However, the zombies' strength was beyond imagination. Despite being pierced by massive, sharp ice spikes, pinned to the ground, some still displayed astonishing resilience. Their bodies trembled violently, their muscles tensed, and their bones creaked with teeth-grinding sounds. Where the icicles had pierced their wounds, blood had already congealed, mingling with the frost, but this couldn't stop their frantic struggles. Their eyes were bloodshot, and deep, hoarse roars emanated from their throats, as if expressing resentment and defiance against their fate. Under this overwhelming force, some zombies began to slowly break free from the icicles. The ice spikes scraped against their bodies, making a sharp sound, and the ice shattered and fell to the ground. The zombies' wounds were further torn, a horrific sight, but they seemed insensitive to the pain, only determined to move forward. Finally, one zombie managed to break free from the icicles, its body teetering on the edge of collapse, but it continued its desperate advance. Their steps were staggering, leaving a trail of blood with every step, but their eyes were still filled with madness and desire to kill, as if nothing could stop them.

On this life-or-death battlefield, the defense of ordinary men stood like an impenetrable wall of steel, stubbornly resisting the frenzied zombie onslaught. Though they lacked the immense strength of those with superpowers, each of them burned with an unyielding fire. Some, clad in simple armor, wielded spears, gripping them tightly, their knuckles white with strain. As the hideous zombies approached, they undauntedly roared and thrust their spears into their enemies. Muscles bulged, veins popped, all their strength channeled into this single thrust. With the force of a wind, the spears pierced the zombies with unerring precision. Once the spears penetrated the zombies, they didn't hesitate, swiftly withdrawing and thrusting again, their movements expert and resolute. Each thrust shone with a desire for survival and a hatred for their enemies. Even as the blood of the zombies splattered their faces, they refused to retreat, their resolve only growing stronger. Some were exhausted from the prolonged battle, their arms so aching they could barely lift them, yet they gritted their teeth and persevered with a tenacious will. Others were scratched by zombies while stabbing, but they simply bandaged their wounds and returned to the battle, as if the pain could not weaken their determination to defend the line. Behind them were their loved ones and homes, and to protect them, they were willing to pay any price. Every thrust of the spear was a defense of their lives and hope for the future.

On this fierce battlefield, amidst the defensive lines of ordinary men, a group of fearless warriors wielded their swords, engaging the zombies in a desperate struggle. They gripped the heavy swords tightly, the handles slipping slightly in their sweaty hands, but their grip never relaxed. As the zombies approached menacingly, they widened their eyes, roared, and raised their swords high. In that instant, boundless power seemed to burst forth from them. With a roar, they slashed down with the force of thunder. The blades gleamed coldly through the air, aiming precisely for the zombie's head. The powerful impact made the air whirr. A hit would send the zombie's head flying, splattering black blood. But they had no time to dodge the filth; they immediately raised their swords again, ready to face the next attack. Their movements might seem clumsy and awkward, lacking professional training, but each swing was imbued with determination and courage. The long battle left their arms aching, yet they gritted their teeth, relentlessly repeating the slashing motions. Some warriors, fatigued and slowed their movements, were scratched by the zombies, but they simply groaned, ignoring the pain and continuing to swing their swords with all their might. Their hearts held a single conviction: to cut down as many zombies as possible, to hold this line of defense, to protect their loved ones and homes. Amidst the blazing blood and gore, they wrote a chapter of ordinary heroism with their courage and resilience.

Amidst the raging battle, ordinary people clutched their homemade shields, forming a solid bulwark against the zombie onslaught. These shields, constructed from either thick planks or scrap metal, were crude and crude, but in their hands, they became a vital line of defense. They crouched, their shields firmly pressed against their bodies, their gazes fixed through the cracks in their shields on the approaching zombies. Each zombie's attack carried a deadly threat, yet their arms remained unwavering. As the zombies charged frantically, the immense force clattered against their shields, creating a dull thud. The shield bearers gritted their teeth, pushed hard against the ground, and used all their strength to block the impact. Their bodies trembled slightly from the immense pressure, but their shields held firm. Some zombies scratched at the shields with their sharp claws, making a harsh scraping sound and leaving deep marks on the surface. But the shield bearers were not afraid. They used their bodies to hold the shields tightly, not giving the zombies any chance to break through.