Victor Creed was not a man. He was an animal.
For his brother, it was a cruel fact that was faced with some reluctance. It had always been there, a warning, a flash of unrestrained power in the unsettling gaze. But James knew he'd had a choice – become the animal entirely, deflecting his humanity or control the beast. Become some semblance of man, despite the half-shadowed monster lurking in the depths of the mirror.
Victor wanted all of it. The power, the rage and the ultimate freedom of having no one to answer to but himself.
There were some facets of his being that Victor often found impossible to differentiate from the other. Passion and hatred…the lust for revenge and slaughter he deemed a passionate cause, one that fit him like a well-worn coat, right down to the marrow of his bones. But his oppressors…they called it hatred.
The line between emotions for Victor was blurred, subjected to alteration when he saw fit. And behind the gnarled sense of justice, there was a warped shadow of a man who couldn't remember how he'd become so distorted in the first place.
Every man needed a woman, a place to invest his heart. For some, it meant home and meaning and the manifestation of something unselfish in the midst of hot-heated egos and raging masculinity. Some considered it a safe haven, others, a deranged sort of dominance over human life.
Victor took into consideration that though he was impervious to age and death, his worldly desires did not merely end at the undulating gratification of a fresh kill, of the blood seeping down his hands and staining his memory in its vermillion shade. It was a stain that never came off, something every mortal man feared to have weighing on his conscience. Victor embraced it, craved it…he needed it.
But in essence, behind the beast was still the man.
A man that could not resist a woman as tempestuous as him.
When he first saw her, his first instinct was to dominate her. Bend her to his will, render her as pliant and supple as silk beneath the brute force of his strength. She was beautiful, her hair like a flash of quicksilver amidst the smooth russet surface of her skin. The last shred of him that could not bear to lose its humanity found her natural decency endearing; the animal in him wanted to sink his teeth into the planes of dark, yielding flesh.
"Here, kitty, kitty," he leered.
She lowered her eyes, a tendril of stark white hair falling over her knitted brow.
The carnal fragments of his intricate being relented as a cruel simper unfolded from his cruel, cold mouth. The taming of the tempest – he decided, indifferently, that she would do.
A character study of Victor Creed (the X-Men Origins: Wolverine version). The aggressive feelings towrd Storm are merely a biproduct of the small lasting piece of humanity in him. It'd be an intriguing full-length fic but..for now this is just a one shot.
Disclaimer - I don't own any aspect of X-Men. Victor Creed and Ororo Iqadi T'Challa belong to Marvel Comics.