Stories from the Jotun suddenly rushed into his mind at the mention of Fenrir.
Widening eyes looked to the corpse on the ground absent head and hand. He envisioned the length of innards used as chains and a royal Asgardian piercing fur and flesh, seizing snout with steel.
Then, the notion of being trapped that way for centuries, and the parallels of such mistreatment that were his own childhood…
“…Y-You..?”
Creed pointed a claw towards Hela. Memories tied together who she may have been, and her brother, and the father he’d grown so fond of. When he studied her face and saw similar features between Hela and Loki, Creed pounced on top of her
“YOU!”
Palms attempted to pin her down by the shoulders; deadly claws made no effort to rend flesh as they did to Tyr. The neglectful parent found himself shaking her as he gave command to the Tesseract, and fighting the sense of déjà vu when he viciously accosted Loki atop a department store roof.
“Blue, take us both to Loki! Right now!”
And instantly, his tone shifted from commander to executioner; no claws punctured skin, but the stare pierced deeply.
“Don’t get slick, or I’ll rip ya’ apart like a phone book. If my Hunt – my reason fer’ livin’ – is gonna make me bonkers, then imma do a solid fer’ someone I got th’ sense ta’ still care too much about!”