AN: Sabretooth and Mystique are two of my favorite characters from X-Men
and I have been able to find almost no stories featuring their
relationship. It is my hope to chronicle their adventures and romance as
best as possible. I will try to stick to marvel cannon as best as possible,
however I do not have access to much information, so what I don't know I
will invent. Which is most of the story. Because of their mutations it is
impossible to determine either of their ages accurately, so I have taken
some liberties. This story starts sometime between the 1920's and the
1940's, it's not terribly specific, but probably before WWII. I have pieced
together a few pieces of Victor's relationship with his father from an
episode of an old cartoon episode I saw back in the 90's. Mystique's
origins I have invented from the small amount of information that was
provided in Mystique #15. Although I hope to remain true to Marvel's vision
of these character's parts of this story have been brewing in my crazy head
since the mid-90's and may not fit well with Marvel's version. Any advice
or information will be greatly appreciated, although I make no guarantees
about following advice. However, I love trivia, so I will love anything you
might want to throw my way. Please review and let me know what you think.
Ps. I don't own Mystique, Sabretooth, or any other Marvel characters. (But
I want to steal Gambit, Rogue, Mystique, Sabertooth...eh most of them.) My
original characters, who will be introduced later in this story, do belong
to me. Also, updates may be slow, as I have several stories I'm working on
right now, and this one is developing more slowly than the others.
Victor growled low in his throat as he trekked angrily down the dusty path. He hated going home. Not that he considered the little woodcutter's shack his home. His home was in the woods, where there was no sound but the animals and nature.
He glanced at his arms with a resigned glance. The bruises had faded. That could only mean one thing; he would be beaten again tonight.
His father, the pastor of the small logging community, was certain that his son was possessed. Or at least that was his claim. For as long as he could remember his father had hated him. Perhaps because his mother had died shortly after his birth.
But over the years it became worse, more and more, Victor was drawn to the outdoors. He would vanish for days, sometimes weeks, surviving on his own. He knew, without being taught what was edible, what was dangerous, and when the weather would be bad. His disappearances were worth the beatings, for they provided Victor with an escape from his father's rigid religious training.
And then there had been the incident with the squirrel. Victor had caught a squirrel, just reached out and plucked it from the branch it was sitting on. He had not even thought about it, and as he sat there staring at the frightened animal, he gave no thought to his next action either. As he studied the frightened animal, he could feel the tiny ribs move in and out with its rapid breaths, he almost thought he could see the tiny heart pulsing against its chest, and he became curious. With a vicious tug he tore the animal apart, watching in fascination as the small heart beat futilely and then stopped.
But his father had seen him, and beat him until he fell unconscious. Victor had awakened in the woodshed. His father had kept him in there for a week, feeding him nothing but scraps of bread. Victor had thought that he would die for sure this time, for he could barely move.
And then it happened, the first morning after his father let him out of the shed, he awakened to find that all his bruises were gone. His father had taken this as yet another sign of his inherent evil.
Already the bruises from last night's beating had faded; his father would most certainly beat him again for it. Sometimes he would try to fool his father, he would throw himself against the trees and hit his arms on rocks to force new bruises, but he did not feel like it tonight.
This day had already been bad, he was having trouble in school, he always had, his mind just could not wrap around the concepts of math, and most other things the schools taught, and he was not a favorite with the teacher. To top off not being able to keep up, today his teeth had hurt, really hurt. So bad he had whimpered, something he was mortally embarrassed about.
So now he trudged, from the horrid place called school, to the horrid place he called home, and the horrid man he called father.
Phillip Creed stood on the porch waiting for his son. He had done everything he knew how to do for his son, yet the devil inside him would not leave. In fact, it seemed to grow stronger. It frightened him.
His son trudged into the yard, dragging his feet on the ground. Phillip glanced up and watched him warily, he had to be constantly on guard, or the demon would take control of his son again. He noticed immediately that Victor's muscled arms were clean of bruises. Just the night before he had tried to beat the demon out of his son's body, but it refused to leave, and now it mocked him by showing him a lack of bruises. He narrowed his eyes and gave a resigned sigh; he would have to beat it out of him again.
"What happened, boy? Ya shoulda been here an hour ago," he declared, glancing up at the sky to judge the position of the sun.
"I'm sorry father," Victor replied tritely, Phillip glanced at him as he spoke, gasping in shock as the boy opened his mouth to finish his sentence, the words lost to his ears. Lomg, wicked fangs protruded from Victor's mouth, giving him an evil look. The devil inside him was indeed manifesting itself today.
He reached inside the door and pulled out the club that was never far away. Victor's eyes widened in fear.
"You've got the devil in you boy!" he shouted as he advanced on his son. "I must beat it out, you've the devil himself in you!"
"No, Daddy, please! I'm sorry!" he wailed, dropping to his knees, but Phillip ignored him, it was just the devil inside him, trying to trick him.
At first Victor tried to raise his arms to shield himself from the blow, but he knew it was futile, and eventually lowered his arms, using them to keep from collapsing completely onto the ground. The blows continued to rain down on his unguarded back, the pain overwhelming his mind.
He lost track of time, trapped in a haze of pain, until a greater pain superseded the pain from the beating. His fingers pulsed and burned, feeling as if the ends were going to explode.
Victor squeezed back tears trying to look at his fingers and determine the source of the pain. They did not look any different, but they hurt. Suddenly oblivious to his father's blows, he sat up a little raising his hands to study them. He howled in pain as the skin of one finger split a little and a small black point protruded, covered in his blood.
"Pay attention and quit whining, this is for your own good," Phillip roared, delivering an especially vicious blow to Victor's head, which knocked him forward onto his hands. He screamed aloud as searing pain tore through the tips of his fingers. Victor reacted on instinct; he swept his hand behind him, his mind still burning in agony, to silence the source of his pain.
It was a long time before Victor recovered his sensed. The first thing he saw was his hands. They were covered in blood, and protruding from his fingers was a set of long pointed claws coated in slick dark blood. His blood, cut from where the claws had forced their way through his tender flesh.
He glanced up in terror, only to be met by a more horrible sight. His father lay dead on the steps of the porch, his neck twisted at an unnatural angle. Even if he had not broken his neck falling, his throat was torn open by some wild animal. Victor wondered what animal it had been and why it had left him alone.
His eyes widened in sudden horror as the smell of the blood hit his nostrils. Not all the blood on his hands was his. Some of it had come from his father. He could smell the difference in the blood.
He closed his eyes, trying not to be sick, and hoping this nightmare would be gone when he opened them, but nothing changed when he opened them. His father was still dead. He had killed his own father.
"I really am the devil," he whispered to himself in despair. He turned and fled into the darkness of the woods that had been home to him for so long, seeking shelter in the wilds.
Darkholme Hall was nestled into the hills surrounding a small village. Although she loved her family's large ancestral home, Raven would have preferred to be somewhere else. Anywhere else, really, or with someone else.
Maybe her Daddy would come and take her away. He would sweep her up into his arms, and swing her around in his arms and tell her that she was still his princess, and he still loved her anyway.
But everybody said that Daddy wasn't coming back, ever again, that Daddy never really loved her, but Raven did not believe it, she remembered Daddy, and she knew that he really did love her.
"Raven! Quit daydreaming and get back to work! You must get those crystals shined for the party tonight," her aunt demanded imperiously. Raven did not think that Aunt Maggie loved her at all. She had been very nice to Raven when she first came to live with her, because Daddy was going to war, but lately she had not been nice to Raven, not since Raven got sick.
Raven did not feel sick, but Aunt Maggie said she was sick and could not go to school. The doctors told Raven that she was sick, and should just stay home. Raven wanted to go to school, but everyone said she was sick, and cousin Madelaine made fun of her.
Madelaine was very mean to Raven. Even though they were both Darkholmes, Madelaine thought she was better because her family owned this big house. Madelaine said that Raven's "sickness" was another sign that Madelaine was better than Raven, because Madelaine did not have a "skin condition", that made her ugly.
Raven hated being ugly, she thought that she really had a beautiful face, but that did not matter because of her skin. Her skin was blue, it had been ever since she got sick. Nobody thought blue skin was beautiful. But she was still Raven, why was everyone so mad at her now?
They were having a party tonight because Madelaine was thirteen today. Raven had turned thirteen the week before, but nobody had even remembered. She wished somebody had at least brought her a toblerone from the little pastry shop in Vienna that she liked so much. But if anybody remembered, they did not say so.
Raven worked with the servants to prepare for Madelaine's party until it was evening. She was on the scullery stairs, when Madelaine suddenly approached her, already dressed in her pretty new party dress. She reached out and grabbed a handful of Raven's dark red hair and yanked.
"Listen up, ugly!" she hissed at Raven, "No one wants you here tonight. No one wants an ugly girl like you around."
She released Raven, slapping her in the face, "Go upstairs to your room and stay there until morning."
Raven dashed up the stairs, crying desperately. No one here loved her. Aunt Maggie would not care that Madelaine had pulled her hair or slapped her. She would just take Madelaine's side. She always did.
She lay on her bed and sobbed until she could not cry anymore. She lit a candle and went to her bookshelf to find her favorite book, Cindersoot. It was a story about a little girl who was a lot like Raven.
The little girl in the story had an evil stepmother and stepsisters, just like Aunt Maggie and Madelaine, and she had to live in an ugly attic room, a lot like Raven's dingy, uncared for room, and she had to work like a servant and not go anywhere, just like Raven. But one day something magic happened to the girl, and she got to marry a prince. Raven hoped that someday something magic would happen to her too. She hoped Daddy would come home for her.
She stood up and crossed the room to her cracked mirror. She pretended it was not broken, that instead it was a magic mirror that granted wishes.
"Oh, magic mirror, I wish I was pretty like Madelaine."
She glared at her cracked reflection, then burst into giggles at her game.
She crossed back to her bed and lay back on her bed, picturing Madelaine's face, and wondering what it would be like to be pretty like Madelaine. She drifted off to sleep, her hand drifting up to rub her cheek where Madelaine had slapped her.
She woke up with a moan. Her face hurt, she did not know why, Madelaine had not hit her that hard, and all her face hurt. Her skin seemed to sting a little too. But it did not hurt like her face did. She raised her hands to her face and stopped in sudden shock, her candle had burned out, but in the dim light from the window she could still see. Her hands were not blue, but a creamy white color, like she could have only dreamed of.
A smile lit her face, she was better now, she could go back to school, and have friends again. She jumped up to head towards the door, excited to tell Aunt Maggie, everything could go back to normal, because she was better now. Maybe she could have a party now too. Maybe now they would love her.
She caught sight of herself in the mirror and stopped suddenly. Something was wrong, in the mirror Raven had blonde hair in tight curls, and it was short, but Raven's hair was red, and long. She reached up and touched her hair; it was indeed in tight curls. Raven walked closer to the mirror to see better in the dark.
An earsplitting scream echoed through the house as she realized that Madelaine's face was staring back at her from the mirror.
Victor growled low in his throat as he trekked angrily down the dusty path. He hated going home. Not that he considered the little woodcutter's shack his home. His home was in the woods, where there was no sound but the animals and nature.
He glanced at his arms with a resigned glance. The bruises had faded. That could only mean one thing; he would be beaten again tonight.
His father, the pastor of the small logging community, was certain that his son was possessed. Or at least that was his claim. For as long as he could remember his father had hated him. Perhaps because his mother had died shortly after his birth.
But over the years it became worse, more and more, Victor was drawn to the outdoors. He would vanish for days, sometimes weeks, surviving on his own. He knew, without being taught what was edible, what was dangerous, and when the weather would be bad. His disappearances were worth the beatings, for they provided Victor with an escape from his father's rigid religious training.
And then there had been the incident with the squirrel. Victor had caught a squirrel, just reached out and plucked it from the branch it was sitting on. He had not even thought about it, and as he sat there staring at the frightened animal, he gave no thought to his next action either. As he studied the frightened animal, he could feel the tiny ribs move in and out with its rapid breaths, he almost thought he could see the tiny heart pulsing against its chest, and he became curious. With a vicious tug he tore the animal apart, watching in fascination as the small heart beat futilely and then stopped.
But his father had seen him, and beat him until he fell unconscious. Victor had awakened in the woodshed. His father had kept him in there for a week, feeding him nothing but scraps of bread. Victor had thought that he would die for sure this time, for he could barely move.
And then it happened, the first morning after his father let him out of the shed, he awakened to find that all his bruises were gone. His father had taken this as yet another sign of his inherent evil.
Already the bruises from last night's beating had faded; his father would most certainly beat him again for it. Sometimes he would try to fool his father, he would throw himself against the trees and hit his arms on rocks to force new bruises, but he did not feel like it tonight.
This day had already been bad, he was having trouble in school, he always had, his mind just could not wrap around the concepts of math, and most other things the schools taught, and he was not a favorite with the teacher. To top off not being able to keep up, today his teeth had hurt, really hurt. So bad he had whimpered, something he was mortally embarrassed about.
So now he trudged, from the horrid place called school, to the horrid place he called home, and the horrid man he called father.
Phillip Creed stood on the porch waiting for his son. He had done everything he knew how to do for his son, yet the devil inside him would not leave. In fact, it seemed to grow stronger. It frightened him.
His son trudged into the yard, dragging his feet on the ground. Phillip glanced up and watched him warily, he had to be constantly on guard, or the demon would take control of his son again. He noticed immediately that Victor's muscled arms were clean of bruises. Just the night before he had tried to beat the demon out of his son's body, but it refused to leave, and now it mocked him by showing him a lack of bruises. He narrowed his eyes and gave a resigned sigh; he would have to beat it out of him again.
"What happened, boy? Ya shoulda been here an hour ago," he declared, glancing up at the sky to judge the position of the sun.
"I'm sorry father," Victor replied tritely, Phillip glanced at him as he spoke, gasping in shock as the boy opened his mouth to finish his sentence, the words lost to his ears. Lomg, wicked fangs protruded from Victor's mouth, giving him an evil look. The devil inside him was indeed manifesting itself today.
He reached inside the door and pulled out the club that was never far away. Victor's eyes widened in fear.
"You've got the devil in you boy!" he shouted as he advanced on his son. "I must beat it out, you've the devil himself in you!"
"No, Daddy, please! I'm sorry!" he wailed, dropping to his knees, but Phillip ignored him, it was just the devil inside him, trying to trick him.
At first Victor tried to raise his arms to shield himself from the blow, but he knew it was futile, and eventually lowered his arms, using them to keep from collapsing completely onto the ground. The blows continued to rain down on his unguarded back, the pain overwhelming his mind.
He lost track of time, trapped in a haze of pain, until a greater pain superseded the pain from the beating. His fingers pulsed and burned, feeling as if the ends were going to explode.
Victor squeezed back tears trying to look at his fingers and determine the source of the pain. They did not look any different, but they hurt. Suddenly oblivious to his father's blows, he sat up a little raising his hands to study them. He howled in pain as the skin of one finger split a little and a small black point protruded, covered in his blood.
"Pay attention and quit whining, this is for your own good," Phillip roared, delivering an especially vicious blow to Victor's head, which knocked him forward onto his hands. He screamed aloud as searing pain tore through the tips of his fingers. Victor reacted on instinct; he swept his hand behind him, his mind still burning in agony, to silence the source of his pain.
It was a long time before Victor recovered his sensed. The first thing he saw was his hands. They were covered in blood, and protruding from his fingers was a set of long pointed claws coated in slick dark blood. His blood, cut from where the claws had forced their way through his tender flesh.
He glanced up in terror, only to be met by a more horrible sight. His father lay dead on the steps of the porch, his neck twisted at an unnatural angle. Even if he had not broken his neck falling, his throat was torn open by some wild animal. Victor wondered what animal it had been and why it had left him alone.
His eyes widened in sudden horror as the smell of the blood hit his nostrils. Not all the blood on his hands was his. Some of it had come from his father. He could smell the difference in the blood.
He closed his eyes, trying not to be sick, and hoping this nightmare would be gone when he opened them, but nothing changed when he opened them. His father was still dead. He had killed his own father.
"I really am the devil," he whispered to himself in despair. He turned and fled into the darkness of the woods that had been home to him for so long, seeking shelter in the wilds.
Darkholme Hall was nestled into the hills surrounding a small village. Although she loved her family's large ancestral home, Raven would have preferred to be somewhere else. Anywhere else, really, or with someone else.
Maybe her Daddy would come and take her away. He would sweep her up into his arms, and swing her around in his arms and tell her that she was still his princess, and he still loved her anyway.
But everybody said that Daddy wasn't coming back, ever again, that Daddy never really loved her, but Raven did not believe it, she remembered Daddy, and she knew that he really did love her.
"Raven! Quit daydreaming and get back to work! You must get those crystals shined for the party tonight," her aunt demanded imperiously. Raven did not think that Aunt Maggie loved her at all. She had been very nice to Raven when she first came to live with her, because Daddy was going to war, but lately she had not been nice to Raven, not since Raven got sick.
Raven did not feel sick, but Aunt Maggie said she was sick and could not go to school. The doctors told Raven that she was sick, and should just stay home. Raven wanted to go to school, but everyone said she was sick, and cousin Madelaine made fun of her.
Madelaine was very mean to Raven. Even though they were both Darkholmes, Madelaine thought she was better because her family owned this big house. Madelaine said that Raven's "sickness" was another sign that Madelaine was better than Raven, because Madelaine did not have a "skin condition", that made her ugly.
Raven hated being ugly, she thought that she really had a beautiful face, but that did not matter because of her skin. Her skin was blue, it had been ever since she got sick. Nobody thought blue skin was beautiful. But she was still Raven, why was everyone so mad at her now?
They were having a party tonight because Madelaine was thirteen today. Raven had turned thirteen the week before, but nobody had even remembered. She wished somebody had at least brought her a toblerone from the little pastry shop in Vienna that she liked so much. But if anybody remembered, they did not say so.
Raven worked with the servants to prepare for Madelaine's party until it was evening. She was on the scullery stairs, when Madelaine suddenly approached her, already dressed in her pretty new party dress. She reached out and grabbed a handful of Raven's dark red hair and yanked.
"Listen up, ugly!" she hissed at Raven, "No one wants you here tonight. No one wants an ugly girl like you around."
She released Raven, slapping her in the face, "Go upstairs to your room and stay there until morning."
Raven dashed up the stairs, crying desperately. No one here loved her. Aunt Maggie would not care that Madelaine had pulled her hair or slapped her. She would just take Madelaine's side. She always did.
She lay on her bed and sobbed until she could not cry anymore. She lit a candle and went to her bookshelf to find her favorite book, Cindersoot. It was a story about a little girl who was a lot like Raven.
The little girl in the story had an evil stepmother and stepsisters, just like Aunt Maggie and Madelaine, and she had to live in an ugly attic room, a lot like Raven's dingy, uncared for room, and she had to work like a servant and not go anywhere, just like Raven. But one day something magic happened to the girl, and she got to marry a prince. Raven hoped that someday something magic would happen to her too. She hoped Daddy would come home for her.
She stood up and crossed the room to her cracked mirror. She pretended it was not broken, that instead it was a magic mirror that granted wishes.
"Oh, magic mirror, I wish I was pretty like Madelaine."
She glared at her cracked reflection, then burst into giggles at her game.
She crossed back to her bed and lay back on her bed, picturing Madelaine's face, and wondering what it would be like to be pretty like Madelaine. She drifted off to sleep, her hand drifting up to rub her cheek where Madelaine had slapped her.
She woke up with a moan. Her face hurt, she did not know why, Madelaine had not hit her that hard, and all her face hurt. Her skin seemed to sting a little too. But it did not hurt like her face did. She raised her hands to her face and stopped in sudden shock, her candle had burned out, but in the dim light from the window she could still see. Her hands were not blue, but a creamy white color, like she could have only dreamed of.
A smile lit her face, she was better now, she could go back to school, and have friends again. She jumped up to head towards the door, excited to tell Aunt Maggie, everything could go back to normal, because she was better now. Maybe she could have a party now too. Maybe now they would love her.
She caught sight of herself in the mirror and stopped suddenly. Something was wrong, in the mirror Raven had blonde hair in tight curls, and it was short, but Raven's hair was red, and long. She reached up and touched her hair; it was indeed in tight curls. Raven walked closer to the mirror to see better in the dark.
An earsplitting scream echoed through the house as she realized that Madelaine's face was staring back at her from the mirror.