The Greaves of Abruption - Honor the Armor (Part 4)

 

 

What happens when we stop reacting and running to our destinations in life?

 

 Notes from the Field: If you've made it through up until this point, I am SO Honored! A few of you have told me that this series has been a great read. But to be honest, its been even greater to write in a way that frees the baggage I've held onto through my adult life. This is how I make sense of it all and say my goodbye to it.  If this is your first time seeing this blog or reading one of my works, welcome. Do check out the first three parts of the Honor the Armor Series, and feel free to read anything else I've dropped here. I've got plans go go bigger and better in my own way so stay tuned. 

 Lets get to it shall we? 

 

Run... Run... 

With every hasty stomp across the jagged trail downhill the warrior heard the chant in his head. 

Various voices. 
His own. 
His inner child. 
The voice of death within. 

Sound echoed through his body as the wind began to push him back with the force of a giants arms in a rage. 

How could he run at a time like this? He was a Warrior, was he not? 

"Even warriors must take cover for safety to fight back... For the advantage."

The voice was him years younger. A statement that churned at his stomach because they fell true, as contradicted as they were, like a lover's slap with a smile and desire in her eyes. 

A desire he would happily embrace if he ever could make it back as a whole man, a warrior on bail out of the Armor of SURVIVAL. 
 

"YOU wanted this did you not Warrior? Did you think the divine would smile upon you by releasing the boulders on your arms? The Shackles on your mind?" the voice of death within howled and bellowed like the wind as it kicked up dirt and precipitation alike. 

The warrior wanted desperately to abolish his vile twin with a blade between his cheeks, but his mind knew that it was losing his footing... A boundless soul with no weight in his world. 

He gritted his teeth as he dashed into the tree line, narrowly missing the low hanging branches that whacked across his exposed arms and face. Every strike reminded him of his past. 

Times where he would run to seek shelter. 

Times when he would be quick to act out of a need to appear capable... a need to be efficient and adequate... Out of fear of not being accepted. 

His heart thumped like buck shots and sank into his chest as he remembered the impulsive decisions he'd made in haste. He wanted to be successful. He wanted to get ahead of the suffering he was convinced would come. 

But the suffering would only come at his own hands and feet. 
 

His feet

He glanced down as he slipped and glided down the trail. His boots glowed green with every step... Until the terrain buckled under his weight, tossing him forward in a series of tumbles. He gagged and winced as the gravel tore into his now exposed skin across his face and hands, where the Helm and the Gauntlets were once affixed. 

The warrior slammed the back of his head and shoulders against a tree. His vision hazy from the impact. As he tried to right himself, his younger voice pierced his mental fog. 
 

"Are you tired of running?" 

The warrior couldn't respond. Haze clawed at his eyes from within. A sting from the back of his head prompted him to run his fingers through the hair that barely remained. There was a warm sensation. His sweat, the rain, and something else he knew too well from the hidden gash and the smell of his calloused and charred hands: 

Blood.

The young one asked again.  

"What do you think?" the warrior grunted through labored breaths.
 

"I am not you yet, warrior. I would not know. I run to play... To hide from danger. But you... what do you run from?" 

The question stung more than his cuts and scars. The warrior grimaced and grunted as the inquiry burned holes into the fog of his mind. 

For as long as he could remember, he was a runner. The boy that couldn't ever sit still. 

Not in classes. 

Not at home. 

His doctors in town would label him hyperactive and would recommend medications to quell the radiant and lively instinct within, but his mother would not allow it. She would not allow the medication to strip him of his health and uniqueness. 

Perhaps that was a mistake. Perhaps it was a curse that became a sort of gift he could use to mock those that labeled him. He would be faster than them. Speed meant he could win. Speed meant he could make his mark in the world swifter than anyone else. He grew to admire speed in anything he observed and would mimic and surpass any way he could. 

He would run fastest. He would think the fastest with wits, humor, and resourcefulness when those resources aligned for him to utilize. His ABRUPTION became his crowning identity as he grew older, and yet it would also lead to unforeseen challenges until it was too late. 

His hastiness fed the hunger of SURVIVAL and drove him into rapid ACTION. The Helm blurred his vision to see only strive and struggle. The Gauntlets urged him to do something other than sitting down and resting. The Greaves on his feet that burned now from the shins to his soles, drove home instant reaction. 

To scramble. To rush. And in this case, to flee from the Threat. 

It was the bane of a coward. 

"I run from conflict..." the warrior huffed through labored breaths. "From the dangers of ill fated... choices. From... fear." 

Admitting his flaws tinged at his feet, forcing a squat with clinched teeth. The Greaves were burning into his flesh below. 

Marking him. 

Branding him. 

A reminder of the choice he made to live his life that way. A life of fear, swiftness, and on the run. 
 

"That isn't all true Warrior." the younger voice said. "There is also good in the Greaves you wear. You may have run, but you have also stood your ground even when scared, did you not?" 

The warrior glanced into the raging skies above and remembered. He remembered the crisis he and his family faced years ago. 

The one moment in his life that broke him. 

He carried the weight of losing their home due to financial instability. He remembered sacrificing comfort by sleeping, bathing, and eating where he worked so that his family had enough to not join him in his self imposed homeless exile. He'd cry like he did now... But his was a noble sacrifice... One of many he'd have to make. 

Rebuilding from that took groundedness. He wore the Greaves with pride through the unknown. Other memories flooded in where the Greaves offered him a moments respite to discern next moves. 

Much like the Helm and the Gauntlets, the Greaves also served a dual purpose. He was swift, flexible, afraid yes, but at times able to slow down and discern with care. 

"I understand now." the warrior uttered, placing his hands on the sides of his calves that burned as the Greaves glowed through the fog like an emerald lantern. 

The warrior clenched his teeth as the aura burned the flesh of his hands, but he would not release his grip. The thunder cracked and boomed as he resisted the urge to save his palms and fingers from the torturous burn. 

"You have heightened... my fears... and yet found a way to offer me direction..." the warrior grunted, "You have served me... But now... I must live again!" 

The Greaves responded with a THOOOMMMMM. The ground cracked and buckled underneath the warrior's feet. Tears of heaven descended with fury as the Greaves released their steal grips and turned a bright sky blue. It's metal began to flicker and dissipate. 

After a few more moments, all that remained were torn socks and sweltered flesh. The warrior grimaced as he tried to move his feet. 

Though it pained him, the sight of another part of his body offered him a prize in the midst of the storm. 
 

'One step closer to being free.'
 

"Or so you think Warrior."

Suddenly, his chest tightened and squeezed like a Gargoyle's arms seeking to take every but of air from him. He could move his own arms, but couldn't stop this pressure on his chest and torso...

"You've rid yourself of your conditioning... Your need for constant action... Your haste and cowardess... Now warrior, you will feel the tension behind your choices." 

The ground trembled afoot like a giant afraid of a greater threat. The cracks in the ground mimicked the lightning flashes above, it's roots of fracture stretched to the warrior's feet as he pulled his knees to his chest. Mist ascended from below the cracks like a rupture from a once dormant volcano ready to etch its name in the annals of history. 

But there was no threat more horrid than the deformed human-like shadows that clawed from the depths of an unknown hell. Tension gripped tighter as the Chest plate glowed brighter to match the eyes of the abominations that hissed and growled as they rose to prominence. 

The voice of death within's words echoed yet again amongst the audible musings of the hungry that lurked before him:

"You will feel the tension of your choices..." 

To be continued. 

#Unskrypted #HonorTheArmor #Abruption #Haste, #Healing, #OpenLoops, #InkInAction, #Survival