I'm taking back control (with my knuckles)

The statue seemed less imposing than the figure itself. If you were to ever stand next to him, consider yourself negated. His presence alone is domineering enough to punctuate any sentence in his vicinity. His smile is facile at best, I can attest to this because I have seen him there. The battlefield breeds a very different beast and I believe the only proper way of describing his methods are of "animalistic origin." Savage doesn't even begin to encompass what this man does on the field. Felling men as if carving a path in the jungle, he leaves a trail of limbs, much akin to bread crumbs. There are two possibilities to this method: either in his rage he becomes lost to his surroundings or, in a much darker tone, they act as a reminder of the cost, the payment he makes every day he fulfills his duty. The portrait he paints during conflict have made it impossible for me to discern the man from the soldier. For every handshake he makes, and every nod and amicable response, I half-expect the poor sod to be partitioned according to the angle of his blade. Is this what I want to see? Am I responsible for the corrupt effigy of him or has the all consuming reality of his nature tainted me? I want to believe the former because he is more than a man..... he's a hero.
As name's go, you will hardly find a more fitting one for him than Samson Hightower. His appellation alone acting as an imposition in his absence. It was as if his parentage decided during conception to predispose him to greatness. And though I am compelled to ascribe a figure of tremendous magnitude, the truth is, he had a figure consisting of a little more than 14.6 stone, but the length and breadth of his shoulders and the sheer amount of weight that they could carry is enough to challenge anyone unfortunate enough to be set before him. A writer best surmised him as "the monster within far supersedes the monster without."
You'll forgive me if I reminisce a bit when describing Samson, putting into ink my thoughts conjures images of our shared past, events which shaped not only our lives but those in all of Fort Henders. It was my first battle, the first of three at Hiros. A fierce three day long reckoning filled with conflagration, and towards the end, decay. At the time, I only knew the role of Hero as a figurehead. A general in battle designed to lead through action, to aid the city-state in its defense against foreign prosecution. Idol, rallying symbol, soldier and leader rolled into a single profession. Few choose hero as a profession because it entails so much. An undertaking only a select group can survive. Post-battle, Samson burned a look into me that haunts me to this very day. With the angle of his head positioned to what I believe is a three quartered gaze, he responded to the words I had yet to speak: "No mercy is the way of the fist."