Creed’s brows crumpled, nose upturned, chin lifting out of contempt. Oversized canines gnashed together as his teeth grated against each other.
For a brief moment, as the magpie pleaded, Creed saw colors and silhouettes of those he favored. He struggled to remember the sounds of their voices whispering over Asgardian screams, flesh tearing and hair ripping from scalps.
“Ya’ helped me break free from that old man’s curse. Now ya’ go an’ turn chicken?”
Uncanny reflexes made the mutant swipe his hand at the magpie fluttering then nuzzling his arm. Cat held the bird in the palm of his hand; the avian looking upward at the devil incarnate.
“Nah… You ain’t goin’ nowhere! Victor paused, and looked at Tyr’s head dangling from his waist. “You an’ Big Blue got one job: stay loyal. That’s yer’ thing, right? ‘Chosen one’? ‘Master’? Ya’ll picked that shit, so stick to yer guns.”
And strangely, Sabretooth began to pet the bird with a calloused hand.
“I’m holdin’ all the cards. Imma play this game till I bust out…an’ that ain’t gon’ be fer a mighty long time! You turn tail and try to run? We’re gonna have some problems, Pigeon…”
As his voice trailed off, the tip of an adamantium talon pricked past feathers and into avian flesh, careful not to nick organs.
“Time to play with all th’ toys in the box, and we ain’t stoppin’ till I get tired. Got it? Good. Now, let’s get back to business: Scout that bitch and show me an opening! I’ll let’cha peck her eyes out when she’s good and hogtied; how’s that sound?”