He is a god amongst mortals, and he knows it just as well. His life is a ritual, with no time for meandering. Everything is planned. Everything is on time. Before he reaches the battlefield, he is nothing but a pawn. He is a puppet; and he is controlled by his puppeteer. He does as he is told, and he does it well. He is irreplaceable. He is focused. When he has the weapon in his hand, he is unstoppable. He is feared. His own army trembles when he holds the weapon. His unit is small. He only has ten other men with him at one time. However, his opponent is just as small. His enemy. There are eleven of them, and they want nothing more than to deliver as much pain to him as possible. He embraces it. They only want to take his weapon and win the war. He won’t let it happen. His only goal is to escape. He wants to break through. He wants to win. He knows once he wins, there is no rest. He will have to win another in one week. His battles are never ending, so he prepares.
Speed is the name of the game. Speed and power. If he can get through unscathed, he’ll be in good shape. But it’s a matter of getting through that will be the key. Each army has their own heroes. Each army has their own beasts; devoted to stopping him. He needs to be faster than them. Faster and stronger. So he trains. Every day, he works as hard as he can to build speed and endurance. Although at times, outrunning isn’t the answer. Sometimes he is forced to collide with his enemies. Head on. Who’s more powerful? Can he spin off and get away? Can he win? These are the questions that run through his mind as he prepares for war. For a week straight, he listens to his puppeteers. His mentors. They know more than he does, but only he can execute. He is their disciple. When they tell him to go faster, he runs faster. When they tell him to lift harder, he goes until he can’t lift anymore. When they tell him to go further, he pushed himself to the limit. He has to be better.
He calls himself a Viking. An appropriate name for him, for he is blood thirsty. He is vicious. There are many Vikings. His unit is only a small portion of the Viking army as a whole. His unit is called the offense. The army consists of multiple units; like the defensive unit, and the special unit. While he waits for battle time, he practices. He spars with the defensive unit and makes sure he knows what he’s doing. He makes sure he is a threat. To win the battle, he must get through his defensive unit alive. He cannot lose the weapon. If the defensive unit were to get the weapon, the battle is lost. Soon the sparing is over, and he heads back to base to prepare for war.
He reaches base and enters the building. His soldiers stare at him with eyes glistening, full of hope. He walks with a narcissistic trot to his corner, and begins to protect himself. Armor is of excessive importance. He pulls on protective pants, with shields built into the knees, hips, and thighs. He laces on his boots, equipped with sharp spikes. Next come the all important body protector. The protector goes over his head like a shirt, and protects his upper torso and shoulders. His stomach is exposed, but it doesn’t faze him. His abdominal muscles act like a brick wall. Impenetrable. He pulls over a makeshift flag that has been tampered with to be able to fit over his body protector. The flag has “Vikings” written on the front, and his name stitched into the back. Purple and gold. Once he straps on the body protector, he is nearly ready to fight. However, no soldier is complete without a brain bucket. A hard hat. A helmet. His helmet protects more than just his head. It protects his chin. It protects his ears. A face mask protrudes from the center and protects his nose, mouth, and eyes. The face mask is white and barred, while his helmet, along with his flag, is purple. He is induced with tunnel vision as he pulls the helmet on and straps up. With one last look to his unit, he nods his head, and leads them to the battle field.
The defensive unit has simple rules; find the man with the weapon, and bring him down. The Viking leads his offensive unit to the battle field, and time slows down. The enemy waits for an attack, fists clenched. Suddenly, he has the weapon in his hand, and he’s off and running. He dodges one man, and then breaks through another. He gets about twenty four feet before he is brought down to the ground. His elbow is scraped from the rough terrain, and a bit of blood is drawn. He doesn’t notice. Before he could react, his unit gives him the weapon again. Once more, he takes off at a sprint. This time, before he can even take two steps forward, he is met by the beast. He had done his homework, and knew all about the beast. The beast is fast, strong, and agile. He is immediately brought down, and has cost his unit six feet of distance. They were a long way from winning this war. For their third attack, they don’t give him the weapon. This time, the weapon is tossed to another man in his unit, who is able to fight his way for thirty feet. Relief washed over him as they gained distance. After a few failed attacks, his unit looks to him once again. Their eyes fall on him, and the same thought rushes through their minds. He’s their best man for the job.
With his knees bent, and his forehead sweating, the weapon is put into action once more. He takes it in stride and get behind a few of his men. The defensive unit zones in on him with wide eyes as he reads his men and strategically makes sure he is not attacked. One of his men goes down, and a defensive attacker is able to break through his barrier. The attacker is slow and dives at his feet, and watches as he leaps into the air over the outstretched fingers of the assailant. Back on the ground, he churns his legs, no more need for the barrier. He breaks out of his own safety zone, with open field in front of him. Inside his helmet, he hears his breathing; fast and aggressive. He also hears another set of gaining footsteps. Legs pounding as hard as he can, it’s one on one. He has the upper hand, but his final attacker is quick. He sees the finish line. All he has to do is get there without being tripped. Everyone is beat. He is out in front. The attacker is gaining. The attacker is faster than him. He’s being closed in on. With only twenty more yards, the attacker finally catches up and dives. Before the Viking got arms wrapped around him, he turns his head and sticks out his hand behind him. His palm connects straight with the attackers face mask, and the arms uselessly grab air. A perfect stiff arm. The Viking crosses the line and stops running. He is satisfied. He listens intently as the speakers boom through the stadium, “Touchdown Adrian Peterson.”