Deadpool was currently sharpening a set of steak knives against his own forearm, sparks flying everywhere. He paused to sniff the air, which smelled like burnt ozone and cheap cigar smoke.
"Alright, tum, pull the children away from the screen because things are about to get uncivilized!" Deadpool barked, tossing a half-eaten chimichanga over his shoulder. "In one corner, we have the Canadian pocket-rhino with anger issues and a skeleton made of 'f-you' metal! In the other, we have the teenager who thinks 'Monster' is a career choice and hits harder than a mid-life crisis! It's the Best there is at what he does vs. the Hero Hunter!"
The arena was the Shattered Metropolis, a graveyard of fallen skyscrapers and rusted rebar under a blood-red sky. Dust devils swirled through the empty streets, carrying the scent of old gasoline.
Heimdall stood atop a tilted bus, holding his sword. "Semi-Finals Match Ten! The feral X-Man, the Wolverine, Logan! Versus the self-proclaimed Human Monster, Garou!"
The Unbreakable Brawler
Logan stepped out from the shadows of an alleyway, lighting a cigar with a match struck against his own knuckle. SNIKT! Six blades of shimmering adamantium slid out from his hands. "Listen, kid. I've fought gods, aliens, and my own memories. You're just another punk with a bad haircut."
Garou cracked his neck, his yellow eyes glowing with predatory intensity. He took a low, flowing stance—the Water Stream Rock Smashing Fist. "An old man with knives in his hands? You're just another stepping stone on my way to becoming a true disaster."
Garou moved first. He was a blur of silver hair and flowing motion. He struck Logan a dozen times in a second—palms hitting pressure points, kicks snapping ribs. Logan didn't even try to dodge. He took every hit, grunting, and lunged forward with a wild, horizontal slash.
Garou flowed around the claws like water, his technique deflecting the force of Logan's swings. "Too slow," Garou taunted, delivering a crushing blow to Logan's jaw.
Evolution of the Monster
"Deadpool checking in, tum! Look at the healing factor go!" the merc shouted, pointing a shaky camera at the fight. "Logan's skin is knitting back together before the blood even hits the pavement! But Garou is doing something scary—he's learning the rhythm of the claws!"
Garou realized that standard martial arts weren't working on a man who wouldn't stay down. He began to grow. His hair spiked further, and a dark, carapace-like energy began to coat his skin. He abandoned the "Water Stream" and switched to pure, brutal power.
Logan went into a Berserker Rage. He stopped thinking and became a whirlwind of teeth and metal. He managed to catch Garou's shoulder, the adamantium slicing through Garou's "monster" armor like paper.
Garou roared, his power skyrocketing as he "adapted" to the pain. He grabbed Logan's wrists, his grip strength enough to crush steel. "Your bones... they won't break. But your spirit will!"
The God-Slayer Strike
Garou performed the Roaring Aura Sky Ripping Fist. He delivered a punch so powerful it sent a shockwave through the entire city block, leveling the surrounding buildings.
Logan was buried under tons of concrete. He started to dig his way out, his healing factor working overtime, but Garou was already there. As Logan emerged, Garou didn't hit him—he used a massive, high-speed combination that targeted Logan's nervous system, bypassing the healing factor by overloading the brain with pure sensory trauma.
With one final, earth-shattering palm strike to the forehead, the shockwave rattled Logan's brain inside his indestructible skull. The X-Man's eyes went vacant, and he slumped into the rubble, unconscious.
"Match Ten winner... GAROU!" Heimdall announced, looking over the devastated ruins.
Up in the booth, Deadpool was pouring a bottle of water over his head to cool down. "Man, that kid is a quick learner! Logan is gonna have a headache that lasts for three movies. That's ten legends in the bag, tum!"
Deadpool tapped the screen, and the next match popped up. He stopped and let out a whistle. "Oh, this is a classy one. We've got the ultimate gentleman vs. the guy who thinks equivalent exchange is a personality trait."
"Are you ready for Match 11: Jonathan Joestar vs. Edward Elric?"