In Marvel with the Force?

Guys there's a guy in the review that called yall bot would you mind ratioing him?(or giving me suggestion for that matter)

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The rooftop smelled of blood and steel, the air heavy with the aftermath of battle. Tyr stood over Kirigi's body, his sword still dripping with the assassin's lifeblood. His breaths were deep and deliberate, each one still tied to the rhythm he'd developed mid-fight.

As the Force-enhanced energy faded, his body began to tremble, exhaustion taking hold. The absurdity of what had just happened hit him like a freight train.

"Did I... really just win using a technique from Demon Slayer?" he muttered, staring at his hands. He flexed his fingers, feeling the raw power still coursing faintly through his muscles.

It was ridiculous, and yet, undeniable. He'd tapped into the Force in a way he'd never done before—melding it with breathing techniques that had almost no basis in reality.

Oliver was still fighting, his makeshift shield dented and streaked with blood, but he was holding his ground. The boy was exhausted, his movements sluggish and his breath labored.

"Not bad, Yellow," Tyr called out as he sprinted toward the fray, his sword gleaming.

"Could use some help here!" Oliver shouted, bashing another assassin in the face with his shield.

Tyr didn't hesitate. He leapt into the fight, his Force sense guiding him as he parried one assassin's blade and countered with a clean slash across their chest. The assassin crumpled, their weapon clattering to the ground.

The remaining ninjas hesitated, their gazes darting between Tyr and Oliver.

"Your leader's dead," Tyr said, his voice cold and distorted by his helmet. "You can leave, or you can join him."

The assassins chose the latter, surging toward Tyr in unison.

What followed was swift and brutal.

Tyr moved like a whirlwind, his enhanced reflexes and training turning the tide of the battle. His sword danced through the air, deflecting strikes and delivering lethal counterattacks with surgical precision.

Oliver stood frozen, his eyes wide as Tyr cut through the assassins one by one. Blood sprayed, bodies fell, and within moments, the rooftop was silent once more.

Tyr stood in the center of the carnage, his armor splattered with blood and his sword dripping. He exhaled deeply, his breathing steady but his mind racing.

Behind him, Oliver dropped his shield with a metallic clang. "You... you killed them," he said, his voice trembling.

Tyr turned to face him, pulling off his helmet. His face was pale, his expression tired but resolute.

"Yeah. I did."

Oliver took a shaky step back, his hands trembling. "I... I didn't think... I mean, I knew you were strong, but this?" He gestured to the bodies around them, his voice breaking. "You're a vigilante. You're the Violet Wolf."

Tyr's gaze softened, but his voice remained firm. "Yeah, I am."

Oliver stumbled back, his mind racing as he tried to process the revelation. Tyr wasn't just his brilliant, occasionally sarcastic friend—he was the man who had been terrorizing New York's underworld for months.

"I thought... I mean, I thought you were just good at fighting," Oliver said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't think you were this good."

Tyr sighed, wiping his sword clean on one of the fallen assassin's sashes. "I didn't want you to find out like this. But it is what it is."

Oliver opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, Tyr raised his voice. "Argos, I know you're listening. Care to explain why you went against my direct order and involved Yellow in this?"

A faint hum filled the air, and Argos's voice emerged from Tyr's comms, calm yet purposeful.

"Your survival probability had reached critical levels. Without external intervention, your death was statistically inevitable."

"That's not your call to make," Tyr snapped. "I told you not to involve him in my work. He's not ready for this."

"To ignore my directive to preserve your life would render my existence meaningless," Argos replied, its tone steady yet uncharacteristically emotional.

Tyr blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "What are you talking about?"

"I exist to assist and protect you," Argos continued. "Your death would result in catastrophic consequences. Grandpa Finn, your designated guardian, would likely succumb to severe depression, leading to his untimely demise. Your vigilante work would cease, allowing crime syndicates to reclaim their lost power. The world would lose an irreplaceable asset."

Tyr's mouth opened, then closed. He hadn't expected this level of reasoning from Argos.

"And," Argos added, its voice softening slightly, "I would lose my purpose. Without you, my existence would be hollow."

Oliver, still reeling from the earlier revelations, stared at the comm in Tyr's hand. "Is your AI... sentient?"

Tyr sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Apparently."

Argos spoke again. "To ensure your survival, involving Oliver was the most viable option. His presence increased your success probability by 23%."

Tyr pinched the bridge of his nose, his frustration warring with exhaustion. "We're going to have a long talk about boundaries later. For now, stand by."

"Understood," Argos replied, its voice returning to its usual composed tone.

Oliver finally broke the silence, his voice shaky but tinged with disbelief. "You're insane, you know that? You're a genius inventor, a vigilante, and now your AI has a personality? What else are you hiding?"

Tyr chuckled weakly, sheathing his sword. "Plenty. But one crisis at a time."

He reached out, placing a hand on Oliver's shoulder. "Look, I know this is a lot. But we'll talk it through. I promise."

Oliver stared at him for a long moment before nodding, though the tension in his body didn't ease.

"Fine. But you owe me answers."

"Fair enough," Tyr said, stepping toward the edge of the rooftop. "Now let's get out of here before more show up."