Escanor(Marvel)

After spending the entire day inside the van without stepping outside only daring to grab some food once I felt hunger gnawing at me from the inside. Just as I was finishing my meal, I heard a knock on the window.

It was immediately clear the game was over.

"Open up," one of the gang members ordered, pointing a gun at me.

Hunger had been my downfall. Resisting wasn't an option not yet. There were three of them, all armed. But if they got their hands on me, my chances of survival would shrink even further. That meant I had to take a risk.

I stepped outside cautiously, recalling every move I had been taught. I couldn't give them time to react.

My hand shot up, knocking the gun from the nearest one's grip. A punch with my right hand made him stumble, and I seized his wrist, twisting his arm to use his body as a shield.

The other two froze, hesitant to shoot their own ally. While they hesitated, I acted. With a sharp shove, the hostage lurched forward. Instinctively, one of them tried to catch him that split-second distraction was all I needed. I closed the distance to the second man, forcing his weapon downward. The shot fired into the ground.

A direct strike to the throat he staggered, gasping for air. No time to breathe. The third one snapped out of his shock, shoving his companion aside and raising his gun but I was already too close.

A sharp impact one hit to the temple. A second one followed an instant later.

The gun slipped from his grasp. I was about to finish the fight when luck turned against me.

A gunshot.

Pain tore through my thigh, and I clutched at the wound as I collapsed onto the asphalt. A searing burn locked my body in place, refusing to let me move.

"Don't move, or the next bullet goes through your head," a cold, sharp voice warned.

Before me stood a man in a uniform similar to those worn by mutant hunters. But his suit was a slightly different color, and one particular detail stood out metallic bracelets hung from his forearms. A ski mask covered his head, and tactical goggles concealed his eyes.

I didn't see a weapon in his hands. What had he shot me with?

Could it have been… those bracelets?

[image]

"Idiots, get your lazy asses up and carry him. We need to find out who he is and where he came from," he ordered his men.

"Alright, alright," one of them replied, stepping toward me.

They roughly hauled me to my feet.

"Take off your belt and tie up his wound, or he'll bleed out. If you don't, you're next," the unknown man commanded again.

They hurried to follow orders. The belt was pulled tight around my leg to stop the bleeding. The pain intensified, but I knew it was better than bleeding out.

I could only hope the Punisher had noticed my situation and would help. If not, then I was in serious trouble.

I was lifted and dragged forward, held under the arms. My leg burned with pain, but I tried not to show weakness.

"Not a bad attempt at fighting back," he mused aloud. "You're clearly not military, that's for sure. And not special forces either they don't fight like that, wrong style. More like some kind of martial arts… Kung fu? No, more like mixed martial arts. But you're a rookie, that much is clear. Organizations with similar styles wouldn't send someone like you, which means you're a lone wolf. What's your goal? Maybe noble intentions? No, definitely not. Revenge? That seems more likely. I saw it in your eyes when you looked at me. Maybe you're one of the escapees? I need to figure out who you are."

His assessment of me was disturbingly accurate. In just a few seconds of combat, he had determined my skill level, my character, and even guessed at my motives.

The rest of the way, they dragged me in silence. The city seemed completely deserted no people, no cars.

They brought me to a warehouse and shoved me inside. I caught a glimpse of a large group of armed people. Several trucks stood nearby.

They led me past them toward a stairwell leading underground. As we descended, I saw a long corridor lined with rooms on either side.

Cells. Small, with tiny windows in the doors.

"They're holding people here," I thought, feeling eyes watching me from the darkness of those windows. Their gazes were filled with fear and indifference, as if they had already accepted their fate.

Past the cells, they dragged me into a dimly lit corner of the basement.

In the center stood several inclined beds, tilted at a 45-degree angle, equipped with straps for securing arms, legs, and the head.

They shoved me onto one and fastened the restraints.

"You now have a very simple choice," he said, deliberately laying out tools on a nearby table. "Tell me who you are and where you came from, or choose torture. I don't have time to waste. Decide quickly."

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding with fear. Sweat trickled down my temples. Inside, I desperately called out to my power:

"Please, my sun, come to me. I need you now more than ever. Don't abandon me in this moment."

Power level: 200

Instead of the surge of strength I had hoped for, I felt only a faint warmth spreading through my body. Nowhere near enough to break free.

"So, that's a no?" he asked.

He picked up a pair of pliers from the table, grabbed one of my fingers, and slowly pressed it between the blades.

I shut my eyes, trying not to think about what was coming next, but.....

A sharp snap.

Pain exploded through me.

"AAAAAAAHHHHH!" My scream echoed through the room.

He didn't even give me a moment to breathe. Not even a second had passed before he grabbed the next finger and squeezed the blades shut again.

"AAAAAAAHHHHH!" I screamed even louder, my body convulsing in agony, but the straps held me firmly in place.

"I'll ask again," he said calmly, as if nothing had happened. "Who are you?"

"You kidnapped my sister. I tracked you for months to get my revenge," I forced out through the pain, barely able to form the words.

"So she was a mutant? Hmm… Your words could be true, but Alpha Group hasn't been involved in any operations for a year. That means this uniform shouldn't have triggered any reaction from you… which means you saw them a year ago."

He paused, as if evaluating my answer, then continued:

"There were only a few operations involving mutants. And you know what? None of them had a brother."

His voice was slow and cold, like he had already passed judgment on me.

The pliers came down again.

He squeezed them mercilessly, severing my fingers one by one. The pain ripped through my nervous system, and I barely clung to consciousness.

"We're not done yet, so don't pass out on me," he said, pulling out a syringe and injecting some liquid into my arm. Then, he tightened a tourniquet above my bicep to stop the bleeding. "Every lie has to be built on something."

He sighed and continued:

"You know about Alpha Group. You saw them a year ago. You must have been preparing all this time, tracking our supply lines, planning your revenge. But among all the possible candidates, only one fits the criteria. The one who left us."

He stared into my eyes, as if trying to read my thoughts, to see straight into my soul.

"Escanor," he finally whispered.

I didn't react. I neither confirmed nor denied it. My face remained cold, despite my condition.

"But he's dead. There was nothing left of him. I saw it myself. So… who are you?"

TRRRRRRRR!

A burst of gunfire rang out from above. Panic erupted shouting, chaos.

"Your friends?" he scoffed. "I'll deal with them quickly. Don't go anywhere."

With that, he stepped out, pulling a rifle from his back and loading it.

I was left lying there, bleeding out.

Enough. I had to act.

My left wrist was shackled, but the restraints weren't as tight as they seemed. Blood had coated the cuffs, making them slick enough to slip through.

Without fingers, my wrist was slightly smaller but it wasn't enough.

Controlling my power, I completely abandoned the sun within me. My arms became even thinner.

"Come on… You can do this," I whispered, forcing myself to keep going.

Through the pain, I pulled and twisted, trying to free my hands.

"Arghh… It hurts so much…"

With a sharp click, my hand slipped out of the cuff.

I allowed myself a few seconds to breathe. Raising my hand to my face, I looked at what was left of it. Only my thumb remained.

My fingers… That bastard.

"Get out first… You can cry later," I muttered, forcing myself to keep moving.

The sounds of fighting, gunfire, and shouting echoed from above.

Could it be… the Punisher?

Freeing my right hand was harder, but after several tries, I managed.

Completely unshackled, I collapsed onto the floor, slipping in my own blood.

Too much blood loss… My strength was almost gone.

I forced myself to my feet.

"Stand up… and move…"

***********

A Few Minutes Earlier

The Punisher lay on the rooftop, peering through the scope of his sniper rifle. He watched the unfolding events, barely moving. Shifting his gaze from the building to the van, he noticed movement.

"The kid seems to be handling himself, but I can't trust him. I don't know him," he muttered.

In reality, the Punisher didn't trust anyone. Even when things were going smoothly, he preferred to keep his distance. He had deliberately avoided making contact with this person fewer risks that way.

As the clock neared four, the van doors swung open, and Escanor stepped out.

"Shit, kid, what are you doing?" the Punisher murmured.

A few minutes later, he spotted commotion near the building. Several men were heading toward the van.

"Fuck, I need to get him out of there," he swore.

Securing a rope at the edge of the roof, the Punisher slung a weapon bag over his shoulder and swiftly rappelled down. He moved along the street, making his way toward the building. Halfway there, he picked up his pace, realizing the situation was spiraling out of control.

Reaching his destination, he took cover behind a corner and began prepping his gear. He secured multiple magazines in his tactical vest. Grabbing his machine gun, he attached a small bulletproof glass shield to it.

From his bag, he pulled out a modified bomb disposal suit. Metal plates were embedded under the Kevlar layer, strategically placed to protect vital organs. Thick, durable armor fabric covered his entire body, maximizing protection. He carefully donned the suit, ensuring everything fit perfectly and was securely fastened. Once satisfied, he retrieved his mask, adjusting it tightly over his face, feeling the material cling to his skin.

[image]

"Alright… Time for a massacre," he said, loading his machine gun.

Emerging into the open, the Punisher began advancing toward the building at a steady jog. Running with heavy gear was no easy feat it was bulky and cumbersome. Reaching effective firing range, he pulled the trigger.

Without hesitation, he pressed forward, keeping the stock of his weapon firmly against his shoulder. The warehouse's thin metal walls were no match for the relentless onslaught, turning into swiss cheese under the barrage. Everything in the line of fire was obliterated, and the enemies outside dropped dead one by one.

When no one was left standing, the Punisher stopped. He swapped out his magazine for a fresh one and moved toward the building's rear entrance. Standing to the side, he yanked the door open only to be met with a barrage of gunfire.

"One, two, three…" he muttered, taking cover.

As soon as the countdown ended, he leaned out just enough for only his machine gun and part of his head to be exposed, using the bulletproof glass as his shield.

His counterattack was ruthless. Precise and uninterrupted bursts of fire crushed any opposition. Bullets whizzed through the air, and the few that struck his armor only left cracks or shattered into harmless fragments the protection held strong.

However, the machine gun proved cumbersome in the tight quarters. Assessing the situation, he discarded it, reaching for the assault rifle on his back and swiftly chambering a round. With a fluid motion, he tossed a flashbang inside, flooding the room with blinding light. Moments later, a smoke grenade followed, instantly filling the space with thick gray fog.

With the room now engulfed in dense smoke, the Punisher stormed in. The thermal optics in his rifle's scope highlighted enemy silhouettes. They couldn't see him but he could see them, taking them out with deadly precision.

No one survived his onslaught.

There were no hidden rooms or modifications in the warehouse, just a staircase and a few crates stacked slightly above floor level.

As the gunfire ceased, only the Punisher remained. He swapped out the magazine in his weapon and began cautiously surveying the area, careful not to expose himself. Checking every corner, he moved forward when suddenly, his instincts made him freeze. A faint sound barely perceptible echoed behind him. In the same instant, a bullet that would have struck the back of his head had he taken another step instead hit his mask. The Punisher instantly rolled to the side, taking cover behind the nearest crate.

"You've got good instincts," a mocking voice echoed off the walls.

The Punisher didn't reply. He focused, listening carefully, trying to pinpoint his enemy's location.

Bang!

A bullet struck the shelf behind him, piercing through the metal racks but missing its target. He rolled into another cover, trying to determine the shooter's position. But either the enemy was changing positions too fast, making it impossible to track him, or were these ricochets?

"Shit, does this bastard have a computer in his brain? How the hell is he calculating these trajectories?" the Punisher thought.

Bang!

Two more shots. One bullet hit his armor, nearly piercing the Kevlar, while the other grazed the edge of his shoulder, barely missing his skin. The bullets lost velocity upon impact, reducing their penetration power.

"You have no courage! Face me like a real man!" the Punisher called out, trying to buy time and devise a plan to lure his opponent out.

At that moment, bullets struck the floor just inches from him. He abruptly darted from cover, firing a burst in the direction of the sound, but his shots missed. The enemy was either too quick or just outside his line of sight.

"You're good. It's rare to come across someone like you… Punisher," the voice taunted, dripping with amusement, as if the enemy was enjoying this game.

Another barrage of gunfire erupted from an unknown direction. One bullet struck the Punisher's neck, piercing through the protective fabric but not causing serious injury. He ignored the pain, staying focused on the fight. Firing another burst at the estimated position of the shooter, he realized he had missed again.

In return, another round of shots came his way. The bullets slammed into his mask and armor, forcing him back into cover. One round managed to penetrate the vest, grazing his side. He gritted his teeth, ignoring the sharp pain.

"Time to change tactics," he decided, realizing that a prolonged shootout wasn't in his favor.

He threw one of his last flashbangs. Quickly shedding part of his heavy gear, he kept only his tactical vest. Then, he arranged his discarded suit to resemble a body, tying a small piece of cloth around the trigger of his rifle to create a distraction.

Grabbing his final flashbang, he hurled it upward. The grenade struck the ceiling and detonated, flooding the room with a blinding light and a deafening blast. Simultaneously, he pressed down on the trigger of his rifle, creating a diversion while sprinting around from the opposite direction.

Agent Zero wasn't fooled. Shielding his face with his hand, he minimized the effects of the flash, while his specialized tactical goggles further mitigated its impact. Quickly analyzing the situation, he calculated the direction of the real attack and fired several precise shots. Hearing impacts, he continued shooting, intent on finishing the job.

"Argh!" Zero grunted as the Punisher tackled him with brutal force, slamming him to the ground. His weapon clattered away as he hit the floor with a heavy thud. Wasting no time, the Punisher unleashed a relentless barrage of devastating blows. Each punch landed like a sledgehammer, driving Zero deeper into the ground.

"Take this, you son of a bitch," the Punisher growled, pounding Zero into the floor. His fists shattered the agent's goggles, breaking his nose and spilling blood across his battered face.

The Punisher stood over his defeated opponent, breathing heavily.