The soldiers ran towards him with their rage driving their forces. Aided with all sorts of weapons, they poured down on Arjun. 
As Arjun neared them, he held the sword in his hand, swinging it around, building it into a stunning circle of death in all directions around him, covering all angles, moving ahead like the force not to be reckoned with as he skillfully took down each and every warrior in his way. 
Suddenly, a soldier thrusted his sword forward into the circling blade of the Grim Reaper. But before he could even take his next breath, Arjun's sword swung down ferociously, taking down the man in a single blow. 
"Wrong move," His cold voice resonated the call for soldiers' in hell, as his haunted voice lay stuck in the thick air, penetrating into the hearts of the Nagas, making them shudder in fear. 
He towered over the Nagas like a giant. None could come close to him as he knocked down everyone who dared to take up the challenge and he moved through the field like a vigorous tornado, creating the dance akin to Tandava of Mahakal, moving to the tune of the melodious song of death and singing in symphony of blood. 
The typhoon pushed his feet against the ground, jumping high in the air as his sword whooshed through the air and was brought down with a hard thrust, slicing through the chests of three men at once. He pulled out the sword as blood spurted on his face and turned around just in time to deck low and push his sword into the stomach of the man who was advancing at him from behind. 
Everything seemed to happen in slow motion as a loud roar echoed from the chest of Arjun, reflecting his wrath and the heights of revenge he was willing to seek to fulfil the wish of his dead lover. 
The sword, intricately designed by the finest weaponsmith of Indraprastha, was a spectacular marvel of Indraprasthian weapon designing. It had a labyrinthine hold, which protruded out at the intersection of the gold handle with the steel blade, its vines crept along the blade, not alleviating the capacity of the blade to tear through human flesh just as easily as a fish in water. Specially designed to suit the aberrant skill of The Mighty Arjun, it was a fearsome weapon. And when in the hands of Arjun, it was the definition of Kaala. 
Arjun pirrouted the sword around him in an exceptional loop of annihilation. He continued the hard blows, the blade slashing through the chests, ripping away the limbs, and tearing through the flesh. 
A humourless laughter burst through his chest as the sword embedded itself into the eye socket of a soldier and a deafening scream escaped his lips, which was enough to chill a sane man to his bones. 
For a moment, the other soldiers stood still, watching intently the blood thirty prince whose lips curled into an atrocious grin as he held the gaze of the man and pushed the sword deeper into the man's brain. The gruesome sound of the skull cracking filled the air. 
The remaining sepoys, barely a handful, looked at each other. Their eyes had a silent conversation before they dropped their weapons fell to their knees. They had no hope of survival, wherefore they could do nothing but beg for their lives. Their sight was fixed on Arjun as he pulled out his sword and the lifeless body fell to the ground. Blood gushed out of the man's lost eye and the other stored into the souls of the men. 
The cold look on the Thunder Prince's face froze the blood in the men's vein. The terror in the surrounding was so palpable, that it could be cut with a blunt knife. The dead, golden eyes gleamed with vengeance and the grown men shivered. The hair on the back of their neck rose and they bowed their head in submission, in request for the grant of mercy.