Years before the sins were fully known, a young boy was discarded like trash, tossed into the gutter of a cold, uncaring world. The scientists who tested him, once hopeful of his potential, decided he was useless—nothing more than a failed experiment. His body, malnourished and gaunt, struggled to survive as his latent powers tried to heal his failing organs. Dressed in tattered clothes and a worn-out coat he found, the boy began his search for his family, unaware of where to begin.
Weeks passed. He was only 13, lost in the vast desert, where a brutal sandstorm pummeled his frail body. Hunger gnawed at him relentlessly. The boy fell to his knees, on the verge of giving up, his hope lost in the shifting sands. But then, through the storm, he saw a figure approaching. With what little strength he had left, he crawled toward it.
The figure knelt before the boy, his presence exuding a quiet power. "Do you want help?" the figure asked, his voice gentle yet firm. The boy nodded weakly. With a simple hand gesture, the figure parted the sandstorm with ease, revealing a clear path through the desert.
The boy’s eyes widened in awe, but his body soon reminded him of his starvation, and he clutched his stomach in pain. The figure saw this and handed him a piece of bread. The boy devoured it hungrily, a faint smile forming on his face as the figure patted his head, an unexpected gesture of kindness.
The figure removed his own coat and wrapped it around the boy, who looked up in surprise. The figure had short yellow hair, his frame not much larger than the boy's own. "Are you like me?" the boy asked, confused by their similar appearance.
The figure smiled faintly. "No, I’m much older." The boy asked for the man's name, and the figure responded with a single word: "Pride." Then, Pride asked for the boy's name in return. The boy hesitated for a moment before answering. "Moxie."
Years passed, and the once weak boy, Moxie, had grown stronger. One evening, Moxie heard the sounds of screaming—a man shouting angrily at his wife and children. The man, reeking of alcohol, raised his hand to strike his wife, but Moxie intervened, grabbing the bottle from his hand. The man, stunned by the boy’s height and strength, demanded to know who he was.
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The boy's eyes narrowed, and in a low voice, he answered, "Wrath."
Before the man could react, Wrath killed him with a single blow, right in front of the wife and children. Shock and fear paralyzed them, but Wrath silently placed a basket of food at their feet before walking away. Word quickly spread through the village about Wrath—terrifying and deadly, yet always delivering food to those in need. Over time, despite their initial fear, the villagers began to accept him. He became something of a silent protector, though no one dared to speak to him.
From a distance, Pride watched. He saw how Wrath found a small sense of peace in caring for the village, even if he didn’t admit it. But peace was fleeting. Just a few months later, Wrath came over a hill with another basket of food, only to find a massive crater where the village once stood. Among the ruins, he spotted a charred teddy bear—one belonging to the boy he had saved.
Wrath fell silent, staring at the destruction. Pride sensed the rage bubbling beneath the surface, but Wrath’s fury ran deeper than anyone could imagine. He knelt, placing his palm on the scorched earth, and in a moment of uncontrollable wrath, he annihilated the entire planet.
Years passed, and Wrath and Pride continued to grow stronger, forming a group of individuals who had also suffered deeply in life—the Sins. Though the Sins often showed off their powers and their inner worlds, Wrath and Pride were different. They kept their rooms—and their hearts—hidden from the others.
One day, Wrath approached Anthony—Sloth—and silently gestured for him to follow. They walked together in silence until they arrived at Wrath’s private sanctuary. When Sloth entered, he was overwhelmed by the light of the sun shining down on a hidden garden. Confused, he looked to the ground and saw grave markers—each representing the lives Wrath had touched and lost.
Sloth had never imagined Wrath to be so vulnerable, so broken beneath his exterior. Wrath looked at him with tired eyes. "Anthony, me and Pride... we need to stop this fight. We need to help Moxie." Sloth, initially hesitant, understood now that Wrath was more like Moxie than anyone had realized—except, perhaps, even more shattered by his past.
Back in the present, Moxie stood alone, gazing at the endless expanse of multiverses, his eyes void of life, hollowed by Wrath’s memories and abilities now coursing through him. He clenched his fists, knowing that despite everything, he would have to keep moving forward, even as the tears of Wrath and his own agony weighed heavily on his soul.