Disclaimer: This is a work of fan-fiction. The here fore used characters belong rightfully to Marvel and I just borrowed them. The only profit I hope to achieve with this is the pure pleasure of the reader, so no copyright infringement intended. Please do not sue me, I don’t have money and won’t be getting some from this story.
Author’s notes: This story contains the description of severe child abuse over years and violence. The story should be seen as a character study, about the circumstances that might make a man the man he is, a cold blooded monster – or does lie the truth, the reasons for such a behaviour or choice of actions far deeper inside said man?
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Blood Red Skies
'You won't break me
You won't make me
You won't take me,
Under blood red skies'
"Blood Red Skies"; Judas Priest
I am what I am, what life, the people who surround me and the circumstances have made me.
The words he heard, the ones he had heard for his whole life since he could remember hurt, they hurt him deeply. The echoed back in the darkness of the cellar, the one that was his home, that had become his home since his childhood.
Everything around him was dark, it smelled of bread gone mouldy, stale water and rotten food. Added to this came the smell, the stench of faeces for he never had the possibility to relieve himself somewhere else, to leave this room, leave this small dark cellar cell that was his life. He was not allowed to leave it and he couldn’t, even if he’d wanted to for the door was always locked. He could hear the clicking sound it made when they locked it, sealed it shut, so that he would not escape. The stench in the small room that meant and made his whole life was unbearable, but for him it was even worse. His sharpened senses, his fine nose increased his sense of smell noticeable. But he had learned to live with it, he had had to for nothing concerning this would change, it never had during the time he already was here and probably never would. He had learned to live with it, learned to simply endure the smell, to block it from his mind even though it had cost him months if not years to do so. Just like it had cost him a lot of time to learn to ignore the voices, he was able to hear in the house above him thanks to his heightened hearing, the voices of the others that lived in the house above him.
These words truly hit deep and were painful, but what made them so painful were not the words themselves, for he didn’t even know what they truly meant and he never had learned to understand them, their meaning properly. The only thing he knew was the fact that they were spoken out loud out of deepest hatred, honest meant disdain and loathing for him and that was something he too could not understand. No, the one thing that made them so much more painful was the fact that they came from his parents, his own parents that had locked him away in this hole when it had shown even more clearly than before that he was different, different than the other children.
He always had been different, stronger than the other babies and his nails also grew much more faster just like his hair had done, his fingers and toes also were a bit longer than those of the other children. But when he was born, he had been a normal looking baby and his parents had been the happiest people on earth to finally have gotten a baby, that it finally had worked out the way they wanted to. And they did love him more than anything else, he had been the son they had always wanted to have. But with time he grew bigger and it showed more clearly just how much he differed from the other babies of his age, just how different he truly was. His finger nails grew even more faster and were sharp as claws, his hair also grew faster and made him more hairy than the other children. His fingers were shaped almost like the claws of an animal and when his teeth came out, they had the characteristics of a wild animal the way they were sharp and pointed. And the way his facial forms developed themselves showed clearly that he was not at all a normal child, for they too displayed more the characteristics of an animal than the ones of a normal human being. That had been the moment his parents too realised that he was different, much more different than they had imagined him to be, the moment they realised that their child was nothing more than an animal, a freak of nature and that they would treat it like one for it was not human at all.
All their love had turned to hatred, disdain and also shame, shame for having born such an abomination. The moment they had realized this, they had moved out from the city to a smaller town, a small house that was away from the other ones in their neighbourhood more into the woods and nobody of their neighbours knew of the baby that the woman had born. Nobody in the whole neighbourhood knew of the baby that was so different from the ones his parents had wanted and his parents were truly relieved about that. It truly was not the one they had wished and prayed for. No, this baby really was an abomination of nature, a freak but their beliefs forbid them to kill it.
He could not remember ever having been outside, to have played with the other children because before he had reached this age, his parents had kept him from the outside, so that nobody could know of their shame. No, he was too small to understand all of this and he would also never remember, that his parents had ever loved him when he had still looked normal just like the child they had wanted to have. He would never remember the time when his parents had almost drowned him with their love, all he would remember was their hatred they had for him and showed him, their disdain for the monster baby that had grown so much faster than the normal infants and that more and more took the shape and looks of a wild animal.
The last thing he would be able to remember and could, of all that went on outside was the sky that had changed its colour to a blood red in the light of the setting sun, just before it would disappear behind the horizon and before the doors of the cellar would close themselves for a long time, the cellar in which his father had thrown him and which darkness should become his new home.
At first he had cried, tears were falling down his cheeks and he had begged them, begged them that they would release him, let him out of this darkness. He couldn’t understand why they were doing this. He never had done them anything, he had just been a child, too small to do any harm and too small to understand. He had cried that they would come to him and take him to them again and then, as if his pleas would have been heard, his father had come. When the doors had opened, his eyes lit up with childish joy and pleasure, the innocent eyes of a child and he had thrown himself towards his father, into his arms. He would take him with him again, he would love him.
But instead his father threw him away, horrified and shocked, then he had taken his leather belt off and hit him with it. He had hit him that long and hard until he was bloody and lost consciousness. All he knew was that his father had hit him with his belt and the face of his mother who had held him, so that he couldn’t get away, that he could not run away from this and all during this abuse she had prayed to be released, freed from this burden, forgiven the sin to have born this baby. Then they had left him alone in the darkness, in the cold cellar and had closed the doors behind them.
His father had told him, he should be silent, should not cry and that this had been for he had not been silent, that he had not been a good boy. His father had told him, that he was nothing more than an animal and worth nothing. He was worthless, his father had said, just worthless trash and nothing more than a joke of nature, a bad one. He had not understood, he had been to small for this and all his body had hurt, bled from the many wounds his father had inflicted on him. His small body was full of dark bruises and red stripes where his father had hit him with the leather belt. All he felt was hurt and he hurt in body and soul. He could not understand why they were doing this, all he wanted was to be loved and longed his parents embrace, their comfort. And he was in pain, he hurt. He begged again, they should let him out of this cellar, pleaded to them that he would be a good boy and not disappoint them, that he would do anything so that they would love him and take him to them again. He cried and the salty tears that were rolling down his cheeks burned in the wounds in his face. All he wanted was just to be loved but all he received in return were even more blows that came down on him with his father’s belt, until he really bled from his whole body and was covered even more and stronger with black bruises and red streaks from where his father had aimed at. Then he always was alone again, alone in the darkness and with his pain, broken not only in body but also in his soul.
Back then he had been only four or five years old.
During the following time and years his father often came down to him to hit him, to hurt him again. Sometimes he did it with his leather belt other times with a baseball bat and he was too weak to do something against it, he was too helpless and too small to understand it. It always were the strong hands of his father or those of his mother that held him, that held him in their strong and unbreakable grip. They hit him when he cried, when he just begged to be released and taken back to them or when he hurt, when he was in pain or when he just pleaded they should stop. All he received in return were even stronger blows his father inflicted on him and they derided him, mocked him for this. His father told him again just how worthless he was, just a burden for his parents and not worth living at all. That he was just a spawn of hell, a freak, monster and an abomination of nature. He told him that he looked like an animal and deserved no better than to live and to be treated like one. His begging pleas that he would be good, a good boy and that he would do anything they told him helped nothing. They only reached walls in their minds and deaf ears, achieved nothing if not harder blows.
Their beliefs forbid them to kill him themselves so they locked him away so that they had not to see the monster baby. They gave him water at times and bread, sometimes the waste of their own food from the table, but nothing better than farm animals would get, just the merest necessities to keep him alive but in their inner souls they prayed for that the animal in their cellar might die, that this sin of nature would be taken from them. But he was stubborn, he was strong and refused to die what angered his father even more so that in his fury he only hit him harder.
He was a fighter, he survived and he was stronger than all the other children of his age were, he always had been, even though he sometimes did not get much food at all. He always recovered from the blows his father inflicted to him, of the injuries and hoped for the day they would take him back. All he wanted was to be loved, that they would love him and embrace him in their arms again, he still was unable to understand why they were doing this. He just had been a child just like any other too and all he wanted was love, that they played with him. Oh, he could hear them well, the other children outside for even though the cellar had no windows, it was not soundproof and he could hear the other children playing outside with each other, heard them laughing and in his heart an endless sorrow spread out, a deep pain and loneliness. Just how much could he possibly differ from them, what was so different about him?
He could not know that the other children had no claws at their fingers or toes and that their teeth were not pointed and sharp like those of an animal, that their hair was not that long as his and covered almost his whole body but not in a way fur would do for he never had seen other children grow up. He knew all too well what his parents looked like, he saw them when they came to him to beat him again but he didn’t see himself that different from them. He was after all their child, was he not? But with time he too would believe, that he was not like his parents were, that he was indeed different and he began to believe them. He began to believe them, that he was worth nothing and that he deserved to be thrown here and locked away in the cellar. He began to believe that he was nothing more than an animal, and a bad joke of nature, an abomination. But he only had wanted their love and he would have done anything, to just be able to feel this coming from his parents. He would have done just anything so that they might be able to love him but he could not know that he would have had to die to cause this feeling of inner peace within them.
His father not only came to him to beat him again when he was drunk, then he only used his leather belt or the baseball bat because otherwise he would not be able to hit him. No, he also came down to him when he was sober and this was even worse, for then he used other things too, a heavy metal pipe or a poker. Then his father would press his burning cigarettes on his naked body, burn him and then curse him, abuse him by telling him, just how much better they would have it when he would not be alive, that he only was causing them trouble and that they would never be able to love a child like him. All they felt for him was their fury and hatred and they let him feel that. But it wasn’t his fault that he was born the way he was, or maybe it was? Did he truly not deserve it better? Could they feel nothing for him? And what about the children his mother took care of for the neighbours, the children he could hear in the house above him and outside? The other children they were able to feel something for, the ones they were able to love but not him. Instead his father always repeated his abuses about how worthless he truly was and that he was nothing more than a mere abomination, a monstrosity and the continued to beat him, to continue hitting the blows that were coming down on the small boy. And it wasn’t until he was lying in the corner, in a small bloody and whimpering bundle that his father would stop. He curled himself into a small ball in the farthest corner, away from his father and tears spilled down his cheeks, still burned in his new open wounds but it was his soul that was burning even more. Silently crying he curled himself into a protective ball and just lay there on the floor. When his father was finished with him, he always would be alone for a while, to heal until his father would again feel the desire to let him suffer for the way he was born and that he was not what his parents had wanted him to be.
They never gave him water so that he could clean himself, they only splashed the cellar, cleaned not only the cellar that way with the cold water from a hose but also the boy that lived in it. They did this regularly so that the neighbours would not notice the smell or stench of the rotten food or faeces when they came visiting them. Why could this deformed freak not simply die, why did it cling so hard to his life with such an iron will? But even though he had begun to believe them he still hoped for the day they would be able to feel something for him. When they were done with him they left him alone, freezing and hungry and lying on the cold and wet floor, alone with his thoughts and the question about the Why?
His clothing was tattered and torn, it had holes all over it and bloodstains, his bed consisted only of one bigger bed sheet and the cold floor on which he used to curl up like a kitten when he slept. The walls of the small cellar were also cold and provided no protection against the bitter cold of the winter, which was even colder up here in the north and all he was able to do was to hug the light sheet tighter and curl up even more just like he always did after his father was gone. But besides that there was nothing more in the room, beside him, the torn sheet and his pain, his sorrow and his loneliness. He had nobody he could talk to, but he was able to talk, he had learned it before…
No, he did not want to think about it but always his thoughts returned to his parents. He so much wanted to remember the way it was before they locked him away in this cellar, before they had thrown him away like trash but as hard as he tried to concentrate he could not recall any memories back and the more time went by most of his memories faded away until they were gone completely. He had been too small to remember the way it had been before now but he could hear them now, hear the way they now talked of him, about him and how they denied having him, disowned him when they had visitors in the house. The fist time he had heard other people in the house and called for help his father had beat him up, beat him senseless so that he had lost consciousness and was silenced for the moment. And it was to his own luck, his father had told him later, that nobody had noticed anything, then he had left him alone again, so lonely like he had been for a long time.
From time to time there came some rats or mice into his cellar but they never did him any harm. They never touched him like it might have been their original intention because they probably seemed to sense that he was different, that he was more like them and not to be harmed. He envied them for their freedom, for the freedom to be able to go outside. The only memory he had of the world outside, outside his dark cellar was that of the blood red sky and he did not know that this wasn’t even the true colour of the heavens. But for him it was, black and red were the only colours left in his world.
The cellar had no windows, otherwise he could be discovered, somebody could see him and find out about him and his screams could reach outside when his father came again to beat him or to put his cigarettes out on him or else. When he cried, screamed, and that was something he had learned by now, then the punishment for it were even harder blows. He had learned to be silent, silent until the pain was too much to bear for him. At first when the rats had come to his cellar his father almost had crushed his skull with his beating after discovering that he had killed a rat to eat it because his hunger had grown too much. When he had awakened again his father had given him a muzzle so that he would never be able to do such a disgusting thing again, although they always told him that he also was disgusting, and that he would never try to bite his father again like he had done after his father had tried to take the rat from him. After that the rats kept their distance even more, they now feared him but they also understood him. But he understood nothing, he only was able to feel the fear in the small rodents and the fury and rage of his father.
In the darkness of the cellar he dreamed of all the birds he was able to hear because of his fine hearing outside but never saw, dreamed of all the other children he also was able to hear playing so carefree outside. He dreamed of freedom that was only kept for the others, of birds flying across the red sky, free and without restraints or bonds to keep them. He did not know how they looked like but in front of his mind’s eye he could see them, they were free. But these all were things that he was never going to have.
As he grew even more and bigger, his parents chained him to the walls in the cellar. They had realized that he had become stronger, without any obvious reason or that they could explain it and that he was no longer the completely helpless child they had thrown in the cellar so long ago. Also his senses had sharpened even more and this not only because of the permanent darkness in which he lived, like he should soon discover.
The chains were heavy and tight, they cut deep into his wrists as he tried to free himself, to escape them. He had awoken one day and found himself chained to the wall like a dog. He truly had become stronger and had grown fast and they discovered a new emotion for him in them, something that came even deeper from the inside than their hatred they felt for him, their disdain. Fear. But he felt nothing of all this, yet.
All he felt were the blows of his father that now came down on him even more harder than before, all he felt was pain, the growing pain that hit his body with every single blow that came down on him. Then he felt nothing, his mind blocked out the pain and just turned it off until he felt nothing more and gratefully embraced the darkness of the cellar that now was just as dark like he was inside.
As he grew older it seemed like his wounds would close a bit faster than before, would heal faster but the blows of the poker became also harder and the verbal abuses hit him as deep and hard as the blows managed to do. His body was covered with bruises and scars, scars that slowly faded away. But even though the wounds on the outside might have healed his soul remained scarred. He did not understand, tried to find the reason in himself, the blame and guilt. Maybe the things they said were true, what if he was nothing more than a monstrosity and a true abomination of nature, that was not worth living and being loved.
He truly had become stronger and his wounds began to heal faster now, but the full extent of his mutant powers manifested itself on the day his father finally had crushed his skull. He’d done it just like that, without that he had given him a reason for it, he had always been a good boy, hadn’t he? He might have died then, the injuries had been deadly but the bones knit themselves together and his abilities allowed him to heal his injuries faster than a normal human body could manage to do. A normal human being would surely have died because of this but he survived and felt now truly for the first time, that he was different. All his other injuries now also healed in shortened time without leaving a scar this time, at least without a visible one. His senses also became sharper than they already had become and always been in the darkness of his cell. He could hear the voices of the others above him much more clearly and the rotten stench in his cell had become even more intensive so that he first had to vomit heavily on the floor before he collapsed in the far corner and curled himself up to a protective ball, his eyes closed and his hands over his ears as these new experiences and sensations overwhelmed him.
His mutant powers had begun to manifest themselves, to develop and his senses had sharpened, heightened themselves and his metabolism allowed him to heal any inflicted injuries on him in short time. The nails on his fingers and toes were hardened with bones so that they would not break again and grown to be real claws now, their ends razor sharp and dangerous. He could feel the adrenaline rushing and pulsating through his veins as his powers rushed up his healing processes, he could see the disdain in his parents eyes even more clearly as the also realized just how different he had become and their disappointment about the fact that he had not died. The smell of alcohol on his father and his own burnt skin had also become more intensive when his father burned him, but all this would heal fast on the outside. But what of the inside?
And now he was able to discover something new when his father came to beat him with the baseball bat or the poker, his favoured method, and to tell him like he always did, how worthless he was and that he was nothing more than an animal and now even more looked like one. He had discovered something new, a new sensation and emotion that he had never before been able to detect underneath all the hatred and disgust, their loathing for him. He had had begun to believe their curses and verbal abuses towards him, believed that he was nothing more than a mere animal, an atrocity and always searched the reason for their disappointment of him in himself, he who had never wanted more of them than their love and understanding. He had begun to believe that they had never felt anything for him or ever could but now there was something new, something that came from the deepest bottom of their hearts, for now because of his heightened senses he was able to smell their fear. He was able to smell their fear now every time they came to him in the cellar. He could smell the fear they had when they stood in front of him despite the poker in his father’s hands, the fear of him getting loose and it was not the fear of discovery through the neighbours but the naked and pure fear of him.
This feeling came from deep within their hearts, from deep within them and he was the reason for it. It was the first deep felt emotion for him that came from them. He had realized that they were able to feel something for him after all, deep within them.
For the first time in years the tortured soul in the cellar smiled.
He sat alone in the darkness, the chains silently rattled every time he moved and they reminded him that they still were there, but it wasn’t as if their heaviness would not be enough to manage that. He had his knees drawn to his chest, his arms around them to hold himself that way. In the darkness he silently hummed and rocked himself back and forth. In his mind he continued to play again the same thoughts he did for years and the question that had him wondering for the same time.
Why couldn’t they love him, weren’t they able to love him. What was so different about him that made them not able to love him, what was it that was so wrong with him? He was a monster, an abomination, his parents had said, he didn’t deserve it to live. But why did they let him live then, why did they hit him? What had he done to them to deserve to be thrown into the cellar, what had he done to deserve all this at all? He had not been a good boy, his parents had said. He had not been good. But he always had been a good boy, always done what they wanted from him, or had he not? He always had looked for the reasons and guilt in himself, searched the reason for their hatred for him in himself and found as little as he had been able to understand all this. What was it, what was wrong with him that he was not able to understand? Look at you, his parents had said, you are more animal, more beast than man. A mistake of nature, a freak. But he still had never been able to understand this. He could not change the way he was born, what he was.
He raised one hand and drew his long fingernails over the floor, ones that now even more resembled claws of an animal than those of a normal human. He enjoyed the scratching sound they made with this, it was so much louder with his sharp ears. They had never loved him, but how could they ever love him. This was it what was wrong with him. How could they ever be able to love an animal, a beast like him, and they always kept saying he was one. He truly and finally understood that he was different, his tortured soul and his mind realized that he really was different than his parents or the other kids he could hear playing around outside.
He drew one claw over his arm, deep enough to draw blood that made a small red stream of blood appear over his arm. He was not able to see the blood in the darkness clearly but he could smell it and he felt how within him something stirred as he filled his lungs with air that was mixed with the smell of his own blood. With his tongue he ran over the wound, the blood tasted sweet but it was also different and he could not understand why he had done this.
The wound closed again fast, he felt his powers kicking in as they closed the small wound and he wasn’t able to smell more blood pouring out again. As he had found out the first time, that and how fast his wounds closed themselves he had been fascinated, repeated this many times. Then he had realized, just how much different he was.
When they beat him again, now he felt nothing. He had long ago reached the point where he just had blocked out the pain and truly felt absolutely nothing until the point the pain was too strong, then he could no longer hold it back and then he screamed. Then his father was satisfied and beat him even more, to hear him scream until he would blacken out. But until that point when the pain was too strong he was silent, felt nothing. And that point came later and later with the time. All that pain did not reach him just like most of the other things had ceased to reach him.
But when he sat in his cell, in the darkness then it was all different. He enjoyed the feeling when he ripped open his skin on his arm with his claws, when he felt the familiar pain that followed this and when he could smell the fresh blood pouring out of the wound, his blood. He enjoyed this feeling of pain even though it was only for short and his wounds closed themselves fast, for this gave him the feeling to be still alive, to still be able to feel anything and he repeated this small ritual quite often, though he would never see any evidence of it afterwards. His wounds closed without leaving a scar, the outer ones did.
He had loved his parents, why couldn’t they love him too? Why couldn’t they love him the way he was, he had only been a child, an innocent child. He had never understood before but now he was older and he had learned to understand. He was an atrocity, an abomination and a monster that did not deserve to live. All these thoughts began to repeat themselves again and again in his mind just like they always did but this time a new thought added itself to them, a new sensation that had touched him and that he had never noticed before.
In the farthest corner of his self a small light of hope flickered for now they felt something for him and he clutched his arms even tighter around him. They felt something for him, deep in their hearts they truly felt something for him and it was important to him for this was the only emotion of them that he truly could feel from them in the darkness of the cellar where he only could rely on to his senses. But how could he know that it was not the love he wanted to have from them?
They feared him, he could smell it clearly. Every time they came to him in the cellar they were scared of him, feared him and because of this they had locked him in the cellar. He knew what fear was, he also smelled it from the rats and knew their reaction with this emotion. They backed away from him but would this emotion mean the same within his parents? And why should they fear him, be afraid of him, he hadn’t been more than a child then? A child, a helpless and defenceless child they had pushed away, thrown away and chained like a dog but he was no longer this child. He had grown and grown stronger, he knew now, despite the lack of food and care. He had sensed their fear, smelled it and now he too no longer feared them like he had all the years in the darkness. He no longer feared their blows and abuses he had always received instead of love, a love he so much had wished for from them. But now he had received their fear.
They hadn’t come down to him for quite a while and he had thought that they might have forgotten him, hoped for but also felt lonely without smelling their fear which had become to him a substitute for their love. But then suddenly his father came back again, a relieved and truly happy expression on his face but he could not see any reason for that. And again he had brought with him the baseball bat. But now he no longer feared his father, did not fear him anymore, for this time he could smell his fear from him and this way the blows were less painful like they had been before. He felt himself aroused by the smell of the fear and revelled in the feeling. They felt something for him, deep within them and that was it that made him happy. It didn’t matter to him what this feeling might be, as long as they were able to feel anything for him. After his father was gone, he was alone again and curled himself up in the corner. His thoughts always began anew while he healed.
All this was it that they had called him, that it had been they had wanted him to believe to be and they feared him. But why should they want to make him believe this, did they ever have had a reason to hate him instead of loving him?
Yes, for he was a freak, an animal and that was it they never stopped saying; he had never been a good boy.
No, he never had given them any reason to hate him, he had been an innocent child and he was not responsible for the way he was born, even though he still not understood why he was so different.
Did they ever have a reason to fear him?
No, for he had been helpless and had wanted nothing more than to be loved, to be cared for. But they did fear him, an emotion that came deep from within their hearts. They had never loved him, but instead feared him even though they never had had a reason for it.
He stood up, in his eyes something flashed. He took all his strength that had developed even stronger since his abilities had shown themselves and despite the rotten food and he threw himself against his chains. He had developed strong muscles and a strength that was almost unhumanly and with all this power he pulled on his chains. With both his arms he pulled at them, threw in his whole weight to loosen them more. He held his breath and concentrated until he felt the bolts in the wall loosen more, moving a little bit more.
It had cost him months to loosen them slowly but steadily and he had begun the moment he had been able to smell their fear, when he had felt their deep fear from him. They had punished him for something he was not responsible for, chained and shackled him and beat him over years but they always had feared him, feared him even more than they had hated him and this now he realized.
But also the moment he had been able to smell their fear for the first time had touched him. They never had loved him, nonetheless they had felt something for him in their hearts, even though he never quite understood first or ever that this had only been their fear from him and not their love for him he had wanted to have. With a final pull he managed to get the metal bolts free from the wall, the ones that held his chains and he was free. For the moment he truly was free again, for the first time.
He rose in the darkness and straightened himself. For the first time after long he moved around free in the cellar and it was a wonderful feeling. In this moment he felt strong, stronger than before and not at all helpless just like he had felt all the passed years, though he didn’t know just how many had went by. With a quick movement he ripped the muzzle from his face and growled silently, he curled his lips and revealed his sharp pointed fangs. He smiled.
Above him in the house he could hear his parents talking, hear how they laughed and enjoyed themselves. They were alone. All their abuses still rang in his ears, mixed now with their laughter and his growl became louder. He threw himself against the door, concentrated all his strength together, which was intensified by his rage and anger and then slammed his full weight against it until it broke from the frame.
Hesitantly he stepped outside the cellar, his breathing was heavy as he left for the first time he could ever remember the dungeon, they had locked him in. He pressed his eyes shut as the unfamiliar light and brightness hit him painfully but his eyes adjusted quickly to this. And pain was nothing he wasn’t familiar with. It was the only thing that still told him he was alive and able to feel anything at all, just like the smell of the fear in his parents seemed to calm him out of some reason.
He heard them laughing and his eyes scanned the room, looking for the stairs, an exit to where the voices were. Slowly he moved up the stairs, hesitating out of the fear of being caught, out of fear of being punished but then he shoved all these fears aside, for he told himself, that he no longer feared them. His fear was not as big as the fear of his parents had been of him. He went up the stairs, followed the voices he was able to hear so clearly with his enhanced hearing and then entered for the first time the part of the house he had never seen before since they had moved here. But that had been a long time ago. He glanced around, searching for the source of the voices and found them in the living room.
He found himself fascinated by the many colours that existed outside, the many different colours the house was decorated in and he was not able to remember. For him always only had the red of the skies existed and the blackness of the cellar room. He was overwhelmed by the variations of all these colours and he watched them with the fascination of an innocent child. The bright white of the light in the cellar had truly impressed him when he had stepped outside the darkness into the light, just like all the colourful different things here in the corridor. Then he entered the living room, where he could smell her.
As the doors opened, his mother turned around, she had expected that her husband would return but instead she saw him, saw the tattered clothing that hung on his frame and the long hair that fell over them. She could see his pointed sharp teeth so clearly that gave him the appearance of a wild animal, just like all his facial features did by now. He had taken the muzzle away in the cellar and now his lips curled back and he showed his fangs. He growled and she involuntarily backed away from him. He still was chained on his wrists but that made him no less dangerous and she knew that. All she saw in him was the monster, the beast she had born but not her son. He could smell her fear so clearly and it excited him. His face had contorted into a mask of fury and rage at the smell of her terror.
Here in the living room he had found his mother, but did she deserve being called this? She had never expected him to come to her, he was able to recognize the surprise and horror in her eyes. But he also could see something else, something he also had never expected and what had been the reason for that he had not seen her for quite a while.
On her lap sat an infant, a baby that looked perfectly normal and with whom she had played before. It was clothed in colourful baby clothing and burbled happily, chewing on a play toy. His mother had played with the baby and looked so happy. This baby looked normal and because of this she had kept it. Because of the way it looked she had been happy and because of this she was able to love it, to be the mother he never had but always wished for. To this baby she could give all the love and comfort, safety and everything, hold it and give him a loving and warm home, all he never had had. And all because he was different. In her eyes he saw her love for the infant but also he saw her fear. It was not only the fear from him but for the baby as well.
The smell of her fear, her horror at his sight was overwhelming and almost overloaded his senses. The smell of her raw and naked fear excited him and it touched him for it was the only feeling she ever had had for him, even stronger than her hatred and loathing and it came straight from her heart, just like the love for her normal baby came from deep within her heart.
It went all too fast, almost in a blur so that she didn’t even had the time to cry out, to warn her husband who just had gone to another room. Instinctively she wanted to protect the baby but she was not able to. The smell of her fear, all the rejections and abuses over the years and her feelings for the normal baby swelled up within him and he felt his rising excitement, how it washed over him with the smell of her fears, how the beast within him woke up and how it took control until he only was able to sense the calming and pleasing fear in her, through the shade of the red he felt the rage he building up in him. All he sensed was her fear, the only true feeling she had ever felt for him.
With an unexpected speed he crossed the room and rushed towards her, crossed the distance between the door and the sofa where she had sat and he raised his hand. With a quick movement of his claws he drew them over her throat and with these razor-sharp claws he severed her carotid artery and her windpipe so that she fell back, frantically trying to breathe again or to do something. While falling she let go of the baby she had clutched so tightly to her breast to protect and he caught it out of the air, tightened his grip on the small neck. With a silent cracking sound he broke the baby’s neck as he shook it and then, in front of its mother’s eyes, cut it open the whole length before he threw it carelessly away to the floor. With unimaginable terror his mother watched the murder of her child, the child she had also been mother to just like she was to him, a child she had more loved than him and he felt a deep satisfaction rising in him, that she still had been alive to watch the infant die. To smell her fear drove him further into his rage, this way he felt her feelings for him and he enjoyed deeply to revel in her terror, the horror that spread out within her as she finally realized that she had no possibility of escape. He felt nothing but the relaxing fury and the rage as the beast within him took over, led him and allowed him this way his revenge, a revenge his mind didn’t think of but his instincts. And while he acted out of pure instinct he continued with his mother.
Full of panic and horrified she tried to crawl away from him, to flee this slaughter but she was not able to, for he reached her and pulled her with inhuman strength back, threw her around and shoved her again to the floor. Frantically she tried to press her hands over the open and gushing wound in her neck, to stop the bleeding before even more blood would splash out of her opened main artery and made him even more succumbing to his rage as the smell of the blood mixed with her fears and would eventually drive him over the edge. But all her efforts were in vain, the blood ran over her hands and dropped to the floor, all that blood in this wonderful colour, just like he had always imagined heaven to be.
He looked her for a final time in the eyes, in his glimmered a small light of rage, fury and madness and all his senses were completely overwhelmed by the sheer smell of raw fear in her scent and blood, before he towered over her and looked down at her, lying on the floor and no longer able to crawl away as her strength had left her. He saw for a final time her fear in his eyes, there was no longer hatred, no disdain or loathing for him, the animal she had always seen in him. No, they only showed the fear and he felt his excitement even more rising with that. The madness of the overtaking beast had reached him and his thoughts. She felt something for him and that would it be what he would always keep in this memories of her. He let her fear wash over him, the scent of her fear and blood come over him and then he rose his claws to also tear her open, rip her open from head to toe just like he had done with the baby before, whose blood already was on these claws.
He was fascinated and excited just how easily his nails went through the flesh and bones, fascinated by the easiness with which he had been able to kill her and he felt a certain relief coming over him, calming him a little and then he heard a sound behind him.
He turned around to see, how his father came back to the living room, with a new toy for the baby in his hands. In his face the naked horror could be seen as he saw his wife and his baby lying on the floor, covered in blood and ripped open and he knew exactly that they were dead. They lay there in a spreading pool of their own blood and their murderer, his son stood above them, also covered with bloodstains on his body and his claws, in his eyes there was a glimmer of joy, excitement and love. Whatever he might have wanted to say, the words were stuck in his father’s throat, all he felt now was fury, deep sorrow and loss but also hatred and fear. He too feared him now truly and this new scent of fear was it that made him forget everything.
He finally allowed himself to be pushed over the edge as he faced the man who had abused and tortured him for years, his father and gave in the rage that arose in him anew. All he saw was the red of the blood and his heart beat faster, his pulse raced. His father had thrown him into the cellar, locked him away there for years as he had been helpless and defenceless, but that had been long ago.
Now he no longer was helpless and the beast within him again took over, took control. He smiled, an unfitting smile for this situation but he enjoyed the fear of his father, felt with great delight this special scent filling his lungs and all his senses, revelled in the only true emotion his parents ever had for him and he especially enjoyed this moment, he had so often painted in his fantasies in the cellar, since the time that he had realized that he was not at all an atrocity or freak of nature, but just the way he was, just different. But this time it was something different, it was real and he still smiled cruelly as he hurled himself with unknown and unexpected speed and agility onto his father, the man that had abused him, beat him and tortured him for so long, in body and soul and mindlessly he let blow after blow fall over on that man. Blinded by rage he raised his claws and beat him again and again with his bare hands, drove his claws deep into his father’s body until he too fell down to the floor to join his wife and the baby, his body torn and ripped apart that it was almost unrecognisable; in his hand he still held the toy he had fetched for his child, the child he had been able to love, because it had looked normal.
He deeply inhaled the scent of the blood, the blood he just had shed and he glanced down at the bodies. They were ripped open, torn and their inner organs were clearly to be seen, lying in the open. He was fascinated, the blind fury, the rage that had taken control of him was slowly subsiding. Now for the first time he felt free, truly free and though he still had the chains on his wrists they now did no longer pose a restriction for him. On the floor in front of him the pool of fresh blood still was growing quickly, the blood of his father mixed with the blood of the two others and turned the floor and carpet red.
He was satisfied, relieved he watched the bodies of his family lying on the floor and he felt a strange calmness coming over him, a great relief. They never had had a reason to fear him before, he had never given them any but on this day they truly had feared him, had they been horrified of him. On this day he had proved them that he no longer was helpless.
He felt the adrenaline rushing through his whole body, heated by the smell of blood and fear he had been able to smell so clearly in their sweat. His heart beat so fast and his pulse was racing, his breathing had rushed also. The red shade of rage was fading away slowly through which he had watched everything and all he felt now was an endless feeling of freedom and peace.
Their fear was the only emotion they had had for him that he could remember, this scent was something he would never forget; this raw emotion that had managed to touch him so deeply inside, that had excited and aroused him that much. He licked his claws, tasted the taste of that sweet blood that was so different from his own.
This too was something he always wanted to remember from them. They had never loved him, he could not remember that they ever had done that for he had been too small then. No, they never had loved him but why could they not love him? Their fear of him had touched him deeply for it showed him that they had felt something for him. In the cellar, in the darkness of the small room he always had had to rely on his senses and this emotion of them was the only one, he had been able to smell, the only one that had counted for him.
He looked back for a last and final time, this sight was something he never wanted to forget, the taste of their sweet blood on his lips and the smell of their terror, their fear they had felt the moment before they died. The smell of fear, their fear was something that would always remind him of them, of the only feeling they ever had felt for him.
The floor in the living room was blood red, coloured with the blood of his family, his first victims and he felt pleasure in watching the colour. It was the colour of heaven like he remembered it and always had imagined it to be.
As he stepped outside for the first time in his life again he deeply inhaled the air into his lungs. He had never seen the world like this before, never left the cellar and everything was so full of new experiences, new scents he experienced and felt as intensive as he never had before. He smiled and raised his eyes to the sky, that was coloured in the light of the evening sun the way he remembered, just like in his imagination. Nothing had changed as he noted satisfied and it made him happy.
The setting sun drew long dark shadows and when he stepped outside them into the light, he could be seen clearly now. His long blond hair was wild and uncombed, underneath his torn and bloodstained clothing his body was seen that was a bit more hairy than it was normal, but he was not furred. He was full of blood. His fingernails were long and bent a bit, they were strong and his own bones had strengthened them so that they now truly looked like the claws of an animal and no longer like the fingernails of a normal man; the nails on his toes looked similar.
A pleased smile had spread out on his face, he looked freed and his eyes were shining with joy but they also had a wild glimmer in them. There was something in them, that could not easily be described, something wild, animalistic and they had a mad gleam in them but mostly they shone with undisguised joy of freedom and peace.
And he was not mad, for the first time in his life he truly was free now and he enjoyed this newfound freedom with the innocence of a child, the innocence they had taken from him, as he ran for the woods and disappeared in the shadows of the falling night.
On this day it had been that he had left the house of his parents for the first time and he would never again set a foot in it.
The bodies would be found later and the report would indicate that a wild animal must have killed them, eradicated the whole family. There would never be any mention of him for nobody knew about the first child of the family, the one they had chained in the cellar and then had killed them all in his rage. Nobody knew of him, not even the people who had seen him as an infant when he still had looked normal and later had accepted the lame excuse and lies, he had been sent to relatives in the bigger city, to get a better education. Nobody had ever asked of him, asked why there had been no photos of him in the house and why he never came to visit his parents and with passing time the people who knew about him forgot that he even existed. They just forgot about him.
On this day it had been that he had killed his parents, his family; the day that he had killed another human being for the first time but it would not remain the last time.
For it was the fear of his victims that allowed him to remember this day again, that allowed him to relive this moment, the day that he had won his freedom back and it allowed him to relive this feeling he felt right now. The feeling to be alive, to be truly alive.
And the fear would always be the feeling he would look after in his victims for it was the feeling he connected with his parents, his family; the only feeling they ever had felt for him even if they could not love him and he always searched for this feeling, this pure emotion. The fear in his victims had become a substitute for the love of his parents, had become the love of his parents, the feeling they never could give him and he always connected with their fear.
The scent of their fear was the only thing he connected with them, the only feeling they had ever had for him that came out of their hearts, stronger even than their hatred and it was the only thing he ever recognized in them. By seeking out the fear in his victims he would always be able to be close to them, so close like he had always wanted to be. And every time he would kill again, when he would see the horror in his victims eyes and smell their fear, he truly could be close to them again. This way he would be with them, in his heart where he had always wanted to be in them.
On this day, in the light of the evening sun the skies were coloured so blood red like it always had been in his dreams, coloured so blood red like the floor of the living room in the house where the blood of his first three victims slowly mingled with each other and spread out.
On this day it had been that he stopped being victim and took an oath to himself to never again in his life becoming a victim.
It had been his sixteenth birthday but he didn’t know that.
On this day it had been, that the small innocent boy Victor Creed had died, the small boy his parents had thrown into the cellar and abused for years, physically and mentally for what he was and never had had any influence on, different.
On this day was it, that this innocent boy ceased to exist and Sabretooth was born, as the beast within him took control for the first time, when his rage had taken him over the edge and freed him.
He would never again be that small innocent boy, for all this innocence and his life had been taken from him just because he had been different, for this boy had died in the living room with his parents on this evening, if he ever had had a chance to live at all.
But I also am what I have chosen, decided for myself that I remain to be.
It is unforgivable what Sabretooth has done in his life, the many innocent people he has killed and I will make no excuses for him or for what he has done. But there are reasons that made him what he is, that make him do the things he does and these reasons are mostly hidden in the dark. It is unforgivable when parents abuse their children and I have no understanding for these people at all, when they abuse their children mostly just because they are not the children they had wanted to have, because they are different and they cannot love them because of all this.
It is always the circumstances that make us the way we are, that lay down the base for our character and beings, that guide our life in a certain direction and also the people we meet. But in the end we ourselves are the ones that make the choice, that decide for ourselves whether we stay the way our life has formed us or not. But sometimes we don’t have this choice for we don’t know it differently and try to find our way through the maze of emotions and sensations we never understood and cannot understand.
I don’t know much about Sabretooth’s past or childhood. I just have read somewhere that he has killed his parents when he was younger and that they abused him for the way he looked and was born, differently, a mutant. I don’t know whether my characterization of his parents is correct or not or if I have described the whole scenery wrongly but it was the one I came up with in my examination of his character and his motivations. And that idea hit me at about 2 o’clock in the morning so I had a sleepless night afterwards, not just because of the topic and images of the story.
It is not my intention to blame somebody else for the things Sabretooth has done, nor do I want to excuse the fact that he has become a cold-blooded murderer who mostly kills out of the pure pleasure of the kill. I just wanted to examine and show the possible reasons for his actions, why he has become the man he is and why he maybe does not want to decide differently.