Frank Castle had thrown everything he had at the Wizard but to no avail.  He was physically and mentally exhausted.  The old man dodged bullets, absorbed grenades, and cut down every offensive tactic that was thrown his way; still he stood his ground, cane in hand, a protective aura encircling him.

“Who are you?” The Punisher asks, defeat in his voice.

“I am Gandalf the White, head of the Istari, and protector of Middle-Earth,”  he replied. “And I am deeply sorry my dear boy, but your time is at an end.”

Gandalf raises his cane overhead and mutters an enchantment Castle cannot hope to understand.  His body suddenly becomes weightless; he floats a few feet off the ground but is paralyzed, his arms and legs outstretched.

The Wizard leans in close and says reassuringly “I’ll try to make this as painless as possible”, without hesitation, Gandalf directs his gaze at the Punisher, consuming the Veteran’s body and soul in a mystic fire.  His essence is destroyed; Frank Castle is dead.