The Punisher vs Deathstroke

The Arena

Someone had hired Deathstroke to kill the Punisher. Frank Castle learned about the contract an hour before Slade Wilson arrived, which is exactly the kind of warning Frank likes. He chose the ground: an abandoned shipyard on the Brooklyn waterfront, full of rusting hulls, cranes and dark corners.

Slade walked in alone through the main gate, sword on his back, rifle in his hands, as if he were arriving for an appointment. In a way, he was.

Round One

Frank opened fire from a crane cab two hundred metres away, a perfect shot at centre mass. Slade turned a fraction of a second before the trigger pulled, the round sparking off his armor instead of piercing it, and returned fire into the cab while running.

What followed was a running battle through the shipyard. Frank had laid traps everywhere: claymores, tripwires, a stack of fuel drums wired to blow. Slade’s enhanced senses spotted most of them. The fuel drums caught him, and he came out of the fireball with his armor scorched and his mask cracked, still moving.

Frank cursed. He had seen soldiers survive explosions, but never walk out of one at a jog.

The Turn

Frank switched to close-range tactics, ambushing Slade at a corner of a ship’s hull with a shotgun. The blast caught Slade’s shoulder and spun him round. Frank pumped the action for the follow-up.

Slade’s sword was already moving. The blade cut the shotgun barrel in half and Slade’s boot caught Frank in the chest, driving him back against the rusted hull. Frank drew a pistol and fired the full magazine at point blank range. Slade dodged three, took two on the armor, and was inside his guard before the slide locked back.

The Finish

Frank fought with everything left in him, a knife in his hand and fury in his eyes. He landed a cut along Slade’s ribs and a headbutt that broke his nose. Slade’s healing factor shrugged off both.

A knee to the stomach, a sword hilt to the temple, and Frank went down on the concrete. Slade stood over him, sword raised. The contract said dead. Slade looked at the soldier at his feet for a long moment, and lowered the blade.

“The man who hired me lied about you,” he said. “He said you were a murderer. You’re a soldier.” He sheathed the sword. “I’ll return the money. Go after him instead.” Frank was unconscious and did not hear it. He found the dead client three days later.