Fierce Battle

The Punisher, making threats, leaned back on the sofa in the Hellfire Club, calm and composed. The bottle of whiskey on the table was empty, the cigar box was open, and the Browning Automatic Pistol lay to his right. He was currently puffing away, enjoying an authentic Cuban cigar.

"You damn rich people!" Frank cursed, his face unreadable despite drinking their liquor and smoking their premium cigar.

Wesley pretended not to hear, not daring to show the slightest hint of anger. If he annoyed the other party, he might not live to see his boss arrive.

"Your boss sounds very young. How did he manage to kill Kingpin? Set a trap, or use heavy firepower?" The Punisher seemed completely relaxed, but in reality, if Wesley made any sudden moves, he could blow the man's head off in two seconds.

"Mr. Punisher, I truly know very little about my boss's affairs. He prefers not to show himself, which is why he appointed me as his proxy to handle various matters."

Wesley forced a smile. He knew the young boss didn't trust him, nor did the boss care about loyalty. After all, with enough leverage, a person's beliefs could change at any moment.

"Seems like a cautious fellow." The Punisher asked no more questions. He was merely curious about whoever had killed Kingpin.

When did such a mysterious figure appear in Hell's Kitchen, capable of eliminating both Kingpin and Bullseye, and then taking over their businesses through a puppet? The entire sequence of events had unfolded without a ripple, which Frank found astonishing.

Wesley lowered his head slightly. He actually knew the young boss's identity but chose to conceal it. Under threat to his life, revealing some inconsequential information could be forgiven, but leaking crucial intel would undoubtedly be a complete betrayal.

While the Punisher was terrifying, his boss was no benevolent figure either. Kingpin, who had once ruled Hell's Kitchen with an iron fist, had fallen with ease. Wesley didn't dare harbor any thoughts of rebellion.

Time ticked by, and the Punisher's gaze grew colder. He always kept his word. If Wesley's boss didn't show up within half an hour, then the man would likely lose a capable subordinate.

As the clock's hands neared twelve, the lights in the private room suddenly went out, plunging the entire space into darkness. The Punisher immediately gripped his pistol, his burly frame flipping over the sofa to find suitable cover.

Years of combat training kept him constantly vigilant. This mysterious figure lurking in the shadows, who could so quickly absorb all of Kingpin's remaining assets after his death, proved his intellect was not simple.

Therefore, the Punisher didn't expect the other party to actually come alone. He had already prepared himself to deal with a group of gunmen and thugs, and he had also planned an escape route. If he found the enemy to be too numerous, he would immediately look for an opportunity to flee.

As a retired Marine, the Punisher didn't consider this shameful. Discovering a powerful enemy and charging in recklessly wasn't bravery; it was stupidity!

He wasn't some muscle-brained brute. On the contrary, atop his imposing physique was a brain that could think calmly under any circumstance.

The Hellfire Club was pitch black, as if the power had been cut. In the silent environment, the sound of "tap-tap" footsteps was exceptionally clear. The door to the private room was pushed open. In the near-total darkness, the Punisher raised his Browning Automatic Pistol. With a deafening roar, fire spewed forth as bullets rained down.

The person pushing the door seemed to have anticipated this, quickly flashing to the side, disappearing like a phantom. The bullets missed, striking the doorframe and gouging out a series of dense holes.

The Punisher dropped the empty pistol, drew the tactical knife from his waist, and crouched slightly, like a ferocious wolf waiting for an opportunity.

A fierce gust of wind swept down from above. The Punisher quickly ducked, evading a powerful whip kick. His sharp dagger flashed upwards from below, a lethal arc of steel. His opponent was clearly no novice, sidestepping to block the arm holding the dagger, and then, with hands like a vise, disarmed the Punisher!

"Such great strength..."

His arm felt numb, and the Punisher couldn't help but be surprised. His opponent wasn't particularly large or muscular, yet in their brief exchange, he had overpowered him with sheer force and disarmed him.

Without his combat knife, the Punisher closed the distance instantly, throwing a punch towards his opponent's face. He clearly intended to switch to close-quarters combat, his punches incredibly fast, giving no time for reaction. It was as if he intended to knock his opponent down with this storm of blows!

The intruder, however, was not to be outdone. After blocking a heavy punch aimed at his chest, he continuously shifted his position, his hands swiftly parrying each attack. Like an unyielding reef, he withstood the Punisher's fierce and wild onslaught head-on.

The two were like humanoid combat machines, their punches swift as the wind, tireless. They discarded all complex combat techniques, without any fancy moves, engaging in a fierce brawl!

Leaning on the sofa, too afraid to move, Wesley could only tremble in place as he witnessed the fight between the two. He couldn't help but sigh inwardly, Is this still human?!

"Go down!"

A sudden roar erupted in the spacious private room. Amidst their intense and frequent collisions, the Punisher finally seized an opportunity. Like a tiger descending a mountain, he lunged forward with unstoppable momentum. His right hand chopped down like a great axe, the fierce wind that blasted towards him making one believe that even hard stone would shatter from this blow!

"Weakness limits your imagination..."

Faintly, the Punisher seemed to hear a low chuckle. A sense of immense danger washed over him. His opponent, who had been fighting him evenly moments ago, suddenly transformed into a terrifying beast. The surging aura was like a tidal wave, threatening to engulf him at any moment!

He slammed his full-power, fatal blow into the opponent's arm. A clear cracking sound echoed. The Punisher felt as if he had hit a solid steel plate; the immense recoil directly shattered his hand bone.

His opponent, not giving him a chance, charged at him with incredible speed, his upright body like a mountain peak. The Punisher's considerable 200-pound frame was sent flying like a cannonball, crashing into the wall behind him with a dull thud.

With a soft snap of his fingers, the lights in the private room flickered back on. Sean stood in the center of the wreckage, with shattered tables and chairs around him, wood chips flying, and shards of glass scattered across the floor.

"Just a few broken bones. For you, this should be like everyday life," Sean said in a relaxed tone, looking at the Punisher struggling to get up. Having completed a scoring mission, he was in a good mood and didn't intend to make the street hero, who showed no mercy to criminals, pay for the club's damages.

This fight had been one-sided from the start. Even though the Punisher, a retired Marine, had undergone rigorous training, was familiar with special operations tactics for individuals and teams, and was proficient in skills such as combat, grappling, shooting, underwater operations, interrogation, and intelligence gathering, he still couldn't escape the human realm.

Facing someone whose strength, speed, and nerve reflexes far surpassed human limits was like a low-level novice encountering a high-level player with divine equipment; he couldn't even scratch the surface.

Against a non-human who could punch through steel plates and whose speed could match a car, the Punisher, no matter how well-trained, was no match for him. The only ones who could pose a threat to Sean now were mutants who controlled psychic powers, the exotic gods of Asgard, and extraterrestrial life forms born with immense power.