1 Prologue

Opening my eyes, the first thing I noticed was the clarity at which I could see in the apparently dusky room.

Little pieces of dust floating in front of my eyes. The small may flies buzzing in between each of the dust particles. An instinct I didn't know I had burst through into my head and my hand grabbed at the nearest fly.

I don't know how I knew how to do it, but I did, and I caught the fly in between...two claws? My nails had elongated into claws. Sharp, long, and seemingly very hard and durable.

The fly, not yet pierced by my claws and the delicate control I somehow had over them, was fidgeting around, trying to get out of my hold. But it was useless.

*Squish*

A simple squeeze and the fly was dead. For some reason, killing it gave me a burst of mild joy. Like I'd achieved something funny or just fun in general. I really didn't know what was happening to me right now. But I liked it. I felt a constant warmth, a constant flow of power flooding my body, and it felt intoxicating.

Moving my eyes to the side, I saw that I seemed to be in some kind of cell.

Flipping my body to the side and sitting up on the wooden bench that I seemed to have been using as a bed, I was instantly hit by the second sense which had seemed to have been amped up. My sense of smell.

Everything hit me at once. The stale scent of alcohol. The terrible body odor coming from both myself and whoever else had been in this cell for the past week. But there was something else.

Smelt like cheap aftershave but it was a whole lot better than what I had going on.

"Hey, you there?" I asked, my voice deep and rough but nevertheless it sounded nice. Masculine. Charismatic, "I can smell you, so I know you're there, jackass," the cursing came out naturally, like that was my prerogative or something. A reflex I could never get away from.

All I got in reply was a scoff as a man dressed up like a sheriff came into view, propping himself up against the doorframe and a hand on his holstered pistol, "Whaddaya want, Creed?" he spoke in a very deep accent, though American, it didn't sound very...literate. My thoughts were shaken away as I heard the click of the hammer being drawn back on his revolver, "What is God's name happened to your hands, son?" he asked in wondered as he pulled the pistol and leveled it on me, "I knew you were bad, Victor, but I didn't think you was some kind of Devil!"

Something he said in that sentence...rattled me. Angered me and made me snarl before a deep and inhuman sound came from my throat. Like the growl of a Tiger.

Again, more instincts came to the forefront of my mind and I rushed at the bars of the jail cell, all my nails extended into claws. I felt quick and powerful, yet the bars stopped me and a few loud bangs went off as I felt an ungodly amount of pain flood my system.

My arms were through the bars but my knees gave out from under me and I collapsed into a bowing position.

The pain. Goddamn the pain was horrible. Six places on my torso were alight with pain and it felt maddening. But the pain helped me remember. Helped me remember that my name was Victor but not Victor Creed. Victor Creed was a Villain/Anti-Hero from Marvel. My name was Victor Wilson. But just now he called me Victor Creed, right? But I'm Victor Wilson...But the claws. The instincts and the enhanced senses. Those were the powers of Victor Creed.

To back up this realization, I felt the bullets in my chest getting pushed out by the healing muscle and flesh. Six clinks of metal hitting the wooden floor. The absence of pain actually made me smile so widely I was sure I'd split my cheeks apart. My tongue rang across my teeth, finding the my canine teeth elongated and long, and don't forget sharp beyond belief, and I slowly found my feet again, standing up.

The sheriff, I presume, just looked terrified of me, "D-Devil! Devil spawn!" he shouted, backing up and dropping his gun along the way.

He stank of fear.

Figuring I had some time before he came back with a mob of people, I sat down and looked over my body. Tearing the bloodied clothes off my upper body, literally, I looked at the blood covering my chest and I wiped it away from the cleaner parts of my torn up shirt and jacket. Looking over my body, I saw nothing but shredded muscle on a large frame and I realized...this definitely isn't my body.

I wasn't fat or anything but I wasn't thin or athletic either. I was average. So there's so way my body could have become this big and muscular overnight. Speaking of yesterday...what happened? I went out, got drunk a hell, and now I've woken up in a jail cell as Victor Creed aka Sabretooth...?

This stinks of weird. Reeks of it.

Standing up, I knew some of the feats Sabretooth was capable of from the comics and I set myself down into a sprinter's starting stance.

I was starting to hear the people outside becoming rowdy, having been round up by the Sheriff after him seeing my healing factor and thinking it was the work of the Devil or whatever. Thinking of that, I realized that some of Sabretooth had definitely rubbed off on me. The fangs in my mouth were called Devil Teeth by Victor's father--I suppose he's my father now? Eh, doesn't matter too much. He should be dead now anyway. The word Devil and Monster were linked deeply in Victor's and now my psyche by the abuse Sabretooth had gone through as a child. By his own father no less.

Sighing, I closed my eyes before opening them again. Whether it's weird or not, I need to get out of here before I get lynched. I could probably fight them off but pain...well, I'm not a masochist and I doubt the Sheriff's the only one with a gun in town.

Breaking into a sprint, I blitzed forth, being surprisingly quick for a man of my size.

As I came into contact with the jail cell door, it creaked momentarily before my momentum and inhuman strength broke it off of it's hinges. I felt a few of my bones break in the process but they quickly healed and I was as good as new. Still hurt like a bitch though. Especially the healing. You'd think it'd be less painful but that was the though of an optimist. Neither the me in the past or the me now were very optimistic, however.

Throwing the iron door to the side, I was slightly surprised by the utter strength I possessed. I knew Sabretooth was strong...but effortlessly throwing a jail cell door aside?

Pushing that thought aside, I realized I had some tests to do. Mainly so I could try not to think about how I was sent here and why I'm so accepting of this second life of sorts. Shouldn't I be worrying about my family? About my friends? But the new instincts I was rapidly adapting to, told me that this life would be much more fun and exciting than the other one. More fulfilling.

I just pushed such thoughts out of my head and trusted my new instincts. They were like a life supprt system for my sanity at the moment.

The jail door out of the way, I bent down and picked up the revolver.

Seeing the roughness of the work and how simple it looked, I figured that it was an early--and I mean EARLY--version of a modern revolver. That, with the fact there was actually a sheriff in town, and the structure of the building looked old, I'd guess that I was somewhere in the 1800s.

Smiling, I had a truly exciting thought...if I'm in Marvel, in the 1800s, I have quite a lot of time to figure out and plan some fun stuff.

Continuing to smile, I bent down again and picked up the bullets the sheriff had been reloading into his gun before he dropped them along with the gun and ran off ot rally the town to go against the big bad Devil spawn that I obviously am.

Loading the revolver, I looked around the sheriff office before finding a back entrance to the building. Exiting the building, I went to walk away but the darkening of the sky and the animalistic instincts tugging at my mind made me stop, "...It wouldn't hurt to get used to my capabilities, would it?" I asked myself and thought for a few seconds before shaking my head and turning back to the town, "Nah," I said with a smile before slinking into a dark alleyway and letting my predator instincts take over.

I would signify my entry into this world with a hunt...Guess Sabretooth rubbed off on me a bit more than I thought, huh?