In Marvel with the Force?

Tyr stood in the dim glow of his workshop, his reflection distorted on the blade of the reinforced steel sword in his hands. The weight felt natural now after weeks of relentless training, but it wasn't the weapon that made him uneasy—it was the stakes of the coming battle.

The Hand was a nightmare made real. Their assassins had pushed him to his limits, nearly killing him once already. If they came for him again, he would either rise as a true force to be reckoned with or fall in pieces on some bloodstained rooftop.

"Argos," Tyr said, breaking the silence.

The AI's emblem pulsed to life. "Yes, Tyr?"

"If I don't come back tonight, or if they somehow compromise me—brainwash me or whatever it is they do—you know what to do. Shut everything down. Burn every project. And stop me by any means necessary."

Argos paused for a fraction of a second, an unusual hesitation. Then: "Understood. All protocols will be enacted upon failure to return or confirmed compromise."

Tyr exhaled, gripping the sword tighter. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

The city's rooftops blurred beneath Tyr's feet as he moved like a shadow, his armor absorbing the faint moonlight. His Force sense prickled with unease, a subtle warning he'd come to trust.

Something was watching. No—someone.

Tyr stopped on the ledge of a rooftop, his sword resting lightly on his shoulder as he scanned the streets below.

"Argos," he whispered. "Anything on thermal?"

"Negative," the AI replied. "No detectable presence within a 50-meter radius."

Tyr frowned, his grip tightening on the hilt of the blade. His instincts were rarely wrong, and tonight they screamed danger.

The first attack came silently, a flicker of motion in the corner of his eye. Tyr twisted just in time, his sword clashing with a dagger aimed at his throat.

The Hand's assassin landed lightly before him, their blade flicking out in a second strike. Tyr deflected it with a ringing clash of steel, stepping back into a defensive stance.

A second figure emerged from the shadows, then a third. The assassins moved with inhuman precision, their red sashes the only splash of color against the black night.

Tyr raised his sword, his voice steady despite the adrenaline pounding in his veins. "I am Violet Wolf, aspiring Earth protector and one of the sworn enemies of the Hand. I challenge you."

The assassins didn't respond. They simply attacked.

The first blow came fast, a curved blade slicing through the air toward Tyr's ribs. He parried, the impact jolting his arms, and spun into a counterstrike that forced the attacker back.

Another assassin lunged from the side, their twin daggers gleaming. Tyr ducked low, his sword sweeping upward in a sharp arc. The tip of the blade caught the assassin's arm, drawing a spray of blood as they stumbled away.

A third came from behind, their katana slicing toward his back. Tyr pivoted, his Force sense guiding him, and barely raised his sword in time to block the strike. Sparks flew as the blades clashed, the assassin's strength nearly overwhelming him.

He shoved them back with a burst of raw strength, panting as the three circled him like wolves.

They're coordinated, Tyr realized, his pulse pounding. They're trying to tire me out.

The fight exploded into chaos.

Tyr's sword moved in sweeping arcs, intercepting blades from every direction. He stepped, spun, and ducked with fluid precision, each movement guided by the Force.

One assassin darted forward, their blade aimed for his throat. Tyr sidestepped, slamming the hilt of his sword into their ribs. The assassin crumpled, but two more filled their place, their attacks relentless.

The clang of steel echoed through the night as Tyr fought to keep up. Sweat poured down his face beneath the helmet, his muscles screaming in protest with every strike.

A blade slipped through his defenses, slicing across his thigh. Tyr gritted his teeth against the pain, twisting to deliver a backhanded slash that forced his attacker to retreat.

Another strike came, this one aimed for his side. Tyr blocked it, the force of the impact reverberating up his arms, and countered with a thrust that pierced the assassin's shoulder.

The figure stumbled back, clutching the wound, but Tyr barely had time to catch his breath before another was upon him.

Minutes blurred together in a haze of blood, sweat, and steel.

Tyr's body ached, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he parried another strike. His Force sense flared, warning him of an attack from behind. He dropped low, the assassin's blade whistling past his head, and rolled to the side, coming up with a sweeping strike that caught their leg.

The assassin crumpled with a scream, but Tyr's victory was short-lived.

The remaining attackers surged forward in unison, their blades a whirlwind of death. Tyr deflected one, ducked another, and lashed out with a desperate slash that bought him a moment's reprieve.

The assassins suddenly stopped, stepping back to form a loose circle around him. Tyr stood in the center, blood dripping from the tears in his armor, his chest heaving.

From the shadows, a figure emerged.

Tall and imposing, he moved with a predatory grace, his red-and-black robes flowing with every step. At his side hung a katana, its ornate hilt glinting faintly in the moonlight.

The man's eyes met Tyr's, cold and calculating.

"I am Kirigi," he said, his voice smooth and menacing. "Leader of the Hand's elite. You have earned my attention."

Tyr tightened his grip on his sword, straightening despite the exhaustion weighing on him. "Good," he said, his voice steady. "I was starting to get bored."

Kirigi's lips curled into a faint smile. "You are bold. But boldness without skill is meaningless. Shall we test yours?"

Tyr raised his blade, falling into a ready stance. "Bring it."

Kirigi moved like lightning.

The first strike came faster than Tyr could react, the katana slicing toward his neck. He barely managed to parry, the impact sending shockwaves through his arms.

Kirigi pressed the attack, his strikes precise and unrelenting. Tyr was forced to retreat, each step feeling heavier as the exhaustion set in.

"You fight well," Kirigi said, his voice calm even as his blade moved with deadly intent. "But your form is incomplete. Undisciplined."

Tyr gritted his teeth, deflecting another strike and countering with a thrust aimed at Kirigi's chest. The leader of the Hand sidestepped effortlessly, his katana slicing toward Tyr's ribs.

Tyr twisted, the blade grazing his armor, and lashed out with a desperate swing. Kirigi blocked it with ease, his katana spinning in a dazzling arc as he pressed forward.

The rooftop became a battlefield, the clash of steel and the scrape of boots on concrete echoing into the night.

Kirigi's strikes were faster, harder, each one forcing Tyr closer to the edge. His Force sense flared with warnings, but even with its guidance, he struggled to keep up.

"You are strong," Kirigi said, his katana locked against Tyr's blade. "But strength alone will not save you."

Tyr growled, shoving Kirigi back with all his might. He swung his sword in a wide arc, but Kirigi dodged gracefully, countering with a strike that sent Tyr stumbling.

Kirigi's next attack came with terrifying speed, the katana aimed for Tyr's chest.

Tyr blocked it, but the force of the blow sent him sprawling. He hit the rooftop hard, the wind knocked from his lungs as his sword skittered from his grasp.

Kirigi loomed over him, his katana raised for the final strike.

"You fought well," Kirigi said, his voice almost respectful. "But this is the end."

The blade descended.