X-Men Mafia Finale: Deliverance

Sabertooth watched silently as the life drained from the Prophet, seeping beneath the wooden floorboards. Watched as mortality consumed the man, suddenly wondering why he was so pleased with himself, and what had caused him to kill in the first place. He was in control. He had been the one to decide the Prophet’s fate. Hadn’t he? He couldn’t remember. Taking a step back, he stumbled, his vision falling to grey before he collapsed.

Quinn rushed to his side, gently touching his wound. He had lost a lot of blood, and as she watched his life began to slip away, panic took her. Who would keep her safe? Who would protect her from the others? He couldn’t die, not now. Not yet.

She reached for the collar, the one thing that would keep the pale horse at bay, and when her fingers found the release, it fell to the floor with a metallic thud. Immediately the wound in his back began to seal itself, and his breath grew more and more steady. Quinn pressed her head to his chest, and could hear his heartbeat speeding up, his life returning to him. Thank God. She exhaled in relief, but before she could draw in new breath, Sabertooth’s clawed hand was around her throat. She gasped for air, but his grip only tightened as he rose to his feet, lifting her with him while her legs kicked hopelessly beneath her. Her eyes widened.

“I’ll not be your slave!” he roared at her. Her response was stifled and moist, as incoherence and spittle seeped from the corners of her mouth. Her legs kicked furiously as her face began to purple, and then it was over. Quinn’s body grew limp and lifeless, and Sabertooth released his hold, suddenly free of her.

The others looked on in muted horror. There was something in his eyes that had never been there before, not while Quinn was inside his head. What they saw now was primal, insatiable hunger. He started towards them, every breath accompanied by a dark, hollow snarl.

Cache was the first to make the mistake of running. His predatory eyes tracked her movement, and he cut her off in a few agile strides. Sabertooth lashed out and made ruin of her face with his claws, splashing blood onto the nearby wall. She made a move for her purse but he grabbed her by the wrist before she could reach it and broke her forearm in half. Cache squealed like a stuck pig before he lunged and tore out her throat with his teeth.

Before Sabertooth could target his next victim, she came to him, leaping on his back and beating him over the head with her fists. With a simple twist of his torso, he reached around and grabbed Bisbiglia by the neck, rolled her over the top, and with a wet snap, she fell to the floor, her head rolling loosely on her shoulders. The brute stopped for breath, his chest rising and falling as he turned to face the last of his companions. He smiled, and Cache’s blood dripped from his massive canines.

“Did you think I didn’t know it was you Marcus?” he asked. “I can smell your fear. The stench hangs on you.”

“We can make a deal,” Marcus offered quickly. He slid a hand behind his back, hiding a long, vicious looking blade. “The job is done, you’ve finished what they wanted us to do. We can go home now!”

“We?” he asked, letting out a long sadistic laugh. “Did you think I was going to let a filthy human walk out of here? No, I’m not done yet. There’s one more left.”

Sabertooth let out a roar, and charged Marcus, who produced the blade and sunk it deep into his chest. He pulled Marcus close to him, snarled and then slammed his head against the other’s. Marcus fell back, stunned and bleeding heavily from his scalp.

“You see, Marcus,” Sabertooth mused, pulling the knife from his chest “You were dead before you ever met me.”

With that, Sabertooth rushed in and with lightning speed, slashed Marcus across the throat with the blade. The man let out a choked cry and grabbed at his neck, blood spilling through his fingertips. Rage consumed him, and as he fell forward, he clawed at Sabertooth from the floor. He couldn’t reach him, and before long he bled out, his eyes becoming cold and distant.

---

The Canadian wilderness was just as Sabertooth remembered it, wholly unmarred by the conflict that embraced the rest of the world. It was the last great refuge. He stopped the vehicle just outside a wooded area, where the snow crept up to the edge of the forest and was forced back by the tree line. He was home.

As he opened the door to the jeep and got out, he let the engine idle, and the radio ramble on about the world’s problems. Problems that didn’t concern him any longer. Society didn’t want him, and as far as he was concerned they were right not to. He just stared out at the trees, to the darkness that lay beyond, and felt the animal within cry for freedom-- so he ran to it, and as his figure disappeared into the trees, the radio went on to describe an attack on the sentinel headquarters, and how a handful of zealous mutants had let overconfidence be the death of them. No one was listening, no one cared, and after a couple of hours, the batteries died, leaving the jeep to freeze in the glacial winds, alone save for a metal collar left in the drivers seat.