The Rinnegan was a strange ability.
It wasn't solely ocular. At its core, it was spiritual—an overwhelming force that attacked not the body, but the soul.
The proof had already been made clear when even the Hulk succumbed to it earlier.
So even though the fleeing enemies had their backs turned, Zenkichi knew none of them would escape.
They were already trapped.
Why hadn't they collapsed yet?
Simple.
Zenkichi hadn't allowed it.
The damage from the Rinnegan was embedded within their spirits, lingering in silence, under his total control.
He stood still, watching their retreating figures with an expressionless gaze.
Then he spoke.
"Fall."
Instantly, every one of them dropped like marionettes with cut strings. Their bodies hit the ground with drunken clumsiness, unconscious before they even realized what happened.
"..."
Tony Stark stood frozen, completely speechless. His earlier resolve wavered under the crushing weight of what he had just witnessed.
Again, a voice whispered in his mind—Should I try to learn from this man?
Zenkichi's strength was beyond abnormal.
It wasn't brute force. It was control. Subtle. Absolute.
It terrified Tony more than any battle suit ever could.
"Done," Zenkichi muttered, turning his head slightly.
"I saw it," Tony said, trying to hide his shock behind sarcasm. "I'm not blind, you know."
Zenkichi gave a short nod.
"You deal with the rest. I'm not cleaning up your mess."
"That's fair."
Tony hadn't expected any help to begin with. Zenkichi showing up at all was already a gift.
"I've got it from here. You can head back."
"Alright."
Zenkichi turned away and disappeared with little fanfare.
But he didn't go far.
Not because he wanted to keep an eye on Tony—but because something else had caught his attention.
A sudden fluctuation of energy in the distance.
A low rumble of thunder cracked through the sky. Power gathered far off, sharp and erratic. He narrowed his eyes.
That wasn't ordinary lightning.
This was the Marvel Universe, when power like that gathered, it always meant something.
Without hesitation, Zenkichi shifted toward it, his curiosity piqued.
When he arrived, the sight before him confirmed his instincts.
A man stood there, confusion written across his face. He held a hammer in both hands, staring at it like it had betrayed him.
Zenkichi recognized him instantly.
Thor.
The God of Thunder looked unsettled. His grip on Mjölnir was tight, but the divine lightning that usually accompanied it refused to answer.
He could still summon thunder, yes—but the divine power of a god?
That was locked away.
Unusable.
It was almost comical.
Zenkichi narrowed his eyes as he approached, then stepped forward casually.
"It's you," he said aloud.
Thor's head turned, startled by the voice.
Zenkichi stood before him, calm and relaxed, eyes sharp.
He offered a slight smile.
"Hello."
There was no bow.
He knew Thor's origin. Son of Odin. Prince of Asgard.
But so what?
Zenkichi didn't kneel before gods.
Not in this world.
Not ever.
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