Tensura : Vingthor

The wheel has turned. The wheel turns. The wheel readies to turn again. Do you understand yet? Or not?

He drifted in an endless void, clutching at the faint light in his hands—helpless, purposeless.

In this lifeless expanse, he let those strange, new memories wash over his now immortal mind, flowing like rivers through shattered lands.

Memories of triumph, echoing across the vast cosmos, bringing hope to the innocent and despair to those who dared spill their blood.

Memories of wars that shook the very fabric of creation, shattering boundaries that should never have been crossed.

Memories of comrades—men and women he was proud to call brothers and sisters.

Memories of avengers and defenders, of heroes and villains, of gods and monsters.

Memories of a world of endless marvels.

But also memories of failure, of shame, of an eternal struggle to be worthy.

Worthy of friendship.

Worthy of brotherhood.

Worthy of the crown.

Worthy of the title: Hero.

Day turned to night, and night to day, yet the battle within his fractured soul raged on.

A ceaseless conflict between the mortal he had once been and the god he had become.

But what is time to an immortal? What is a year but a fleeting moment of nothingness? A decade, a mere breath. A century, an hour—if that hour was worth remembering.

For countless years, the battle within raged, unseen by the world.

Unyielding. Unending.Until one day, he heard them.

The prayers.

He heard them. Even across worlds, across the dark, he hears them.

Prayers of salvation, of hope, of devotion. Prayers for deliverance, for justice, for love—and for vengeance.

So many prayers. So many lives extinguished.

The voices overwhelm him, each one a whisper and a scream, a symphony of desperation and suffering. And he freezes.

The raw power of their cries seeps into his being, igniting a fire within him. Rage boils, unchecked, as the weight of their pain crashes against him, relentless, even here—in this endless void, outside the boundaries of time and space.

It shouldn't matter. It couldn't matter.

Yet it does.

Among the flood of memories that rage within his fractured soul, two emerge above all others. One mortal. One divine.

The first is the man he once was: James Norman. A man who swore an oath as a soldier, a protector. A man bound by duty to serve and defend, no matter the cost.

The second is the god he has become: Thor Odinson. The son of Odin and Gaia. The child of the Phoenix. A god who, too, swore a sacred vow—to shield the innocent, to safeguard the weak, to stand against the darkness.

Man and god. Mortal and divine. Two voices, one soul.

And for the first time, they agree.

It doesn't matter who or what he is. Not anymore.

What matters is simple. Innocent people are suffering, and he has the power to help them. He has the duty to protect them.

His hand reaches out, trembling, to the glowing hammer that has refused to leave his side since he first arrived in this void. His fingers wrap around its hilt, and he whispers softly:

"You and I, old friend… please grant me strength."

The hammer hums in response, as if it hears his plea. Raw power surges into him, the storm awakening in his veins. Lightning crackles across his body, thunder roars in the empty expanse, and his eyes widen as he feels the tempest within him stir to life.

He smiles faintly, gripping the hammer tighter.

"Thank you."

The void trembles. A wave of unimaginable power explodes from his body, shattering the timeless stillness.

The [Odin force] , the power of an All-Father, unleashes its righteous fury, tearing through the fabric of reality.

For the second time in existence, the void itself recoils. It withers, cracks, and breaks under the weight of his wrath, as if the very concept of its nothingness cannot endure such might.

And as the storm rages around him, he raises his hammer high, lightning swirling in its wake. He spins it once, then twice, the motion gathering momentum, and with a fierce cry, he hurls it forward.

The force of the throw propels him, carrying him across the shattered remains of the void. His destination:

A world forsaken by its creator.

A world abandoned by its god

A world crying out in desperation.

He goes not as a man, nor as a god, but as both.

He goes to answer a prayer and a promise .

________________________________________

Meanwhile, within the Central Axis world, war raged—a great reckoning ignited by a hero who had cast his judgment upon the land. Thus The world burned under his decree.

This was the Great Tenman War, and with it came nothing but despair and carnage.

Death swept across the land indiscriminately. It didn't matter what you were—a monster, a human, a demon, a dragon.

There was no refuge, no salvation, only death and despair for all but a few—those strong enough to endure the endless onslaught.

The reason for this destruction was simple. A certain hero had unleashed his will upon the world. A certain emperor had decreed that humanity had grown too much, advanced too far, and that the state of the world needed to be erased.

The board had to be wiped clean, reset for his eternal game with his so-called rival.

And so, countless lives were lost. Cities fell. Nations crumbled. Despair reigned supreme.

Until the skies broke.

The crack of thunder echoed across the cardinal world, reverberating through the heavens and earth. It was deafening, primal, and in its wake, an unnatural silence fell.

Every living being—every monster, human, demon, and dragon—froze. Instincts screamed at them to stop, to look up , to listen.

A demon lord and a nightmare queen, locked in a vicious battle, stopped mid-clash.

Two true dragons, waging a war of fire and ice, ceased their combat and turned their gazes skyward.

A certain hero and a certain demon, their blades poised to strike, froze in place.

Even a small dragonoid, who had just obliterated an army of angels in boredom, paused, her senses heightened.

From the depths of the underworld, a certain primordial demon stilled, their gaze shifting.

In the heavens above, a primordial angel, the orchestrators of this divine purge, halted, his glowing eyes fixed on the skies.

Reality itself shattered.

In the clear blue sky, a crack split existence asunder, and from it, a figure emerged, wreathed in thunder and lightning .

A raging storm followed him, filling the cardinal world with untamed fury.

Before anyone could comprehend what was happening, bolts of lightning and waves of thunder descended. The angels, who had mercilessly ravaged the world, were struck down where they stood. Each bolt turned them into nothing but ash and dust before they could even react.

The carnage stopped as every being—mortal, monster, and divine—looked to the skies.

There, amidst the storm, stood the figure. His eyes glowed with blinding blue lightning, his presence radiating uncontainable power. He hovered above them all, an enigma, bringing divine and mortal wrath .

The silence was absolute.

And then, he spoke. His voice was a thunderclap, shattering the stillness and reverberating through the hearts of all who heard it.

"Enough"