Sadly, I do not own the Patriot, or Colonel Tavington. I just enjoy putting my favorite characters in weird situations. I hope you enjoy reading this, it is my first fanfiction. I used to have this story on Wattpad but I've had a few problems with the website. I'm planning some revisions for this story anyway.

Today had been a bad day for Colonel William Tavington.

He charged into battle as fierce as ever, killing many of those pesky rebels. He engaged in a fight with that damned farmer, Benjamin Martin, the object of his misery and rage. Martin ran to him, holding his hideous American flag like a spear, and killed his horse, sending him flying to the ground.

Everything that happened after was really a blur at this point. The ending result, however, was clear as day. Tavington lay defeated on the ground, a gunshot wound on his arm, two rather fatal bayonet wounds on his chest and throat, and memories haunting his head.

"Kill me before the war is over, will you? It appears, that you are not the better man."

"My sons were better men than you."

He was right of course. Tavington had committed truly cruel atrocities for the sake of his glory. "The ends will justify the means, this will be forgotten."

His own words mocked him. Now that he failed, now that everything that he's worked for has gone to waste, who would ever remember him as anything more than 'The Butcher', a heartless monster?

He thought back to his past life, to his drunk, gambling father and the shame that was brought to their family as a result. He thought of all of the lives that he took and ruined. He felt shame in that too, in himself. Lastly, he thought of his poor late mother, and the reality that if she could see who he became, she'd be disgusted. For once, in the last moments of his life, he actually felt sadness, guilt, and remorse. Even his own men hated him. Major Bordon, Captain Wilkins. The only friend he had in his life was Banastre Tarleton, but he knew William before he became so cold. These unfamiliar emotions and thoughts were even worse to Tavingtonthan the physical pain he was feeling. He blinked his eyes tightly to make the forming tears disappear and he succumbed to darkness.

He slowly regained consciousness, confused. He didn't feel his wounds at all. He briefly ran his hand over his throat, only to find that it was perfectly intact. He did the same with his chest and arm, and discovered that the wounds were gone.

He felt a hard, flat rock under him. The air around him was warm, not the sweltering heat of hell he expected, with a constant breeze that cooled his skin. He clearly was not burning in agony, so this mustn't be hell. Could this possibly be heaven? He opened his eyes. No, no, Heaven couldn't possibly be this dark, and God would truly be merciful if he was to ever be admitted in. But if he wasn't in Heaven or Hell, than what on earth--

He sat up and took in his surroundings. He could see that it was Twilight, as the stars and moon were shining and giving him just enough light to gain his bearings. His pale blue eyes focused their attention

at the 'rock' he was sitting upon. It was black, and made of a strange material, and it stretched along the ground in a line, formed in two directions. It had yellow and white lines along the length. Odd. Tavington noticed the trees that grow on both sides next to the 'rock'. At least nature still thrives in this purgatory of sorts.

Suddenly, he was interrupted from his thoughts by a bright light that illuminated the space next to him. He quickly found the source of the light, and it terrified him. It was a large metal beast with two yellow eyes that burned like fire. They seemed to hover above the ground as the monster glided through the dark towards him.

Surely this must be the face of Satan himself, come to take him to hell. Tavington wanted to scream, wanted to run from the frightening punishment of his crimes, but he stood fast, suppressing his fright. Any attempt to escape death would be futile. And Colonel William Tavington was a prideful man who shows no fear, even in the end. He brandished his sword and charged with a bellow.

The last thing he remembered after that was him colliding with the surprisingly cold and hard monster, and the sound of a woman screaming.