V. Impulse
-—Wrath can't always control himself.


It's a strange feeling, he thinks, to be obeyed by so many, so unconditionally.

They taught him politics; they taught him history; they taught him psychology and sociology and survival...but power they left for him to discover on his own.

(Fifty million, he knows. Fifty million citizens of this country, and he's the leader of them all.)

It's hard to remember (and, at the same time, impossible to forget) that he is greater than all of them now. It's been years since he was granted the power of the Philosopher's Stone, years since he began his careful rise to power, years while he's had to keep this terrible fury in check...

He knows that he should be honored that he was the one to be called Wrath. He's powerful and intelligent and the perfect Fuhrer of the country, even at his young age...

But sometimes, if he's not careful, he feels that insatiable anger pulling at his mind until he can't resist it anymore.

Today was his inauguration as Fuhrer, as supreme ruler of all the humans (weak, inferior) in the country...and he is understandably distracted. He's just been shown to his new office by a young secretary with blushing cheeks. (He wonders what was wrong with her. It wasn't especially warm in the hallway.) Now he's seated in the—his—great, high-backed chair, staring at his polished mahogany desk without really seeing.

It's happened. All the years of training, selection, and preparation by his Father have finally come to fruition...and he feels on top of the world. His mental shields are down; he is not paying attention as he should be; he does not have time to school his features as the young man knocks and enters the room.

At this moment, he can feel the Stone coursing through his veins like never before; the overwhelming fury is he can see. He is sure, in some distant corner of his mind, that his eye is glowing blood-red.

And as the man—a corporal—closes the door behind him, Wrath leaps over the desk and slices him cleanly in half.

(Hatredragefury howdareheinterrupt lowlyhumannotworthy killkillKILL)

He's breathing heavily as he stares with murderous eyes down at the man. His blond hair is soaking in the blood pooling on the floor; they are both motionless for the smallest of moments...

But then the room is filled with crackling red light, and even with his Eye, Wrath barely has time to parry as the enormous green hand reaches to grab him.

"YOU BASTARD!" Envy roars, deserting the form of the blond corporal as he dons his usual appearance. "Do you realize—if that hadn't been me—the mess we would have had to sort out—"

His older brother's unmasked rage as he pins Wrath to the wall does nothing to control his own temper. Envy was the one who entered while he was distracted; Envy knows how difficult this is to keep in check; Envy is older, should have known better—

His brother's grip does not loosen as Wrath struggles; the huge green arm looks grossly out of place on the young human body. "Let me go," he snarls, not caring as his features darken and his eyes flash. He hasn't felt this angry since he was given the Stone; if Envy would let go, only a fraction—

"Calm down, or you're not going anywhere."

Envy's grip is only tightening as they continue to glare at each other. Wrath struggles, but the strength of Envy's true form is overwhelming. Eventually, he has to admit defeat, though his gaze is full of just as much hatred as he glares at Envy.

"Right. If that happens again, Father won't be happy, and you know it. So don't be a moron." Envy looks at him for a long moment before finally letting go, turning toward the door. "And cover the blood with a rug or something. It's disgusting."

Wrath barely refrains from killing his brother a second time as he becomes the corporal and slams the door behind him.

(No matter how much he knows Envy is right, he's never been so angry in his life.)