Christopher

Posted Tuesday, October 15, 2024

1y

INFP

Libra

4

5

The Onward Slog series.

The Onward Slog Clad in heavy armour with an arm covering his face he continues forward in to the swiring vortex of black. He did not know how long he had been slowly trudging this way, be he felt he could not stop as he may make it to the center at any moment. His Armour is battered, worn and dented from the stray debris that hurls through the violent winds of this storm, but he continues onward. He dares not stop incase the winds take him and he loses all progress, neither can he return back to where he entered as he no longer remembers where it is. He has already lost so many others that entered with him as they had either given up or tried to find their way back. Many lost to the raging winds or bludgeoned to death from the hurtling debris, he couldn't even tell how many he had given up as he couldn't even see them the moment he had entered this place. At most he heard their voices calling for the charge onward, and the saddening cried of those who had lost hope and collapsed. "It cannot be much further" he told himself, "It will all be worth it in the end". But thoughts filled his head, doubts and whispers, but the only thing pressing him onwards is he felt there was no where else to go. "There is a beginning and so there must be an end where I can finally rest" he thought, "I have come to far, I cannot give up now". Every step forward felt heavy and more tiring as they where firmly placed, dug in to the ground for grip hoping to not slip and lose his footing. The debris always battering his Armour to the point its all he can hear apart from the roaring screams of the wind lashing at him. A huge doubt crosses his mind "will I ever get to the center, will I ever get my respite". His pride kicks in to defend "No he thought there has to be a reason I'm doing this", "There has to be something great for all my hard work and perseverance!". Time flew by and was lost to the storm it had no meaning here, only the march ever forward mattered, no matter how long it takes. So onward he goes one step at a time forever beaten, ever hoping that he will get to the end of his journey. The Onward Slog: Reprisal. The storm had grown stronger, the winds harsher, he could feel himself near the end of his journey through this terror. But the winds began to scream and howl all the dreaded fears he had fought to come so far, never letting go they claw at him. All the people left behind are but bare bones and a reminder of his Sullen ills. Thrumbing could be heard like a viscious heart from the pummelling of rocks against his already irreparable armour. "Was this his heart beat or was it the storms" He thought to himself delusional from the onslaught he had endured so far. He eyes near blind now from all the fodder lashed at him, all he could see now was blurred shadows. He called out to them "is their anyone there!" With no reply but the howls of the souls felled by this seemingly endless storm his will sank. Near broken he pushed his last few steps as if it meant something, then he stopped. All of his pride and perseverance had been sapped from his mortal coil leaving him bare. He cried out to the torrent "I am but a man you have me in your grasp","I have sinned and I have hurt many, but I tried hard to be a good man!". Head bowed he whispered "let me past so I can rest". Opening his arms he tries to embrace the death he now longed for and the storm to devour him. But it doesn't come. The storm just howls at him more as if to taunt him as if to say "I'm not done with you yet". Slowly he pulls himself to his feet yelling "is this what you want from me, haven't you tormented me enough!". His shoulders slump and he now completely defenseless keeps Marching on forward just like he had always done, this time just wishing for it all to end. The Onward Slog: Epilogue. Tattered was his clothing and moving to the winds command's now he lumbered on with small light of hope for respite. He had come further than even he had expected to come, he was no longer sure of his purpose. The winds lashed his bare skin, marking a penance, his face aging with the tide of sand and gravel. His hair now loose was losing all colour and had been shredded by the storms fangs. He had become pail and almost nothing but bones himself, the pace had turned to a shuffle in this seeming hell. "Let me rest" he repeatedly muttered. For all that was divine or demonic did not listen or offer aid to this wraith of a man. Onward he kept moving no longer driven but lead. "Was it all worth it?" he wondered "it doesn't even matter anymore" he concluded. "What is, will always be". A sudden stop, he could go no further. He had hit a wall of solid pressure and gleamed a figure with what was left of his vision, a shaded beast maybe to drag him away. The wind sheer like glass as the shaded beast moved closer. The man vision fazed in and out as he let out mighty cry "enough!" "No longer will I take this farse ego trip I have staked my name to!". He questioned why he had been sent here and why the ones who sent him did not face this themselves. But he had given everything anyone could give and more from nothing, like a miracle. Clasping his hands foward he forged his path ready to strike down this new Foe. It grew ever closer and bared it claws to strike but... Nothing, empty space, no resistance, it was as if the Foe has never existed. Space, endless space before him, he had not even realised he had escaped. He expected more trashing, more tearing of his flesh, to him it was now normal. A gleaming beam hit him, his eyesight fading could see nothing but light. Realisation... He had been bare before the storm, he had faced the shaded beast a reflection of his fears and turmoil, now he was free from the endless lashes of his Ordeals. He kneeled in repose, solemn in his final moments. The howls turn to whispers and whispers to silence as all was empty and at peace.