Roronoa Zoro vs Deadpool

The Arena

Nobody, including Zoro, knows how he ended up at a taco stand in the desert. Deadpool knew exactly how he got there: he walked, because the story needed him to. He looked at the green-haired man with three swords and turned to an invisible camera. “Oh, this is going to be good. Swords versus swords, baby.”

Zoro asked for directions to the sea. Deadpool pointed in four directions at once and then, for no clear reason, stabbed him in the leg. Zoro put the third sword in his teeth.

Round One

Deadpool was fast and dirty, mixing katana strikes with kicks, gunshots and taunts. Zoro deflected bullets with the flat of his blades, which Deadpool found so impressive he stopped to applaud, and got slashed across the chest for his trouble.

The wound closed in seconds. Deadpool looked down at it and up at Zoro. “Oh, you are the serious type. I love the serious type.” He attacked again, talking non-stop about tacos, about his love life, about the fact that this story was probably only a page long.

Zoro tried to ignore the chatter. It was impossible. Deadpool narrated his own attacks, rated Zoro’s haircut, and asked twice whether the sword in his mouth tasted like anything. When Zoro finally snapped and swung with real force, Deadpool ducked under it, high-fived him, and stuck a grenade in his belt.

The Turn

Zoro grew annoyed, which made him precise. He stopped holding back and cut through Deadpool’s swords, his guns, and then Deadpool himself, a single clean stroke that dropped the mercenary in two pieces in the sand.

Deadpool’s top half kept talking. “Okay, rude. Rude! Do you know how long this takes?” His legs crawled back toward him. Zoro stared in horror. He had fought many monsters, but never one that would not stop chatting.

The pieces rejoined, and Deadpool came back swinging. Zoro cut him again. And again. It was not a fight anymore. It was an argument with a man who would never lose by dying.

The Finish

Zoro realised he could not kill this man, so he decided to stop him instead. He wrapped Deadpool in a tarp from the taco stand, tied it with a length of rope and, with a single slash, sent him flying over the horizon.

The last thing anyone heard was a fading voice: “This doesn’t count! I want a rematch! And a better writer!” Zoro sheathed his swords and sat down at the taco stand.

The owner, who had hidden under the counter the whole time, slowly emerged and set down a plate of tacos. Zoro ate them, paid with a coin he did not recognise, and walked off in exactly the wrong direction for the sea.