See No Evil
Far beneath Central, on a cot that has seen cleaner days, Wrath sleeps. He is still young, and unlike some of his older siblings - Gluttony has no need for anything that doesn't fit in his mouth, and Envy scoffs that it's a useless waste of time - he still needs to sleep as humans do.
Wrath dreams, but judging from the look on his face, the dreams are anything but sweet. His eyes move restlessly back and forth beneath his eyelids, and his lips are drawn back in a feral snarl.
He's back on a night from weeks ago, before he took the name of Wrath. He's fused to the bed again, except this time, the blankets wrap around his arms and legs, digging painfully into his limbs and binding him fast to the mattress. Moonlight spills in from the single window, illuminating the room in stark tones of black and white. Suddenly the sensation is new and unexpected and terrifying again as it was the first time. He cries out, a frightened shout that echoes and reverberates in the dark.
Something hears.
A black shadow covers the moon, staining the room darkly. What jaundiced, sickly light that does filter in casts strange shadows on the walls that writhe like live things. The door creaks slowly open, seeming to Wrath like a mouth gaping wide to swallow him... or perhaps a gate to let someone - or something - enter.
And through the doorway walks a man with a grin like a razor; sharp and cruel.
His clothes are the same startling shade of white as his hair, and a pair of black shades hide his eyes from view. He walks with the kind of careless grace that's normally associated with large beasts of prey. He turns to face Wrath, and a small part of him - the part that's still human - knows what this man is. A low moan escapes from his throat.
The man in white looks Wrath up and down as other men would view a side of meat. "You have the most pretty eyes," he muses.
Wrath's bonds glow blue-white as he attempts to free himself, but the grinning man will have none of it. He simply cocks his head to one side, and the cords bite deeper. "Can't have you leaving before we get to know each other, kiddo." Wrath simply snarls in return. The man removes his dark shades, and the snarl dies in Wrath's throat as he stares, horrified, at the man's face.
A hunting knife with a wicked blade makes an appearance in the man's hand as if by magic. "Let's have a look at you," he says, and raises the knife. It approaches Wrath's left eye fast and sure. His slit pupils dilate as the blade fills his vision. It moves closer. There's a curious pricking sensation, then a horribly soft, wet sound as the blade slides in-
Wrath isn't sure just when he starts to scream, but his throat is raw and sore and he can do little more than twitch weakly by the time the man is finished.
The man dressed in white chews thoughtfully with two mouths and speaks in a casual, conversational tone with one. "You really are unique, you know. Exquisite texture. Innocence and corruption in equal measures-" He pauses, a sigh of pleasure escaping his lips. "The sharp tinge of obsession, yes. And something else I can't quite place..." The man rubs his chin with one hand. "Tastes like life, almost."
He blinks, the teeth of his mouths clacking together as Wrath whimpers softly. "Well I'll be..." Wrath stares at the man through the blood covering his face, his newly-grown eyes glistening in the dim, yellow light. "You regenerate, do you? In that case..."
The hunting knife appears again in the man's hand as he walks forward, grinning. "Looks like we'll have plenty of chances to find out what that curious taste was, my friend." The blade advances, filling Wrath's vision again until it seems that it can't get any closer...
A scream, full of desperate terror and pain, pierces the night.
Sloth enters the room and find her 'son' crying, huddled on his bed like the frightened little boy he is. Sitting as his side, Sloth holds him and croons softly, stroking his sweat-matted hair like the dim memories in her head say she should. Absently she wonders why Wrath has covered his eyes with his hands, as if to protect them, pressing down hard enough to turn his knuckles white.
Somewhere behind Wrath's eyelids, deep in his mind, a man with white hair and too many grins stands, and smiles, and beckons to him.
Author's Notes:
Because Wrath is One Messed Up Kid, and I wanted to find out why.
Next - if there is a next - Kimbley meets a man who is singularly unsuccessful at creating anything, but has great talents in the other direction.