In Marvel with the Force?

The gates of the orphanage groaned open, the sound cutting through the crisp morning air like a warning bell. Tyr paused mid-strike, his fist frozen inches from the patched punching bag. He turned toward the driveway, watching as a massive military truck rolled in, its black, armored frame like a storm cloud blotting out the sun.

The air grew heavy, the idle chatter of the children dying in an instant. The gravel crunched under boots as soldiers disembarked, their movements sharp and rehearsed.

Tyr's violet eyes narrowed. A tall man with a jagged scar down his cheek stepped forward, scanning the yard like a wolf picking its prey. The children huddled together, instinctively shrinking back.

"You there," the man barked, his voice cold and authoritative, pointing directly at Tyr. "Where is the matron?"

Tyr's instincts screamed. Something about these men—how they moved, how they stood—felt wrong. Dangerous.

"Inside," he replied curtly, nodding toward the orphanage.

The man gestured, and his team followed him toward the building. Their boots clattered against the stone steps, a grim drumbeat.

Tyr turned to the kids, who clung to one another in silence. Emily's wide, tearful eyes found his, clutching her worn doll close.

"What's happening, Tyr?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"I don't know," Tyr said, forcing calm into his voice. "But stay here. Don't move. I'll take care of it."

He gave them a firm nod before slipping through the side entrance of the orphanage, his steps quick and silent.

Inside, the halls felt colder, shadows clinging to the peeling walls like cobwebs. Tyr moved toward the sound of voices coming from the mess hall, his heart pounding.

He crouched at the door, peering through the narrow gap. The soldiers stood in a tight formation, weapons slung over their shoulders, facing Ms. Porter. The man with the scar stood at the forefront.

"Ms. Porter," he said, his tone clipped. "You know why we're here."

"I do," Ms. Porter replied, her voice strained but steady. "But these are children. Surely this isn't necessary."

The scarred man's lips curled in something that might have been a smile. "The higher-ups disagree. The Hand has infiltrated too deeply. This facility is compromised. Erasure is the only option."

Tyr's breath hitched. Erasure.

"What about the children?" Ms. Porter asked, her voice breaking slightly.

The man stepped closer, looming over her. "Collateral damage. Some will be spared—the ones with potential. The rest…" He shrugged.

"No!" Ms. Porter's composure cracked. "They're innocent!"

"You knew what this was when you took Hydra's money," the man said, his voice low. "Your regret means nothing now."

"Hail Hydra," another soldier muttered.

The others echoed it in unison, their voices cold and fervent.

Tyr's mind reeled. Hydra. The name burned in his brain, its implications sharp and suffocating. He stumbled back, barely able to think through the rising panic.

He had to get the children out.

Tyr sprinted back to the playground, his heart hammering. The kids turned to him, their faces pale with confusion and fear.

"Run," he said, his voice sharp and urgent. "Get to the woods. Now!"

They hesitated, clutching each other.

"What's happening, Tyr?" Emily asked again, her small voice breaking.

"Just go!" he snapped, his desperation spilling over. "Run!"

But it was too late.

The soldiers emerged from the orphanage, weapons raised.

"Step aside," the scarred man commanded.

Tyr stepped in front of the children, planting his feet firmly. "No."

The man sighed, motioning to his men. "Open fire."

The first shot rang out, and chaos erupted.

Children screamed as bullets ripped through the air. Tyr dove, dragging Emily to the ground, but others weren't so lucky.

Marcus, trying to run for the woods, was struck in the back. He crumpled to the ground, blood pooling beneath him. Another boy was gunned down near the swings, his body flung like a rag doll.

Tyr's vision blurred with rage. He launched himself at the nearest soldier, his fists a blur of fury. He drove his elbow into the man's throat, feeling the cartilage give way, then grabbed the rifle and swung it, shattering another soldier's visor.

A rifle butt slammed into his ribs, knocking him to his knees. He spat blood and rose again, slamming the weapon into his attacker's face. Teeth and blood sprayed as the man fell.

But for every soldier Tyr downed, two more took their place. The children's screams grew fainter.

Emily cried out beside him, her doll tumbling from her grasp. Tyr turned, reaching for her, but a bullet struck her chest. Her small body jolted, her eyes wide with shock.

"EMILY!" Tyr screamed, catching her as she fell.

Her lips moved, but no sound came out. She stared at him, tears mixing with blood, and then her eyes closed.

Something inside Tyr snapped.

The hum that had been a faint presence for weeks now roared to life, an unstoppable force coursing through his veins. His grief twisted into something feral, something uncontainable.

A soldier raised his rifle, but Tyr didn't move. The man was flung backward, his body slamming into a tree with a sickening crack.

Tyr stood, Emily's blood on his hands, his violet eyes blazing with unnatural light.

Another soldier charged, shouting, "For Hydra!"

Tyr flicked his wrist, and the man's legs snapped like twigs. He collapsed, screaming, before Tyr silenced him with a downward thrust of invisible force, crushing his chest.

The remaining soldiers opened fire, but the bullets stopped inches from Tyr's skin, hanging in the air like insects caught in amber. With a flick of his hand, the bullets reversed course, shredding the soldiers where they stood.

The scarred man tried to retreat, but Tyr wasn't done. He grabbed the man with an unseen force, lifting him high into the air.

"Wait!" the man gasped, clawing at his throat. "Please—"

"No," Tyr growled, clenching his fist. The man's body folded inward with a wet crunch before falling lifeless to the ground.

The battlefield fell silent. Blood soaked the earth, and the orphanage stood as a hollowed shell of death.

Tyr dropped to his knees beside Emily, his trembling hands brushing her lifeless face. The doll lay beside her, stained red.

"I tried," he whispered, tears streaming down his face. "I tried to save you."

But the bodies of the children around him told a different story.

Tyr's grief turned to something darker as he stood, his fists clenched and his eyes glowing with the remnants of his power.

"Hail Hydra," he spat, his voice venomous. "You'll pay. All of you."