---
Chapter 5 — The Punisher's First Judgment
Smoke lingered over the ruins like a ghost refusing to leave. The town of Elaris had never seen fire like that — one that burned through the night without spreading, one that seemed to consume only his home. The villagers spoke in hushed whispers, claiming the gods were angry, that a demon had been born in the heart of the flames.
They weren't wrong.
Kael Riven stood at the edge of the forest, watching the blackened skeleton of his home collapse into ash. The wind carried the scent of smoke and charred wood, and beneath it — the faint metallic sting of blood. His eyes, once a gentle brown, now glowed with faint traces of orange that pulsed when he blinked.
His body felt… different. Lighter, stronger, and yet impossibly heavy — as if every heartbeat carried the weight of the entire world's sins. The red wings folded tightly behind him, feathers shifting like embers in a dying fire.
He could still hear the Devil's laughter echoing in his mind.
> "The world took your mother. Shall we return the favor?"
Kael didn't answer. His throat was dry, his voice gone. Only silence and vengeance filled the hollow space where kindness once lived.
He turned toward the dirt path leading back to town. The villagers would fear him — they always had, even before the fire. He had been the quiet boy, the one bullies pushed around because he wouldn't fight back. But that boy had died last night with his mother. What stood in his place was something else.
Something divine. Something cursed.
---
The streets were empty when he returned. The air was thick with dread. As he passed the old chapel, he noticed faint red marks on the door — symbols scratched into the wood that glowed faintly under his gaze. His eyes shifted slightly, and suddenly the world looked different.
Over the chapel priest's house floated a white cross — pure, radiant, and calm.
Over the butcher's shop, a faint orange cross — tainted but uncertain.
And over the tavern near the square, red crosses burned like fire. They moved, flickered, and pulsed — alive with corruption.
Kael froze. His breathing quickened. The crosses whispered to him — not in words, but in feelings. Hatred. Violence. Guilt.
The Devil's voice returned.
> "There. The rotten hearts of men. You see them now, don't you?"
Kael's fingers clenched around the pendant his mother once wore. "Why can I see them?"
> "Because judgment requires sight. The good must be spared… and the wicked must bleed."
His heart thudded violently. He remembered the faces of the boys who used to torment him — the ones who had thrown stones at him, called his mother a witch, spread rumors that cursed his family. He remembered their laughter when they passed him in the market, their cruelty when they tripped him into mud.
Now they sat in the tavern, laughing again — unaware that their sins glowed above their heads like beacons.
Kael's wings shivered, feathers rustling with embers. The Devil whispered again, softer this time, almost affectionate.
> "The Punisher must begin somewhere. Wouldn't justice taste sweet on your tongue?"
Kael stepped forward.
---
Inside the tavern, four boys sat at a table — older than Kael, drunk on cheap ale and arrogance. Their laughter echoed off the wooden walls.
"Did you see the fire last night?" one said, smirking. "Bet the witch finally got what she deserved. Her brat too."
Kael pushed open the door. The hinges creaked. The laughter died.
The oldest, Ren, turned with a grin. "Well, look who's still alive."
Kael didn't speak. His boots echoed as he walked toward them. His red wings remained hidden beneath his coat, but his eyes glowed faintly in the dim light.
Ren sneered. "You've got some nerve showing up here after your freak house burned down."
The other boys snickered. One threw an empty mug at Kael's feet.
Something inside Kael snapped.
> "Judge them."
The voice wasn't loud, but it didn't need to be. It vibrated through his bones, through his blood.
Kael took a step forward. The tavern's lights flickered. Shadows crawled across the floor like liquid smoke.
Ren stood, trying to act brave. "You think you scare me, freak?"
Kael raised his hand. The mark on his skin burned red-hot, and the air around it shimmered. Suddenly, the mug that lay shattered on the floor ignited, bursting into crimson flame. The fire spread across the floor in veins of light, encircling the bullies.
Their faces turned pale.
"What the—"
Kael's voice was quiet, yet filled the room like thunder. "You mocked her. You cursed her name. You laughed while she suffered."
Ren stumbled back. "We—we didn't mean it, man—"
Kael's wings unfurled with a blast of searing air. Feathers of molten crimson filled the tavern, and every candle burst into flame. The walls groaned.
The Devil whispered inside him, purring.
> "Mercy or massacre?"
Kael hesitated for a moment — a tiny, trembling fragment of his old self fighting to breathe. But then he saw Ren's face, sneering again, defiant.
He chose.
With a single motion, he swung his arm. The flames obeyed.
The fire roared up from the floor, twisting into serpents of red and gold. The bullies screamed, their voices blending into the wailing of the wood as it cracked and burned. The smell of smoke and flesh filled the air.
Kael watched without blinking. His face was calm, almost peaceful.
When the screaming stopped, he stepped through the ashes.
> "Do you feel it?" the Devil asked, voice low. "That emptiness that tastes like freedom?"
Kael whispered, "I feel… nothing."
> "Good. That is justice."
Outside, the wind howled. The tavern behind him collapsed in a storm of embers. Villagers would find it in ruins the next morning — four bodies burned beyond recognition, and the faint imprint of red wings scorched into the ground.
Kael stood on the hill overlooking the town. The red crosses still floated over the wicked, bright as ever. He clenched his fists.
He knew this was only the beginning.
The Devil was right — judgment had begun, and Kael Riven was no longer just a boy.
He was The Punisher.
And the world would soon learn to fear his wings.
---
TO BE CONTINUED