Seven Chapter 7

WRATH: Sephiroth

By Asyria

Wrath is a strong, stern, or fierce anger; vengeance or punishment as the consequence of anger.


I was the chosen one.

I was the hand of destruction. The bringer of death. The beloved son.


I know of the people's claim. That I was born the son of scientist. A woman named Lucrecia. But she was not my mother.

A vessel of my birth. A walking incubator. She was nothing to me. I knew her not.

But I knew mother, my mother.

"Open the door, mother…"

My real mother was Jenova. She was always with me. In every bone. In every vein. I just didn't see it until that day. That day when I found her.

Those nights in the mansion, I discovered my past. Discovered my creation.

Discovered myself.

"Is this…how I was created?!"


I was the chosen one.

I was the might of the Ancients. The strength of those forgotten. The reborn son.

They claimed I was dead. Then, after my return, they claimed I went mad. But I was far from insanity. Those were my clearest days. Madness was myself before I found Mother. Pretending to be someone I wasn't. Pretending to be like everyone else. Pretending to be normal.

I found myself in that mansion. It was not madness that found me. It was anger. It was wrath.

Mine was the anger that wielded the sword. Mine was the anger that dispatched that pathetic excuse for an Ancient.

Mine was the wrath that summoned Meteor.

Even in my last moments alive, I heard them. The forgotten ones. Chanting. Calling on me to avenge them. Praising me. Mother was praising me.

Estuans interius

Ira vehementi


Sors immanis

Et inanis


Veni, veni, venias

Ne me mori facias


I am Sephiroth.

I am guilty of one of the seven deadly sins.


I will laugh in the pits of Hell.



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