“Fuck yer’ ‘people’!” Creed shouted, and followed it up with a viscous ball of spit spat towards the older man’s face. “Ya’ll took my kid from me. Even if it wasn’t you, keepin’ in this box makes ya’ just as guilty! Nggh, I can barely stand to look at ‘cha!” The soldier snarled and spun away from Odin, choosing to look at the wall furthest away.
Even then, the Allfather’s words continued to penetrate his mind and influence his thoughts. The testimony of his daughter and how they were both sacrifices to advance Loki’s treachery rattled Creed to the core. Part of him wanted to question Odin, but it felt so much easier to stay mad. And redirect his anger towards someone ”responsible for everything?”
However, Odin’s last statement made the feral retreat towards the wall he looked towards. Once he was close enough, he sighed…
“Shut up! You talk too much! Keep makin’ me….think ‘things’ ! ’Things’ I didn’t… even realize...”
…and then Creed began wildly scratching at the stone, suddenly struck with an ego crushing epiphany!
“No! NO! NOT AGAIN!” he panted. Swipes sped up, as if Creed was afraid the cell was filling with water, and he’d drown if he couldn’t escape in time. “I’m comin’, Clarice! Daddy’s comin! I ain’t gonna leave it up ta’ someone else to save ya’ this time! Just…hold….ON!”
Claws cut through less than half an inch. And when that proved to be futile, Creed began slamming his shoulder into the stone, and didn’t stop even as it dislocated from the force he used to ram the wall down.
“C’mon, Creed! Kill ‘em all later! Go get yer’ girl!”
WHAM!
“I don’t need none of ya’ll ta’ get my girl back! I don’t need anybody!”
WHAM!”
Odin couldn’t possibly have known that – excluding the first time he saved her during their very first encounter – Creed always needed the aid of someone else to save his daughter. Kurt rescued her from the anti-mutant soldiers while he remained captive, and Loki saved her before she could die in the flood she made..when he was off rutting with his lover. The villain – for the first time ever – was desperate to be a hero. And he’d be damned if his daughter’s safety came from the good graces of what should have been prey and mincemeat.
But after five minutes of nonstop, frantic slashing and bashing – all while reciting the false truth that he didn’t need his friends like a mantra he could force himself to believe - the feral wound up collapsing onto his knees, clawing at the floor like a fool, thinking he could somehow dig his way to Earth. Rage became tempered with regret. Anger gave way to anguish. Roars that surged like a tide’s force now barely sent a ripple in the water.
Arms eventually stopped moving. Soon, Creed slipped to a squat and remained perfectly still; his palms settling in the large X shape he carved. Calloused fingers touched it tenderly, like a man touching the tomb of his beloved...