Back on Asgard...
“KURT?! KURT! GET MY LITTLE GIRL! GO!”
Those were the last words Victor Creed shouted –half of them muffled by the magnificent sound of magic forces at work – before his view of the world changed. When the brilliance of white and amber light dissipated, the heavy man adorned in golden armor stepped down from his body. The blonde gasped from relief, grimaced from the embarrassment and shamed of being bested so quickly, and then growled out of rage.
Creed glared at the ethereal spheres hovering at opposite ends of his body, as well as the chains spewing out of the light that kept him shackled. After several failed attempts to force the steel to give from his superhuman strength, the feral anchored his attention onto Heimdall, who by now had taken several paces away from Victor and dismissively kept his back towards him.
Heimdall didn’t say a word to animate the spheres again. They pulsated and released some of the tension in the chains that kept the naked feral bound and tethered to the floor. It took Creed seconds to figure out there was enough slack for him to stand upright without much difficulty. As he stood tall – but not taller than the Watcher – that’s when Creed took a moment to study where he was: they both were inside of a beautifully decorated, spacious room fit for the highest nobility, with ample windows along the walls that allowed the generous light of the moon to shine through. Racks of weapons and large bookcases filled with untold knowledge covered portions of the walls that the windows did not. Sparsely furnished, save the king sized bed in the center. And just past the gigantic guardian, Creed saw the only set of double doors in the room. He turned to try and walk towards one of the windows, but didn’t make a full stride before the chains yanked him still.
“…Where am I…?” Creed snarled.
“In a place none would consider looking for you”, replied Heimdall as he slowly turned to face his captive. How interesting that he would bring a prisoner to his own chambers instead of the dungeons where they belonged…
“What for?”
Heimdall didn’t answer, and merely blinked his eyes.
“I asked ya’ a question! Ya’ speak when yer’ fuckin’ spoken to!”
The Watcher continued to coldly gaze towards Creed, unfazed by the feral’s bravado and fast-rising fury.
“Listen up good; ya’ better put me back where ya’ found me, an’ I mean right now! My little girl was hollerin’ out fer’ me---“
Heimdall narrowed his nebula-colored eyes. “Concern yourself with her no longer.”
“Th’ fuck you just say?! “
“Forget you’ve ever known the Midgardian you call ‘Clarice’, for it is highly unlikely you will ever see her again.”
And that’s when Creed lost it.
“WHAT DID YOU DO WITH MY DAUGHTER?! WAS SHE SCREAMIN’ CAUSE OF SOMETHIN YOU DID?!” he roared as he thrashed against his chains. Every muscle in his naked body strained and swelled with conviction he’d be free if he pulled just a bit harder… “IF YOU EVEN THINK ABOUT TOUCHIN’ HER---“ Creed lengthened his claws and reached to cut one of the chains away.
Heimdall wasn’t surprised to see the adamantium claws fail to carve apart the magical metal. Nor was he surprised to hear the soldier’s sudden shriek of agony afterwards as Creed’s body began to violently spasm and shake. The feral couldn’t explain why he was in sudden turmoil, but Heimdall could.
“What binds you – and your ‘daughter’ – are the irons that kept a creature you cannot possibly conceive to be real both docile and subservient.” Heimdall informed. “That pain you feel is a vicious harmony of the Allfather’s wrath, and another father’s lamentation that has cultivated into this over centuries of the most vile of imprisonment.”
Creed could barely understand the Watcher’s words. In his fit of resistance, Creed thought his innards were boiling. He tried to grab and pry the links apart with his impressive strength, only to feel his skin tingle as though lightning struck him over and over, even though no bolts actually blasted him. Creed even went so far as to try and chop off his own arm at this shoulder – forgetting the rest of his bones were coated with the same metal that his claws were – and wound up deeply slicing into dense muscles, adding more to the misery his body woefully endured.
But he somehow had the grim suspicion Clarice was going through a fraction of this pain, and it made Creed try even harder to get free, no matter the cost.
Heimdall sighed as he watched the savage struggle to saw himself apart. With a small gesture of his armored hands, he manipulated the chains that held Creed as if he were a puppeteer: his legs were brought together and straightened while each arm was extended outward. Had there been a wooden cross behind him, Creed would have appeared to be crucified.
“You would maim yourself…just to act upon a fevered dream you believe will lead to escape?”
Creed’s shoulder rapidly repaired itself. Mutant blood dribbled from the closing wound and onto the tiled floor.
“….I’m gonna kill you…” whispered Creed.
Heimdall smiled as he shook his head and turned towards the doors to leave. “...No, you won't!”
“I’M GONNA FUCKIN’ END YOU! YOU HEAR ME?! YER’ DEAD! YER’ FUCKIN DEAD, YA’ GOD DAMNED SON OF A BITCH! I’MMA PULL OUT EVERY BONE IN YER BODY, YANK OUT YER HEART, AND MAKE YOU WATCH IT BEAT FER’ TH’ LAST TIME! I’MMA CUT OFF YER LEGS AND POUND WHAT’S LEFT OF YA’ INTO PULP! GYAAAHHH!! WAIT TILL I GET MY CLAWS IN YOU!"
Sabretooth – crazed over the safety of his child – shouted every gory threat he could think of, even after Heimdall left him alone in his chambers to suffer. The Watcher wondered how long it would take Creed to realize pain from the chains would cease the instant he stopped being hostile to any Asgardian.
Sleipnir struggled constantly for nearly a year before he figured it out. Will this mortal try to do the same, or will his body give out first? Hopefully you will not kill yourself too soon, Victor Creed. I need you alive and blind with rage in order for this to work.
Heimdall ventured down the opulent halls of the Asgard palace, leaving Victor to his screams and his sadistic shouts of revenge, and kept him suspended in place in the center of his chambers. It was only until he reached the doors to the throne room that he addressed the guards that manned them, if only as a courtesy to protocol.
“I know the hour is late, but I request an immediate audience with the Allfather. He will want to see me, I assure you."