In Marvel with the Force?

A cool wind swept through the grounds, rustling the leaves of the overgrown trees. The faint sound of children laughing could be heard in the distance, but Tyr wasn't paying attention.

He was in the yard, shirtless and drenched in sweat, his fists slamming into the worn-out punching bag he had cobbled together from old fabric and duct tape. Each strike was precise, powerful, and purposeful.

Tyr's muscles burned with exertion, but he welcomed the pain. It grounded him, gave him something to focus on besides the chaos swirling in his mind. Theon's memories had been a double-edged sword, granting him knowledge far beyond his years but burdening him with questions he couldn't answer.

The memories of martial arts were particularly vivid. Theon had been a natural, picking up disciplines like boxing, kickboxing, krav maga and countless other martial arts with ease. It was as though his body and mind were wired for combat, and now, Tyr found himself inheriting those skills.

Each punch and kick flowed with a precision he had never experienced before, his body moving as though it had been trained for years. Yet, for all the physical improvement, his thoughts remained in turmoil.

'Am I in the MCU?' he wondered, slamming a roundhouse kick into the bag. 'Or some kind of Marvel AU? Please, God—no, TOAA—don't let this be the Cancerverse.'

The thought made him shudder. The Cancerverse, a twisted realm where death didn't exist and life festered like an infection, was a nightmare scenario. If that's where he was, then none of his training would matter.

He stopped mid-strike, breathing heavily, and looked toward the sky. The pale clouds drifted lazily, oblivious to his worries.

"TOAA," he muttered, his voice low. "If you're listening... please tell me I'm not in the Cancerverse. Just give me a sign, anything."

The sky remained silent.

Tyr sighed, running a hand through his damp hair. He wasn't sure if TOAA was even paying attention. For all his supposed omnipotence, he had handed Tyr the memories and powers meant for Theon and disappeared without a word.

He turned back to the punching bag, letting his frustration boil over. With a fierce uppercut, the duct tape holding the bag together gave way, and it fell to the ground in a heap.

"Damn it," he muttered, shaking his sore fists.

The sound of approaching footsteps pulled him out of his thoughts. He turned to see Emily standing a few feet away, clutching her patched-up doll.

"Why are you always out here hitting that thing?" she asked, tilting her head curiously.

"Training," Tyr said simply, picking up the remnants of the punching bag. "It's good for you. Builds strength."

Emily wrinkled her nose. "It looks like it hurts."

Tyr chuckled softly. "A little pain's good. It reminds you that you're alive."

"Can I try?"

The question caught him off guard. Tyr blinked, studying her small frame and innocent expression. He opened his mouth to tell her no, but something stopped him.

"You sure?" he asked instead.

Emily nodded eagerly, her red hair bouncing with the motion.

Tyr grabbed one of the smaller sandbags from his makeshift training pile and set it up at her height. "Okay, first rule: don't hit it with your thumb inside your fist. You'll break it."

Emily frowned, clenching her fist and inspecting it carefully. "Like this?"

Tyr adjusted her hand, showing her the proper form. "There. Now give it a good punch."

She hesitated for a moment, then threw a small but determined punch at the bag. The impact barely made a sound, but she turned to Tyr with a triumphant grin.

"How was that?"

"Not bad," Tyr said, ruffling her hair. "Keep practicing, and you'll get stronger in no time."

---

That night, Tyr lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. The room was dark, save for the faint glow of the repaired alarm clock on the dresser. His body ached from the day's training, but his mind refused to rest.

He clenched his fists, frustration bubbling to the surface. He had tried everything he could think of to tap into the power TOAA had supposedly given him, but it was like trying to grasp smoke. No matter how much he concentrated, the energy remained elusive, just out of reach.

'What am I missing?' he thought, his violet eyes narrowing.

The hum he had felt beneath his skin was still there, faint but constant. It wasn't tied to his emotions—he had tried anger, focus, even calm meditation. Nothing worked.

He sat up, running a hand through his hair. "Come on," he muttered to himself. "If I have this power, I need to figure out how to use it. I can't just sit around waiting for it to show itself."

Tyr glanced around the room, his gaze falling on his desk. It was cluttered with tools, blueprints, and half-finished projects—a testament to his love for building and fixing things. He had always found comfort in creation, in the process of turning scraps into something functional.

Maybe that was the answer. If he couldn't rely on his powers, he needed to prepare in other ways.

Tyr swung his legs off the bed and walked to the desk, pulling out a fresh sheet of paper. He began to sketch, his mind racing with possibilities.

Weapons. Armor. Gadgets.

He didn't know what kind of dangers this world held, but he knew he needed to be ready for anything. If the memories were correct, this wasn't a safe place. Heroes and villains clashed regularly, and innocent people were often caught in the crossfire.

As he sketched, an idea began to form.

'I can train my body, sharpen my mind, and build the tools I'll need. Even if I can't use my powers yet, I won't be helpless.'

The thought brought a flicker of hope.

The next morning, Tyr's resolve solidified. He returned to the yard, this time accompanied by a small group of kids he had convinced to join him. Emily was among them, along with two boys around his age: Marcus, a wiry teen with a knack for climbing, and Liam, a burly kid who was surprisingly quick on his feet.

Tyr stood before them, arms crossed. "We're going to train. Build strength, endurance, and discipline. It won't be easy, but it'll be worth it."

Liam raised an eyebrow. "Why? It's not like we're going to war or something."

Tyr met his gaze evenly. "You don't know that. The world's unpredictable. Being prepared never hurts."

Marcus smirked. "And you're going to be our drill sergeant?"

"Something like that," Tyr said, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

He began with the basics: push-ups, sit-ups, running laps around the yard. The kids groaned and complained, but Tyr kept them moving, offering encouragement when needed and corrections when they faltered.

By the end of the day, they were all exhausted, collapsing onto the grass in a heap.

Emily looked up at Tyr, her freckled face flushed from exertion. "You're really strong," she said between breaths.

Tyr smiled faintly, his hands on his hips. "Keep this up, and you will be too."

As the kids laughed and teased one another, Tyr stood apart, his gaze drifting toward the horizon. The unknown loomed before him, vast and threatening. But for the first time since the memories had awakened, he felt a glimmer of control.

He didn't know what the future held, but he was determined to face it head-on.