The Fallen Sin
Summary: The Seven Temptations were created by God to test the will of Man. With the Fall of Lucifer, the archangel Michael forcefully sent the Seven with his Fallen brother into Hell. Yet, not all of the Seven are pleased by this. Wrath, the youngest of the Temptations, soon finds herself helping the Righteous Man put a stop to the Apocalypse.
Rating: This story is rated M for violence, future sexual content and adult language
Pairings: Wrath/Dean or Castiel (I am allowing readers to choose who they feel should be paired, and I am open to forming a trio relationship between the three if it fits), Ruby/Sam (Current), Lust/Sam (Future).
Chapter One- The Fury of Hell
After God created the newborn and rebellious race of Man and the banishment of Adam and Eve from the paradise known as Eden, God sought out ways to test the human race, to prove their faith and belief. In the wake of His plan, He created the Seven Angels of Temptation.
The first had been Pride. Pride often targeted men in a seat of power, forcing their own arrogance to grow to dangerous levels. Most of Pride's targets fell to the temptation and the feeling of being best.
The next had been Greed. Greed, taking a page from Pride's book, targeted men in power. Greed granted these men their first tastes of gain; either in land, money or power itself, and Greed cackled with pretentiousness. Greed often took pleasure in watching his targets grow in their desires.
The third had been Gluttony. Gluttony was not like the previous two. Gluttony targeted anyone, but usually waited for the opportune moments. Gluttony's sick perversion was often to wait, mostly for civil disputes within the individual countries Man had created. Gluttony enjoyed watching Greed's targets take more and more for themselves, leaving the Temptation of absolute hunger drive into minds of the humans left on the outside.
The fourth had been Sloth. Sloth, lazy in nature, had gone the easy route and placed a small seed of laziness in the hearts of every single human, from the moment they are granted life. Sloth's idea had been ingenious at best, as it allowed Man to decide whether to live an active life or avoid it all together. Despite the laziness, Sloth was probably the smartest.
Envy, the fifth one born, had been the most dangerous of the Temptations. Perhaps, it was due to Envy's mark festering in the heart of men and women alike. As Envy's temptation grew, it left an opening for Greed and Pride to plant their own temptations. Envy was like a snake, coiled and waiting for the right moment to strike.
Lust, the sixth born, carried a different type of danger than Envy. Lust poured all over the world, much like Sloth, and laid waste to every human in existence. From Lust's temptation, Envy often took solace as it left others tempted by Lust to grow envious.
The youngest of all, Wrath, was dangerous, unable to be tamed by any other. Wrath planted a seed of anger in every heart at the moment of birth, but let it remain buried. Wrath enjoyed raising tensions between people, kingdoms and lovers. The raw, untapped anger in Man went unchecked.
The Seven Temptations acted alone, together and sometimes partnered with other Temptations, as they brought Man to the cusp of life. They had not been created to torture Man, but teach them fear, faith, love and forgiveness. God wanted Man to be tested, to prove they are worthy to cross the Gates of Heaven. Sadly, God seemed to forget, the Seven Temptations were the embodiment of their Sins.
When the the Great War of Heaven, the Temptations were stuck in the middle. They have seen the things the humans are willing to do to gain power, wealth, love, prestige, and land. God had grown soft toward Man and the Temptations were constantly at work, with no end in sight. When the second eldest archangel, Lucifer, stood firm against the compassion shown toward Man, while angels were given servitude, the Temptations were torn apart. Greed, Pride and Envy were quick to join Lucifer's ranks. Sloth, too lazy to want to fight, stayed out of the war. Gluttony, in the beginning, sided with God and his followers, but eventually gave into his own temptation and switch sides. Lust and Wrath, the youngest of their siblings, were left to stand alone. Lust loved humanity, but could understand Lucifer's plight. Wrath had no dedication to either party. The two youngest were forced to fight to survive. Some of God's faithful believed the two youngest Temptations to have also sided with Lucifer, and Lucifer stated 'If you refuse to side with us, then you are against us'.
In the end, it didn't matter. As Michael defeated Lucifer and cast him into the pit of Hell, the oldest of all the celestial beings turned his sights on his brother's followers, and soon the Temptations. denounced from Heaven, all of the Seven were forcefully thrown into Hell. Forced to follow Lucifer's bidding, the Seven were ordained with tasks. Greed, Pride and Envy were frequently allowed to tamper with humans. Gluttony was forced to work with Famine. Sloth had been forced to work with Pestilence. Lust aided War, using the desires of Man to copulate fights. Wrath, the youngest, was forced to work in Hell, anger and rage forcing the youngest of the Seven to torture and break souls. The personified anger used the built up frustration and anger, everything focused toward Lucifer and Michael, and took it out on the souls presented on the racks, hoping for the day Wrath could escape.
Curiously, it all started with the arrival of the fated Righteous Man.
Wrath hated many things about Hell. After Falling, Lucifer commanded each of the Seven to take a human appearance, and Wrath had been forced, violently so, to take on a female appearance. Hair as dark and as red as the anger that burned within, as untamed as her personality. Wrath was given eyes a sulfur-golden eyes, which burn bright against the darkness of her hair. Her figure was on the petite side, but even those that know nothing of who she is can sense the respect commanded with each step she takes. Wrath hates taking on the appearance of a human. Not only is it unnatural at best, but it is not as disposable as a vessel. Trapping the humanized Wrath in the form of a human had been Lucifer's first mistake.
His second mistake had been forcing Lust, the only sibling Wrath had cared for, to work with War. As much as Lust enjoyed making people give into their desires, the Sixth Temptation hated war. Fighting to defend a love, or for their deepest desires, Lust is willing to do so, but to put Lust in the midst of War's grasp, under his command, and throw the Temptation into dangerous situations increases Wrath's anger.
Lucifer's third mistake, was forcing Wrath upon the poor defenseless souls strapped to what is referred to as The Racks. Wrath had no qualms with Man, she honestly believed that forcing humans to struggle against the Temptations her and her siblings brought upon them was the best way to prove they deserved to rest eternally in paradise. Ironically, Wrath was probably the most level-headed of her siblings.
"Wrath," a weak, slightly broken voice calls out, pulling the red-headed Temptation out of her internal meditation.
Turning her golden gaze to the speaker, Wrath nods amicably at the brown-haired beauty. Unlike Wrath, Lust favored the form of a woman. As her name insinuates, Lust's figure is curvy in all the right places, every feature about the beautiful Temptation soft and full. It is the greatest difference between the two youngest siblings, where Lust is soft, Wrath appears more strong.
"Is something wrong, Lust?" Wrath asks, gold eyes blank as she stares at the brown-haired beauty.
Lust shifts, her soft blue eyes glancing away from the red-head briefly, and nods curtly, "Word has traveled through the grape vine. Apparently, Lilith caught herself a sweet soul and it has been ordered that both you and Alistair are on Rack duty."
Wrath nods stiffly before standing up from her meditative position. Bidding her sister a silent good-bye, the ruby-haired woman heads toward the Rack. Now she can tag Good ol' Luci with a fourth mistake. Putting her in the same room as Alistair. Wrath can't stand the sadistic demon. If Wrath's abilities weren't so limited after being cut off from Heaven, she would have smited the sadist ages ago.
Locating Alistair's intended, Wrath immediately notices the stubborn green eyes. Wrath is used to the usual souls that come to Hell. Full of hatred and self-righteous anger. As if they did no wrong to get here. This soul, this rather beautiful soul glaring at Alistair with defiance, is not like the others before him. No. This soul accepts its place, knows that it had only been a matter of time. This soul...doesn't belong here. Wrath's musings grow darker as she watches Alistair strike the soul, the cocky response given driving Alistair's anger even more so.
Something didn't feel right.
"Take him," Alistair's cool, cooing voice calls out, pulling her dull gold eyes to the white-eyed demon, "Fix him up and have him prepped for tomorrow. We have to make sure he receives a proper welcome."
Wrath says nothing as Alistair turns and leaves. Once the sadistic demon disappears, Wrath turns to stare at those defiant eyes. Even torn clean through by the Hell Hounds, even with the predetermined test Alistair gave him during her inner thoughts, this soul refuses to look away, refuses to back down in his defiance.
Wrath kind of likes it.
Pulling him from The Rack, Wrath says nothing as she forcefully pulls the warm soul from the torture chamber and into the recovery room. Forcing him to lay down on the bed, Wrath begins applying the special ointment. Knowing Alistair, he wants this soul in perfect shape, not a single blemish visible.
"Why are you healing me?" the soul asks, green eyes looking up from the wound on his thigh as it stitched itself together.
Wrath glances up briefly before turning her gaze back to her duties, "Alistair likes his intended to be without a single bruise or cut when he tears into them."
"Gee. Ever hear of beating around the bush? Or sugar coating things?" the soul snarks.
"No. There is no point in telling you a lie, or giving false hope. You will soon learn your place, just like those before you," Wrath replies, her voice monotonous and dull.
A snort echoes in the room, "My place? Apparently, they don't know who they're dealing with?"
"It doesn't matter. I have only known very few to never crack, but those have never been given to Alistair," Wrath comments, pulling her fingers away from the healed soul. "It doesn't matter who you are, or who you might have been. All of that carries no point."
"What makes Alistair so bad?" the soul questions, his tone hard, even in its curiosity.
Wrath finally meets the defiant green gaze, "Let me put it to you this way. The demon that held your contract, Lilith," A dark gleam flickers through those green eyes, but Wrath continues, "She would never dare set Alistair off. While Lilith is Luci's first of his creations, Alistair is his most dangerous. None of the other demons can hold a candle to the man's sadistic tendencies. He will break you, and after, build you up as his own puppet."
Wrath motions for the soul to follow, and is surprised when those green eyes narrow thoughtfully, "You speak as if you are not a demon."
Wrath says nothing, reaching up to yank the soul out of the room. Leading the soul into a well made cell, Wrath shoves him into the room.
"Wait," Wrath pauses as she makes to leave the cell, "Who are you?"
"Wrath," she replies curtly, gold eyes meeting the still-defiant green briefly, before she shuts the door, activating the sigil, locking the soul inside.
Realizing Lucifer's fifth, and greatest, mistake, came as Wrath stands in the shadows of The Rack, watching Alistair as he rips the flesh off of the green-eyed soul's back with each, viscous lash. The soul's screams had become hoarse and Wrath knew it was only a matter of time before Alistair grew bored. Alistair enjoyed making his victims scream. The crimson blood pours like waterfalls, the soul's back nothing but ribbons of blood, tissue and visible bone. Though the soul had screamed in all of his agony, he had yet to break down and cry for relief. His round face, hardened to keep the painful expression at bay, is also stained red, cuts and broken cartilage from Alistair's physical beatings just moments before. The echoing screams from other tortured souls doesn't bother Wrath as they used to, the song of agonizing souls having long since become a lullaby. The gut-wrenching stench of blood, ash and brimstone fills the very air, casting a veil of oppression across every inch of Hell. Hell was torturous, never-ending and filled with cackling demons searching for a fresh soul to tear into.
Whoever thought different was only lying to themselves.
"You know, it is quite simple to get off the Rack," Alistair's hissing, lisped voice teases, and Wrath finds her eyebrow twitch, "You can get off when you put souls on."
"Fuck you," the green-eyed soul spits out, determination visible, as he spits a mouthful of crimson saliva.
Alistair grins, "Oh, you wait. It isn't everyday we get a Winchester here," A familiar feeling tingled at the back of Wrath's mind as she listens to Alistair's boastful gloating, "I will take pleasure in breaking you, boy. You," Wrath's golden gaze glares coldly at the demon's commanding voice, "take him. Get him healed and allow him some time to rest. I am going to contemplate more ways of getting this one to break."
Wrath nods curtly, watching as the sadistic demon disappears from the Rack. Dragging the soul back to the healing room, Wrath shoves the tattered soul toward the bed, her golden gaze burning dangerously as she leans close. Something was different about this soul. Seeing the green eyes glare back, still defiant, Wrath does nothing to move from the close proximity.
"Who were you when you were alive?"
"D-Dean...Dean Winchester," he grunts, his voice roughened from fighting back screams of agony, "Why does it matter?"
"How strong are your convictions, Dean Winchester?" Seeing the confusion in those eyes, Wrath continues, "Do you ever see yourself giving in?" Seeing him shake his head, "Do you think you can stay that way, defiant and refusing?"
"Why?" he croaks.
"Because...you don't belong here, and I am going to find a way to get you out."
Dean's green eyes burn as he looks up at her, "Why should I believe some yellow-eyed demon?" Wrath's fingers pause in their movements, "My family has had enough problems with yellow-eyed demons making deals."
A cry of pain leaves Dean's lips as her fingers press against a tender (slowly closing) wound, "I am not a demon," Wrath's nimble fingers move away from the injury to his hair, gripping the back of his head to yank his body into a painful arch, her cold gaze glaring into his eyes, "You would do well to remember it."
Wrath sinks into a seated position in the darkness of the room, her eyes sliding shut. She knows something is wrong. Lucifer is up to something. Something big. Dean Winchester. There is something special about him, but what? She had never heard of Alistair offering to take a soul off of the Rack. The blatant defiance will only fuel Alistair's blood lust. It is unheard of to take a soul off of the Rack, offering them to escape the pain. Allowing them to break other souls, put more souls on the Rack. Again, unheard of. Soul break easily, but none are given a chance to escape the pain.
So why Dean Winchester? His convictions seem strong, his determination unmatched. It is obvious Dean carries a sense of self-right, that alone fueling his defiance. Someone with that much righteousness would never allow themselves to spill the blood of others, at least not the innocent, she assumes.
Wrath's eyes snap open. Righteousness. Spilling blood in Hell. The proverbial lightbulb clicks on as she realizes Dean isn't just an ordinary righteous man. He is the Righteous Man.
Licking her lips, Wrath's hands tremble as she brings them from her lap, raising them before her breasts. Placing her palms together, Wrath closes her eyes as, for the first time in many ages, she bows her head in a silent prayer.
'I pray to you, God, and those blessed in Heaven's light. The Righteous One has been pulled within the Gates of Hell. He stands firm, but the Sadistic One is unrelenting. I pray that someone will hear this plea and bring forth the change that is needed.'
She isn't sure if her prayer will be answered, but she will do her best to keep the Righteous One from breaking. She has to be smart about it though. If they catch onto what she is doing, she will be the one on the Rack, and unlike the souls trapped here, she would not go down without a fight.
Days turn into months. Months progress into years. Years fade into decades. Wrath watched daily, silent and immobile as always, as Alistair tore into the soul of the Righteous Man. In the beginning, the tortures were common methods, archaic tools used to cut, bleed, poke, twist and stretch applied every single day. Each day, Wrath watched in silence as Alistair gives the same offer, only to have it spat back in his face. Literally. As the years progressed, the tortures grew more painful. She watched with cold, empty eyes as Alistair slowly take a saw to the soul's limbs, the manic gleam in the demon's eyes flashing as the blood flows like endless rivers of crimson. Each time, she is forced to patch him up, she returns to her quarters and sends a prayer. Each day, she leaves him with curt words that seems to bring the life back into his dulled eyes. His defiance remains strong.
Then, Lucifer made the worst mistake of his existence.
"You summoned me?" Wrath questions in greeting, empty gold eyes staring straight at the Fallen Angel.
"It would appear that Alistair is having difficulties breaking the soul of Dean Winchester," Lucifer states, cruel blue eyes staring back at her.
Wrath allows her eyebrow to cock, "This is my problem?"
"It is funny you should ask," Lucifer says as he stands from his thrown, moving closer to her until his flush presses against her own, and without pulling his gaze from her own, he motions for someone to step forward. "It appears that people forget that I am not a demon. I am an archangel, despite my Fall, and I still retain a rather remarkable amount of Grace." A flash of soft brown from the corner of her eye causes Wrath's eyes to grow colder, "I've heard everything, Wrath. You seek to destroy my plans, and thus, I must destroy you." Lucifer steps away from the angry Temptation and Wrath spots her sister, standing with her hands clasped before her, blue eyes sorrowful and pleading, "I will destroy what you hold most dear."
"No," Wrath snaps out, her voice hardened and brisk, forcing Lucifer to snap his glare in her direction, "I will take whatever punishment you see fit. Lust has done nothing to warrant your cruelty."
A cold chuckle reverberates around the room as Lucifer pats Lust's cheek softly, "Oh no, my dear. I would never harm the Temptation that helps fuel War so easily," He clicks his tongue in a scolding manner, "No, no, no. No, I am going to destroy the very control you keep." Lucifer runs the tip of his tongue along the shell of Lust's ear, "Do it."
A small trace of worry flashes through Wrath's mind as the tearful blue eyes seem to flush red with despair as the brunette steps forward. Though her face remains stoic, Wrath worries about the emotional mess her sister has become. What is Lucifer up to? All of it fades as realization snaps in place as Lust's palm presses against the red-head's chest.
I'm sorry, Sister.
The apology passes through her mind before Wrath feels a torrent of forcefully induced hormones ravage her body. Gritting her teeth, Wrath bulks as her body acts on its own accord. Mentally screaming as her own body moves toward the King of Hell, she inwardly shudders as his fingers drags through her hair along the back of her head. Forced to her knees, Wrath forces her mind and thoughts to blank as Lucifer's other hand grips her chin, his thumb pressing down along the spot where her jaw connects to her skull, forcing her mouth open. She curses his existence as a salty-tang flavor fills her mouth and her mind shuts down, with one last, lingering thought.
She was going to kill him.
When her mind returns to her, she finds herself hooked up to the Rack. The hooks pierced through the junction between her collarbones pull dangerously at her weight, too-hot iron shackles wrapped around her ankles kept her bare form sprawled for all to see. Embarrassment is not something she ever feels, and instead her stomach churns as faint memories of Lucifer; his smell, his taste, his voice and his touch, lingers in the air around her. She doesn't bother struggling against her bonds, as it would only cause more pain. Hearing a familiar sadistic voice coo her name, as if she is a bird with a lame wing, her dull gold gaze lifts from the ground to meet the stark white gaze of Alistair. Horror burns through her mind as she sees the familiar defiant soul standing off to Alistair's left.
He gave in. Thirty years and he gave in. She was too late.
Those same green eyes showed only the slightest bit of hesitancy before the soul reluctantly lifts a barbed, leather whip. Seems like Alistair was going to break his new puppet in with the basics. It doesn't hurt as much in the beginning, but Alistair's instructions soon has Dean ripping flesh from her bone with a single lashing. The pain is endless, but she closes her eyes, swallowing back the screams. She may have been violated and tortured, but she refuses to give Lucifer the satisfaction of her breaking.
Tossed back into her cell, not having the option of being healed, Wrath remains crumbled on the ground. Seeing the remorseful green eyes stare at her briefly, licks away the blood coating her lips.
"I'm sorry," Dean's voice echoes, hollow with despair.
Wrath chuckles mirthlessly, her head tilting back as the cold laughter bounces around the room, "I'd tell you to go to Hell, but seeing as though you joined the ranks, I'm going to go with a big old fuck you."
"I couldn't do it anymore," Dean whispers.
"Save it for someone who cares, Winchester," she rebukes monotonously, "I honestly thought you would remain strong in your convictions, but I see you are like everyone else."
Nothing is said as Dean leaves the room. Wrath chuckles humorlessly as the dull pain begins to numb over and she closes her eyes.
'God, Heaven, or whoever might be listening. Congratulations. I guess praying all this time to you was pointless. The Righteous One has spilled blood and the seal has been broken. I hope all of you burn in The End.'