“All who are worthy of the Allfather cannot stray far, my lord. It is inevitable we return to you.” Heimdall praised. “However, if you wish for this mortal to bend his knee in your name, I encourage you do one of two things: Take his respect through combat, or twist his bias to your whims.”
Heimdall slowly nodded his head. “This mortal behaves more like a hippopotamus than a human: he is deceptively intelligent, but reduced to a primitive base when provoked into anger. Alas, with this Midgardian, that does not take much prodding…”
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The streets were still painted red outside. Creed kept a firm grip on Sif as the guards surrounded them both, demanding for one’s freedom and the other’s surrender for execution. His eyes narrowed at the guard brave enough to speak. Those words revealed something about the woman in his clutches, and when one of the Warrior’s Three arrived with even more guards and spouting the same nonsense, it confirmed what Creed believed:
They all thought Sif was special! That meant he needed to treat her like she was.
Sharp fingers seized Sif by the jaw and tilted her head upward for the predator to gaze down upon her.
“Ya’ll don’t hear too good…” Creed said in a rasp and feigning regret.
Then, his hand moved higher; the claw on his thumb pricking the base of her ear. Like a hot knife through butter, the adamantium nail sliced off the woman’s ear and wound up in the father’s palm briefly before he let it fall into the pile of golden thread at his feet.
“I said I want th’ Gold Man…”
And before anyone could justifiably protest against Creed’s exceptionally vague request, he shocked them all by clamping his hand on top of the freshly scalp-snatched head of the woman he held.
“I. WANT. TH’ GOLD MAN!”
Creed slobbered while he was snarling. Knuckles went white. Claws punctured skin and calloused rubbed against the bleeding wounds. He started to pull upward on Sif’s skull, as if he were pulling a cork off a bottle of wine.
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“…but, therein lies the appeal of its potential usefulness. His rage is fire: destructive when it burns cities to the ground, but valued when used to turn the forests into a savanna. It can be given purpose, if you treat it properly.”
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“BRING ME THAT MOTHERFUCKER!"
Now, Creed was fully convinced he wasn’t killing humans or mutants. The world they lived in was too beautiful – even with all of the damage he’d done to it. The blood of his victims didn’t smell or taste as it should. And there was far too much resistance fighting against Creed’s superhuman strength that kept Sif’s head still attached to her body.
Still, as the seconds passed, Creed put more and more effort into his brawn. If he wasn’t stopped soon, the Asgardian Army would bear witness to the most brutal decapitations in the history of their kind…