In Marvel with the Force?

Tyr's body moved on instinct now, cutting through the endless waves of shadow creatures with an almost mechanical precision. His feet pounded the cracked ground, his fists striking like hammers as he twisted, dodged, and countered every attack.

The monsters swarmed him, their glowing eyes and flickering forms surrounding him from every direction. Their weapons—claws, blades, and unholy constructs—slashed through the air, aiming for him relentlessly. But Tyr's mastery over the Force had evolved far beyond what it was when he first arrived.

He ducked under a wide swing, driving his fist into the nearest enemy's chest. The creature disintegrated into ash, but three more took its place.

"I'M STILL HERE!" Tyr bellowed, his voice raw as he spun and kicked another shadow into the ground. "YOU THINK THIS IS ENOUGH TO BREAK ME?!"

But even as he shouted, there was no denying the truth: he was already broken.

The waves of enemies hadn't gotten stronger in weeks—or months, maybe. Time was meaningless here. He didn't know how long he'd been fighting. The only markers were the scars crisscrossing his body and the hollow ache in his chest that never went away.

The monsters were relentless, but they weren't changing. The same attacks. The same patterns. It was like the prison had given up on testing him, leaving him trapped in an endless loop of monotony and violence.

And Tyr was sick of it.

He let out a guttural roar, channeling the Force into his body as he leapt into the air. His foot crashed down onto one of the creatures, crushing it beneath him. Another swung at him from the side, but his Force precognition flared, allowing him to sidestep and deliver a devastating blow to its head.

"COME ON!" he screamed, his voice echoing across the void. "IS THIS ALL YOU'VE GOT?!"

The creatures didn't respond. They never did.

Tyr fought harder, his movements erratic and wild. He slammed his fist into one shadow's face, then used telekinesis to hurl another into a distant pillar. His breathing was ragged, his body trembling with exhaustion, but he didn't stop.

"WHY WON'T YOU JUST END THIS?!"

The wave ended, as it always did. The creatures dissolved into ash, leaving Tyr standing alone in the desolate ruins. His chest heaved as he staggered to his knees, his hands gripping the cracked ground beneath him.

He stared at his bloodied knuckles, his vision blurring. "What's the point?" he whispered, his voice barely audible.

The storm above churned endlessly, the same as it had since the day he arrived. The oppressive silence between waves pressed down on him, suffocating and cold.

Tyr clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. "I can't do this anymore."

The two-hour pause ticked by in excruciating stillness. Tyr sat against the jagged remains of a ruined pillar, his head tilted back as he stared at the stormy sky.

He thought of Finn, Oliver, and Argos. Were they even still alive? Did they know he was gone?

A bitter laugh escaped his lips. "If they're alive, they've probably forgotten me by now."

The thought made his chest ache.

"YOU'RE A FAILURE," he spat at himself. The words rang in his head, loud and merciless.

When the next wave began, Tyr didn't rise.

The shadows approached, their glowing eyes locking onto him as they drew their weapons.

"Go ahead," Tyr muttered, his voice hollow. "Do it. Finish it."

But the creatures didn't strike. They circled him, waiting, as if taunting him.

Tyr's fists trembled as he pushed himself to his feet. His body moved almost involuntarily, falling into a combat stance. His muscles screamed in protest, but the Force surged through him, compelling him to fight.

"No," he whispered, his voice cracking. "Not anymore."

Tyr dropped his stance, his arms hanging limply at his sides. The shadows paused, their forms flickering uncertainly.

He looked at his hands, battered and bloodstained, and let out a bitter laugh.

"I'm done," he said, his voice rising. "You win."

He turned and walked toward the edge of the ruins, where the ground dropped off into an endless void. The storm above raged, lightning illuminating the abyss below.

Tyr stopped at the edge, staring down into the darkness. His hands clenched into fists, his nails biting into his palms.

"I can't do this anymore," he whispered, tears streaming down his face. "I can't..."

He took a step forward.

The ground shifted beneath him.

Tyr's eyes widened as the ruins dissolved, the swirling void collapsing in on itself. He stumbled backward, his heart pounding as the scenery warped around him.

"What the—?!"

Before he could finish, a blinding light engulfed him.

When Tyr opened his eyes, he was lying on cold asphalt. His body ached, every muscle screaming in protest as he pushed himself upright. The night air was cool against his skin, carrying with it the faint sounds of a bustling city.

He blinked, his vision clearing.

Buildings. Lights. Cars.

Tyr's breath hitched as he realized where he was.

"New York..." he whispered, his voice trembling.

Tears welled in his eyes as the weight of the realization hit him. He was back.

He was home.

Tyr buried his face in his hands, sobbing uncontrollably. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he cried out of relief, the sound raw and unrestrained.

"I'm free," he whispered through his tears. "I'm finally free."