the abominations following him.

His massive, muscular form cut through the throng of the dead with relentless power. Every step he took sent tremors through the ground, his anger and protectiveness fueling an unstoppable force.

Ayushman's deranged laughter echoed across the battlefield as he cleaved through another Kuruvanshi soldier with a brutal, merciless strike.

The man's lifeless body fell, a grim testament to Ayushman's unrestrained cruelty. His eyes, filled with twisted amusement, met Bheem's across the chaotic expanse.

The two figures were locked in a silent battle of wills, a clash of primal fury and dark intent.

"How many will you protect?" Ayushman's voice was a mocking roar, filled with dark satisfaction.

He gestured expansively towards the army of dead soldiers that continued to flood the battlefield, their grotesque forms advancing with mindless, destructive purpose.

The dead soldiers were a grotesque parade of decay.

Their flesh hung in strips from their skeletal frames, revealing the putrid, rotting meat beneath.

Their movements were accompanied by a sickening squelch of decomposing flesh, each step a testament to the horrors they had endured.

They smashed through walls with mindless brutality, crushing anything in their path, their very existence a manifestation of death's relentless hunger.

Bheem, Nakul, Duryodhan, and the Kuruvanshis were locked in a frenzied dance of violence, their movements a chaotic symphony of blood and gore.

"You sure took your sweet damn time to get here!" Duryodhan roared, his voice barely audible over the cacophony of battle. He swung his sword in a wide arc, cleaving through the neck of a decaying soldier as it tried to lunge at him.

"Stop whining like a kid. Did you miss me too much?" Bheem teased, his voice a booming growl as he crushed a dead man's skull with his massive fist, sending bone fragments and grey matter flying. His rugged face was set in a smirk, eyes sparkling with a mixture of rage and amusement.

"You're never on time," Nakul snapped furiously, his eyes blazing as he kicked another soldier's head clean off its shoulders. The head rolled across the ground, its vacant eyes staring blankly as it came to a stop.

"And you're the one to complain? The one who was almost too late?!" Yuyutsu retorted, twisting the arm of a dead soldier with a sickening crunch, tearing it from its socket. He threw the dismembered limb aside, barely pausing to catch his breath.

"Fight, dumbasses, fight!" Dhritarashtra barked, his voice sharp with frustration as he intercepted a blow from a particularly ferocious undead. He lifted two soldiers with ease, slamming them down onto the ground, their bones breaking with a splintering crack. "Because, hey, what's the most that can happen? Only we can die a little. No biggie!"

A figure landed heavily next to Dhritarashtra, jumping over the wall with a force that shook the ground. The man intercepted a blow aimed at Dhritarashtra's back, his entrance marked by a dramatic clash of steel against rotting flesh.