Author's Note: And now for the man who dictated Bradley's entire life in the first place, Father. Also, if anyone recognizes it, I made a reference to a drawing on DeviantART done by HighwindEngineer03 and it's actually thanks to her and all her drawings that I love Wrath and the Bradley family so much. If you're a Wrath, Pride, WrathxMrs. Bradley, and/or Bradley family fan, then you should definitely check out her stuff.

A Father's Wrath

Father had just received word from the scientists that the Fuhrer candidates were ready for their final test. It had been twenty years since the project had begun and about twenty-five years since he had ordered its commencement. These things took time to organize themselves after all, but he had been patient and his waiting had finally come to an end. By the end of the day, he hoped that he would have a new son that would be able to help further his plans. This son would be the essence of the last of his sins and to be honest, he wasn't sure how it would go. After all, he'd never made a son with a human base, so there was no way of knowing the results of such a venture or if it was even possible. But no matter, it had to be done. The Promised Day was soon, about forty years away and everything had to be ready in time. He needed a homunculus directly controlling human affairs as soon as possible.

When he arrived in the lab room, the scientists greeted him with respect and reverence, but he hardly acknowledged them save to give the leader of them, the gold-toothed doctor, the philosopher's stone that contained only the most wrathful souls of all those in Xerxes. The man accepted it gratefully and with a crazed look in his eyes. It was impossible not to see the ecstasy that the man was experiencing for this day. Father was excited too, but his expressions were tremendously muted and stone-like in comparison to the alchemy doctor, scientist, whatever he chose to be.

Father watched impassively off to the side as one-by-one, the candidates came into the room, were strapped down to the table, had the philosopher's stone injected into their bloodstream, died, and were unceremoniously thrown away into a storage room until they could be properly disposed of. Two... Four... Nine... Eleven... The scientists were disappointed too. How many more would die before he had a new son? Or was it simply completely impossible to use a human as a base for a homunculus. If that was the case, then he would be sincerely annoyed at having wasted twenty precious years trying to create something that could not be made. The next one arrived, another young man, this one with smooth, close-cut black hair and dark green eyes. This one would be Number 12. When he was strapped down, he glanced over at the storage room, saw what happened to his fellows, and there was fear in his voice and his eyes. What human wouldn't be afraid? But perhaps this one wouldn't remain so and he strode over to the table.

"You are the twelfth candidate," he stated and the young man's head jerked up to look at him in surprise. Clearly, he had not sensed him coming. Human senses were just so pathetically inept. He bent over 90 degrees and stared intently into the candidate's green, fearful eyes. "Do you have what it takes to become my fury? My wrath," he asked, almost mockingly.

He didn't believe he would. There was so much fear in those eyes that it seemed highly unlikely that this one would survive, but his words had distracted the young man from the philosopher's stone being injected into his veins until the deed was done. Father stepped well back and watched impassively as the same process happened to this one too. In about a minute or two, depending upon the stubbornness of the man, he would die just like all the others. Two minutes. Okay, so he was one of those stubborn ones. Three minutes. Hmm... perhaps he was a bit stronger than he thought. Four minutes. Father frowned slightly; they didn't usually take this long to die. Five minutes. Neither Father nor the scientists fully understood what was happening, but something different was going on for this particular candidate and they all waited with bated breath, thinking the same thing. Could this one be the one...? Another five minutes later, the screams and violent red light finally died away, and the scientists slowly approached the table. The candidate was twitching violently like a rabbit and both his eyes were shut tight. There were no injuries on him, he was alive, and none of them saw the philosopher's stone fall to the ground which could only mean one thing... They had succeeded.

"It's amazing!" one of them exclaimed as they went about untying the straps.

"We've made a new type of human!" cried another. The final strap was undone and the candidate's right hand immediately shot up to his face.

"Congratulations," the gold-toothed doctor told the young man as he slowly sat up, still covering his face with his hand, apparently still in pain, "You've been chosen to lead mankind down the path of destiny. Everything has been arranged to provide you with all that you will need." He had finally moved his hand away from his face and now Father could clearly see the Ouroboros tattoo on his left eye. "From now on, your name will be... King Bradley."

Father had picked out that name, himself, since his other children had been so useless in coming up with a good name. 'Max Powers' with the 'e' written backwards was Pride's suggestion. Do you know how embarrassing it is when your oldest child can't spell a simple word? He understood how important it was for Pride to pass off as a little boy, but did he need to bring it down here? Lust had suggested 'Jack McBulge' of all things. Could that girl really not keep her mind out of the gutter? Sloth was still digging the tunnel, but Pride had sent his shadows on ahead to give him a piece of paper to write it down, and unsurprisingly, his response came back blank. He honestly didn't know why he'd bothered. Sloth and thinking were arch-enemies. Envy, his hot-headed child wanted to call him 'Inferior Retard'; probably to boost his own self-esteem, but really, he should have called Gluttony that, considering that the name he suggested was his catchprase 'Can I eat him?' Needless to say, the name he picked was the best of the lot.

"And to the rest of our family, you, my youngest son, shall be known as Wrath," Father said as he stepped forward again and all heads turned to him. "Come. Let my introduce you to your siblings."

A name, an identity, a purpose, a life; he had given his youngest son everything he would ever need. So now, in exchange, Wrath would help him to achieve his own goals. The world was ruled by equivalent exchange, and it was a fair trade. But hopefully, in forty years with Wrath's help so long as his son did his duty and remained loyal to him, his loving father, he would no longer need to concern himself with the world's laws and consequences.

Father still doesn't understand a darn thing about humans ever after all these centuries of not being a dwarf in a flask, but I suppose it takes one to know one. (lol, and he has no sense of creativity)