The clash of steel rings fresh in his mind. The howl of flames in his ears, the feel it's tongue lashing at his back again. The taste of dirt mingled with blood, his mouth full of it as he lay there watching his world burn away.
It doesn't matter when they attacked, who they were, or why they chose his people, but they came. They looted, they plundered, they brought death to peaceful farmers and children who'd never known that word. His children were among them. And all he could do was watch.
Through a red veiled curtain he saw them taken away, shadowed figures dragging them by their feet and hair. His Son, a good worker and growing strong. Obedient. He looked at his father with awe struck eyes... He was so young.... His sweet daughter, mirror of the womb she sprang from. Golden haired semstress, she'd have made a good wife one day..
His own wife was an image he fought, but the pain of those last moments brought her back like a spirit. She was surrounded, legs thrown apart. Manic demon-men circled her like a pack of dogs, their prey wild eyed like as a deer. He tried to crawl to her, but his legs were useless. He could only watch.
They did not rape her, they ravished her. They tore at her with lusts darker then men like himself, reveling in the blood creeping along her thighs. When she screamed, their laughter hushed the flame's roar. Finally, they dropped her. She only had a moment to feel the shame of their tainted seed in and on her belly before a blade fell at her neck. And afterwards one of those mad demons fell on her corpse. What he did to her was beyond tainting.
And all this, he watched until finally released by unconsciousness..
And all this he sees at every battle, when his own blade knows the blood of his enemies, just as the raiders knew the blood of his family.
Atop a war horse, he scans a distant field. Tents, horses and men can be seen there, some hurrying to their weapons, others hurrying to escape. Their eyes watch his hill knowing death sits there, waiting. His armor strikes them with the suns glint, but they don't see that. All they can see is the pale bone skull of his helmet. Each of those men in the encampment, murderers, pirates, and raiders all, they know their punishment has finally come. The Punisher rides, and all they can do is prepare to die.
His men do not exist. Oh, they're there, they will strike down the enemy and each will feel the flush of the coming victory as full as their leader. But like the single black worker ant, they live for the Leader. They have no mind in battle beyond the mind their leader has deigned to give them. In the world of battle, only death exists with life as a temporary cursor. And the Punisher is death. This is his world, only he exists there and his men know and accept this. What man would be jealous?
He waits until the last of the enemy has chosen fates. Flee and be hunted, or stand and die with honor. Of the some 47 raiders, 18 or 19 flee. His own band has 30 men-at-arms commissioned from a lord who knows full well supporting the Punisher protects his assets more than supporting a king would. His gauntlet rises, holds then falls. 10 men ride off after the cowards. Again, he waits.
The raiders simply watch his 10 pass and hunt their fleeing comrades. They simply watch as those comrades are torn from their horses, beaten and pummeled, then mercifully be-headed. After the last has called out for their God, or mother, and silenced, the now 8 men turn and wait. The raiders don't fear them, though they realize how close they are. Those men won't join the battle, their blades had tasted enough life for the day. The brave who dared to face death will do so without attacks from behind. They will face death head on, and he will face them the same.
The raiders make a loose formation, a leader of sorts has emerged and barked commands. They all turn towards the distant fields and stand ready.
And like war ants, the Punisher's men swarm down the hill. The thunder of hooves are silent to the raiders, they hear the frantic beat of their own hearts and some swear they hear the calm, hypnotic rhythm of his heart. If he ever had one.
The first man falls, then another. The two groups mingle, merge and disappear amongst the other. Finally, the Punisher descends, a great and simple sword aligned with his body off to the side. Some of those men swear that blade is pointed at them. A head falls to his sword, another sword greets it. They clash, they parry, one falls as does it's wielder.
His war horse takes a spear through it's flank and falls. His clear blue eyes, seemingly carved from his helmet, are emotionless as the horse deemed "favorite" by his men lies still. They didn't realize this creature was a tool, not something to be favored. They don't realize they are the same. Tools. The Punisher turns and scans the blood bath for a soul brave enough to face him down. He finds one and advances.
The soul took flight only moments after meeting the Punisher's blade. He searches for another and is rewarded with a fresh faced boy who strikes his shoulder with a hand ax. His strike draws blood. The Punisher turned on his and stood silent for but a moment. A little blonde boy comes to mind looking at the wary man-child before him. The eyes are different, awe there but more fear and rage. He charges, the Punisher side steps and knocks him to the ground with the pummel of his sword. He wonders for a moment what his son would've grown to be before piercing his chest through and leaving the boy to bleed to death. Another attacker replaces the boy, and the thought hides itself away.
17 of his survive. None of the raiders are so fortunate. The wounded are loaded, the rest plunder the raider's tents for valuables. The Punisher surveys his world as it comes to an end. His wound have been wrapped, his sword clean and his horse's body raided for possessions. Now he does not exist, now the Punisher is but man, silent and dull as an idiot. His mind has taken flight someplace his men don't care enough to guess at. The wary leader removes his helmet, sheaths his sword, mounts another man's horse and rides off towards his keep. There he will plot another battle. His world will begin anew where it first ended, and memories of his last day alive will follow in it's wake.