Salvation of the Scum Fifth Prince

No light could sneak into the darkness of the cold metal floors, surrounded by tall poles that locked away the treasure within.

On the floors, with splayed out legs and sprouting flowers of purple and blue from the rough handling, was a particular man, his eyes coated in a frost so cold that it seemed to burn through skin.

Chains rattled against his pale ankles, snow locks crushing against his face, worn from battle.

The prince scowled and laid on the floor without a care, as if he were lying on a soft, luxurious cotton bed.

The attitude wasn't fitting of a prisoner.

"Hey you!" snapped a guard, his injuries far worse and more visible as he limped to the bars. "Won't you look at that? You shouldn't have been so arrogant."

Pale icy eyes flickered to the shadowy silhouette at through the bars. He sneered. "Bragging about needing twenty men to capture one normal civilian?"

"You—"

"Useless." said Soren with a faint smile at the corner of his lips, mocking and indifferent towards the situation.

"I'll show you...!"

"Stop." said a low voice from behind him. "We are to follow orders and leave him be."

"Tsk, but that brat—"

"Follow your orders, understood?"

The voice left no room for refusal and the footsteps of the two grew further away.

Soren shifted his eyes, staring at the dark ceiling above without worry. He'd always been confident of his skills, and that would never change.

However, Soren was not used to protecting.

Once Raphael had acted out of turn, the plan had gone down the drain. In saving that fool, Soren had damned himself.

In the end, with heavy injuries on the other side, they'd successfully dragged him to the cells, locking up the cell. It worked out, thought Soren. If one thought of it in another light, he'd successfully infiltrated into the castle.

From here on, it was a matter of escape.

There were a few things he needed to do originally, and being caught didn't effect him too much. Other than the hassle it would be to break out.

Considering many of the guards now had bloody gashes whipped onto them by dancing metal chains, they wouldn't be able to stop him again.

The event was a grand ball, meant for the King to flaunt his wealth and power. A ridiculous event, but it worked favourably for Soren and the others. Nobility would be invited, and the other citizens would flock to the outer walls.

Because the King wanted to have everybody respect him, even commoners would be allowed to appear.

The matter of infiltration was simple — though it relied on Damien to send his information... and the disguises.

There were several roles necessary.

Damien and Alvara were sent to find the key in dealing with Celine, a valuable player that would turn the tides if she abandoned the Third Religion. That was only betting that her only desire truly was her sister, and not the power promised to her.

Deimos and Brioc, along with additional help from Erlen, who would play a more subtle role in the background, would cause chaos at the event. 

A distraction from the many things occurring, and then set the stage for their revelation.

Vincent was left with Atlas to deal with the more complicated manners and settle the aftermath of such a chaotic plan, set to leave an impression on the citizens.

One more glorious than the Third Religion they so believed in. Once the truth was revealed, the people would seek a new person to pray to, a new person to rely on.

Because that was how many were — relying on the strong when they could do nothing else. And sometimes, it was those heroes that paid the price for saving others.

Fools, they were. Both the people and their saviours.

Though Soren admired them, those who sacrificed everything. He sighed, and rolled his body over closer to the wall, the soft rattling of chains in his ears.

Vendra would serve as an assurance, watching over in case anything went wrong. And things were bound to go off charts, just as they already did.

Soren and Raphael were in charge of the big revelation, to display to all how crooked the Haze King was.

To demolish any trust these people had, or replace the terror with disgusted, marked to the very depths of their bone.

Originally, Soren had intended to contact Lydia, in hopes of discovering any additional information she may hold. However, the way of contacting her was a confusing one, and no reply was given.

It would've worked out anyway, figured Soren.

The first step was for somebody to enter the castle, find the documentations the Haze King surely kept, locked away in some drawer.

Brioc had confirmed the approximate locations, stating that there was no possibility of the King erasing the information when that coward was obsessed with admiring his own power.

A true narcissist, really.

Even if things hadn't gone accordingly, the plan could still be followed with adjustments.

He tilted his head lazily, eyes landing on the flitter of light down a creak near the door. It was strange, this silence.

Familiar, but strange. He'd almost forgotten the lure of the bloody past, engraved so deep in his mind.

For a second, his icy gaze deepened, flickering with not the lazy strength of the prince, but the reaper who only knew destruction.

"Should I..." muttered Soren in the cold. "...just kill them?"

The reaper of the apocalypse would not harm the weak or children.

 However, that didn't mean they weren't used to killing when necessary. When given the difficult choice of saving one or many at the cost of lives, morals had to be thrown aside.

The guards weren't innocent, but they also didn't deserve death.

Soren had killed several since he arrived, but only those who attacked him, only those who committed unforgivable crimes.

He'd almost forgotten what it was like to kill those who were neither innocent nor unforgivable, for the sake of his task.

And in the loneliness of the cell, the gained emotions within him were stripped away, leaving a heartless reaper who knew only how to kill.

Before the thoughts could consume his mind, footsteps echoed into the room.

Soren lazily tilted his head, but didn't make any movement to get up. Golden streams of light burst into the room from beyond the door, but the prince laid like a dead fish.

Therefore, when the Haze King stepped into the room, face glowering with arrogance and cruelty, he was met with the scene of a tired prince leisurely laying on the metal floor.

For a second, the Haze King wasn't sure if it was truly a prison or not.

Because clearly, a prisoner that had been dragged here and beaten should be crest-fallen, growling with simmering anger and desire to escape despite not being able to.

Soren scowled.

"If you're coming in, close the door."

The guard was so startled by the casual attitude that they obeyed his order.

The Haze King blinked his dull violet eyes before snapping his head around in a low hiss. "Do not obey a prisoner's order, you incompetent fool!"

"Y-yes, your Majesty! I apologize!"

The door was opened again, blinding Soren, who had been getting accustomed to the darkness. He turned his head the opposite way, towards the wall to stare at the bland reflection of light.

This only served to anger the Haze King more.

"You're arrogant now, prisoner, but you will not be for much longer."

Silence answered him.

"...." The Haze King cleared his throat sharply and begun again, pitch mocking and sarcastic. "How unfortunate, it seems, Prince Soren of the Qazia Kingdom."

From what the King knew of this fool, was that he was irredeemable scum. Hated by his own family, his people, and scorned wherever he knew. All that prince could do was drink away his days, and shamelessly flirt with boys and girls alike.

With unparalleled arrogance, Soren would certainly lash out in anger at this moment—

"Are you done?"

"What?"

Soren sighed, cheek pressed against the floor as he closed his eyes. "Speak and get out."

"Do you know of who you are speaking to, boy?" snapped the King in irritation.

Soren scowled. "Somebody that's bothering me."

"You--"

Icy eyes flitted to the King, drowning in deep memories that could cut through the air. They made one's throat choke, goosebumps crawl up in the radiating anger of them.

"Shut up." A light smile tugged the corners of bloody lips. "If you think you're amazing for catching me... then you're blind, Haze King."

"What nonsense are you speaking?"

"Your crazy son is more admirable." said Soren, an edge of sarcasm in his tone. Although his voice was bland, the uncaring voice seemed all the more mocking and disrespectful.

"Quiet!" roared the King, slamming the sheath of his sword — most likely there for simple decoration — against the bars, echoing metal sounding around them. "You do not know what a mess you have gotten yourself into, boy. This is my Kingdom, and I do not tolerate intruders, whatever your identity may be."

Bored with the conversation, Soren turned his gaze back to the wall.

The King gritted his teeth and growled threateningly, "Even that moronic son of mine will return to my side, whether he likes it or not. If I hadn't gotten a warning from that stupid girl, I would have not thought that he would return."

A pause, and then curiosity filled Soren's mind. "Girl?"

"Yes, yes. Whatever her name was, the one who proclaims herself the future wife of your brother. Not that it matters if you know, when you will be getting rather comfortable with this prison."

Then Soren remembered. Back in the kitchen, she — whatever her name was as he had forgotten again — had burst in claiming that she had sense something.

There was only one explanation that made sense at the moment — in relation to Brioc's tattoo. She must've had one too.

And if that was the case, then that seemingly spoiled noble was a chess piece they hadn't considered. Used by the Third Religion, planted right by Vincent's side whether he liked it or not. After all, he could not easily throw aside a noble daughter, regardless of his emotions.

Those were the rules of royalty that bound Vincent the most.

By his own doing, he had unknowingly kept a threat by his side. Although the girl's intentions, displayed rather evidently, of becoming a Queen, seemed prominent, it was hard to know anymore.

Soren felt like slamming his head against the wall, deciding against it only after seeing how far the wall was away from him.

Why was it that those princes kept walking to their deaths, even when he tried to stop it?

"Troublesome." muttered Soren in annoyance.

"Regardless," said the Haze King dismissively. "whatever it is you and my son intended to do, it will not work. You are dealing with things beyond you."

Only two people. He was yet to be aware of the many others involved in the plan, much less the plan itself. That would also mean nobody else was caught, other than Soren himself.

Not bad.

"...what if we're not?"

"What?"

Soren flipped onto his back, staring at the empty ceiling. "We're bringing a war with us, Haze King. Are you ready for it?"

"Y-you, you're lying."

The King was a coward, as Brioc had stated. To enlist fear in him now, bring down his confidence until there was nothing but a shivering mess of confused desperation — that would work just fine.

The Third Religion might've been using the Haze Kingdom for their plans, but a ruined King would do them no good.

The ways of intimidation, of subtle hints in the form of delicate questions that twisted your mind. There was a person who did that well, and Soren had witnessed it firsthand.

His eyes darkened with curiosity and mischievous glint, a wondering smile on his lips as he pushed himself off the floor, one elbow propping him up. He stared straight at the King.

"Am I?"

"It's an obvious bluff, prince, one I do not see the point of." The tremor in his voice gave away his nervousness. The idea of war had been unexpected and terrible.

Soren tilted his head lightly. "Was it? You don't believe that we have an army waiting outside your walls, or maybe... people already within?"

"Of course... not."

"Did you really think that I would allow myself to get captured without a plan?"

"That is..."

"Get ready, Haze King." said Soren, once again in his impassive tone, which seemed to promise a painful death to the listener. "A war awaits you."

And his eyes, of absolute truth and certainty, stating the inevitable. The Haze King believed in that confidence look and trembled all over. He stepped back shakily, before spinning on his heels.

"If a war comes," said the King with some hesitation, "you will be the first to fall."

The door closed, and Soren found himself shroud in darkness again. Finally. The conversation had been dragging, that he'd almost asked the Haze King to close the door again, or to get out.

Asking once didn't work, but maybe asking twice would've?

[What are you debating about, all by yourself?]

"..." Soren sighed.

[A rude greeting.]

"I thought you could only bother me when I was close to death?"

[You decided to help save the world, and I promised. That I'd help. So I pulled some strings.]

"And?"

[What?]

"Where's your help?"

If an existence such as a revered Death God promised help, Soren intended to rung him dry until no more help could be given. He closed his eyes, resting them as he waited for a reply to simmer through his mind.

[What do you want to know?]

Soren frowned. "If you're a God, read my mind."

There was an awkward silence and a voice that seemed a little annoyed. [Gods have limits.]

"Disappointing."

[......]

Suddenly, Soren paused in his train of thoughts. Any questions would be answered, presumably. Then, could this God have a reason behind his jumbles of thoughts? Of the Raphael who had once existed in the moving mysteries of his old world?

"Who is Raphael Han?"

The question had come so suddenly and bluntly that the Death God didn't reply for a few moments. It was a dragging silence.

Then, they spoke.

[He is the hero in this world... chosen by fate.]

Soren knew that, but he wanted to know more. "He used to exist in my old world."

[...The Necromancer Queen told you.]

"Who was he?"

[I don't know.]

Soren narrowed his eyes sharply. "Liar."

[No. I brought one person to this world — that was you. Not him. Not anyone.]

"You knew the Necromancer Queen told me, didn't you know of his existence in my own world too?"

[.....]

The prince only seemed to listen carefully to words when it benefitted him. Although, he had been more observant as of late, which was both promising and difficult. It didn't help that when he wanted to know something, he would stubbornly push until he found it.

"Who is he?" repeated Soren again in the empty cell, his words ricocheting off the walls. "If you don't tell me, I'll kick him to the side."

[What?]

"He is somebody with answers I was looking for." said Soren coldly. "If he has none, I don't need him."

[...liar.]

"No."

[You have a stupid habit of being cruel, ignoring what you feel.]

Soren was a little offended. "No."

[When you actually care.]

"No."

[...it's a bad habit. Once everybody is gone, it'll be too late.]

"Raphael." interrupted Soren with a deep frown on his face. "Who is he?"

[.....] For reasons Soren couldn't understand, the Death God seemed to be... avoiding the topic of Raphael?

Finally, after Soren said nothing more, the God relented.

[He is somebody fated to exist in broken worlds. Every world he lives was already destined to collapse.]

"Why?"

[Not every question has an answer. In your world...]

"Continue."

[He was a hero that died for his people.]

Soren felt frustrated, it wasn't what he wanted to hear. "Who was he to me?"

[...To you?]

"Yes."

[...Raphael was...]

The door slammed open with a startling bang, bright light flooding the room as Soren spun his head away, blinded. In the doorway stood a tall, arrogant figure with golden, scornful eyes. A frown was on his face when he looked around the room, landing on Soren.

Sprawled on the floor in a position that seemed a little too comfortable for a prisoner, with his cheeks pressed against the cold metal floors —

Erlen almost did a double take, wondering if he broke into the wrong cell.

"Soren." said Erlen after a second, in a low tone. "Let's go."

The Death God would disappear around others. Soren quickly muttered under his breath,

"Hurry."

[You'll remember, soon. Exactly who he was. And when you do, don't forget again.]

Then the voice was gone.