Salvation of the Scum Fifth Prince

In a game, the final boss would be the last hurdle to overcome, lurking in the darkness as they waited to prey upon poor, tired heroes.

Standing with her raven clothing that outlined every curve and a crazed glint in her eyes that would've set her apart alone; Celine was anything but subtle.

The true chaos had begun, with the soldiers from the Qazia Kingdom mixing in with the crowd and striking back.

The woman seemed to take pleasure in its rivaling madness, teeth bared to flash its wicked sharpness as she lunged.

She was approaching Soren.

Raphael drew his sword. "Hey little prince, I'll handle her. I know how she fights, how she moves. You can focus on finding the King, alright?

Or so said the protagonist in his arrogant tone, yet his eyes darted to the crowd below every few moments. At the screaming chaos as the fighting and horrible reveal swept over them in a violent storm. Few injured, bleeding after being caught in the aftermath. 

Of course Raphael wanted to save them, wished for it in his very bone. 

And Soren wouldn't stop him. 

"No." said Soren, materializing his whip as it swung around him, flowing out of the ink on his skin. "I'll deal with Celine, and I’ll find the King after. Clean up the mess below." 

"It's dangerous." 

"Don't trust me?" 

"That's not what I meant." said Raphael with a frustrated sigh, watching as the mess of cherry hair drew closer. "I trust your skills, Ren, of course I do. But that weman is strong, and even I can't guarentee that I'd win. But I can buy you enough time." 

"We don't need to win." replied Soren simply, icy eyes gazing down as if he were a God staring at the crumbling world. As if he wasn't there, present. "We need to bait her." 

"…you believe your butler has found the saint's sister?" He was fast to catch onto things, eyes widening slightly in recognition. 

Soren nodded. "Yes."

"It doesn't matter. The bait can be temporary.”

His words were aruel, itching at a person's weakness to rip off their protection and make them vulnerable. Celine wished to save her sister more than anything, and that weakness, which Soren admired nonethless, was also something that could be taken advantage of.

In a battlefield, there was little room for sympathy. Life was harsh and unforgiving — that was inevitable. 

"Alright" said Raphael finally, moving closer to the railings an the stage, glancing back through his midnight gaze. “I’ll leave it to you, Ren. See you later.”

Soren paused. “…see you.”

Then, Raphael jumped. As if wings sprouted from his back, wide and beautiful with everlasting freedom that allowed him to soar the endless skies. There was a faint itch in Soren's mind, scratching and probing 

"Are you distracted, prince? It's our long awaited fight, isn't it?” A rich, laughing tone cut through his thoughts. 

Celine grinned, black gloves lined with jagged silver points, dripping with blood from her brutal fights as she pushed her way through the crowd. The number of people who she'd killed, unknown and unpredictible. 

She had slaughtered many innocent lives, but in retrospect, she had done it for the sake of her role in the Third Religion, for the sake of finding her sister who was the only light in her life. 

Yet, where did one draw the line between good and evil? 

Soren was a murderer, and he knew it well. But in a world of so many lives, when did insignificant become significant, and significant become insignificant? 

Although it may have been that Soren refused to kill the innocent when he could help it, who was to say that those people were truly innocent? That the guilty were truly guilty? 

When he had watched Celine's bloody slaughter, he thought this. 

The value of life, what eactly was it? 

Perhaps, it was something far beyond human understanding. 

"Back to the present, prince. My time's limited, much as I'd like to wait for you." 

Soren gazed at her chillingly. "Do you enjoy killing, Celine?”

The grin on the woman's face faltered. "I don't really think this is the time to have a one on one meaningful conversation, do you?" 

"I'm curious.”

“…..” A loud laugh spilled from her lips, and she straightened, raising her chins. "Amusing as always, really. I like it. I like the thrill of battle, the feel of the air against my fists as I swing, the sensation of my heart beating out of my chest. But you know that already, don't you?" 

"I know." 

"Then why did you ask?”

"That wasn't my question." 

“What?" Celine blinked, confused. 

Soren repeated slowly, "That wasn't my question. Not fighting, killing. Do you like it?”

The question seemed to settle in her brain properly this time, or if she'd understood it before, she hadn't wanted to answer. Now confronted in such a blatant manner, she couldn't pretend to not understand. Celine wasn't foolish despite her craving towards battles, though she preferred to be seen as such. 

"This is such a waste of time, you know?" muttered Celine with a scowl before swinging her head up arrogantly again, pointing her crimson fist stright at Soren. "There's no way in hell I'd like it, prince, Satisfied?" 

"Hm." 

Before Soren could respond properly, Celine had already lunged, tired of his questions. It was hard to kill somebody you knew, or somebody who knew you. Therefore, she attacked before he could ask any more. 

His body bent backwards, a flying kick jerking towards her chin as she used a hand to block it, spinning away. Slender chains swung in the air, slamming against the ground as they lunged foro her ankles. 

"Tsk!" 

A thin, bloody stream ran along her legs as she jumped to the side to avoid it. Soren didn't give her a moment to stop, pushing off the ground as he snapped the chains again. 

"Geez, you were lying about being weak!" laughed Celine maniacally. "You're not bad at all!”

Suddenly, wisps of black danced across Soren's vision and she appeared behind him, her hand ghosting along his neck. His head twisted as he dragged his arm up, pulling the chains with them to block her. 

Then, she was beside him. Next to him. Behind again. 

Splatters of red criss-crossed his body as the occassional groan would let him know that the chains had reached their target. It was a flury of night and silver, melding and clashing in a dragging storm. 

The mist was tickling his lungs, slowly suffocating him. 

"Aren't you going to use any magic?" wondered Celine as she swung her arm at him again.

"Not compatible." said Soren, twisting his body away as the blade of his chain scrapped against her stomach. 

"Pity, I think you'd be able to use it pretty well. It'd be much more exciting too, though this isn't bad either!" 

A thought abruptly fluttered into Soren's mind, wandering. He paused. 

Her words fell, and a speeding glimmer of metal caught Soren unguarded. His eyes contricted, and a red butterfly emerged in his pupils at his shock. 

‘What are you doing? Move!’ 

The voice lurched him back to reality, which seemed to be so far to him in the recent days, and he rapidly adjusted his body. But it was too late. The fine blades of the glove sliced past his skin, running along his eye. 

He hissed, sent tumbling to the dusty grounds as his back crashed into the wall. 

‘El has changed, she is dangerous and unpredictible. Stop fighting her, there's not enough time. There will be no winner of this battle.’

Asmodeus' speech rang in Soren's blurry mind with surprisingly vividness. 

Celine wore a deep frown, eyebrows knitted together. "You were distracted, prince." 

"…yeah." said Soren after a moment, coughing. 

"It's my job to kill you, you do realize?" 

"Yeah." Her shadow towered over his body, threateningly. "Then, clench your teeth. Looks like the game's over, unfortunately." 

Bloody lips parted. "I know where Uriel is, El.”

Celine's eyes widened in a fluster and she stumbled. As her body tilted, Soren jerked the chains roughly and sent them wrapping around the woman, dragging her on the ground before slamming her to the ground. 

Her stomach lurched and she choked, coughing as she narrowed her gaze — now serious and dangerous. "What did you say?" 

Soren bent a knee at her stomach, chains wrapping around to prevent her from standing up. He lowered his eyes and spoke words that she couldn't believe. "We've found your sister, El.”

Celine trembled faintly, grinding her teeth. "That's a sick joke. Even the Third Religion wouldn't be that cruel." 

"I'm serious." 

"Where?" choked out Celine, seeming to be fighting her own thoughts.

“I can’t tell you." 

"You—!” She lurched her body forward, only to be roughly pressed down again as the knee on her stomach grinded against it emotionlessly. 

“I can help you, Celine. But I need you on my side." said Soren, words firm and unrelenting. "I won't help an enemy." 

She laughed sardonically. "You want me to betray the Third Religion?" 

"Then, do you like killing for them?" 

Her body stilled under his curious blue eyes that sent a cold rush through her veins. Because it was impossible, despite loving the thrill of battles, she couldn't kill and kill, and be satisfied. Killing those who could do nothing back — that wasn't what Celine sought. 

But it was what she did, for the sake of completing her task. 

"You'll... tell me if I accept your offer." said Celine, with a wide grin that was almost helpless and tired. 

"Yes." 

She closed her eyes and chuckled lightly. "Whatever. I’ll stop fighting for now, prince. You're right, my sister is my only goal and I wouldn't mind becoming a devil for her." 

“Which also means," continued Celine. "I could betray you, for the sake of my sister." 

"That's fine." 

Soren did not doubt her reasons, and so long as Uriel was found by Damien, Celine would not betray them. The woman's desire in life other than finding her sister was clear, so bright that even Soren could tell, He trusted in what he read, and in what he heard. 

As much as he could trust, anyway. 

"Hahaha. I'm pretty tired of fighting too, You really slammed me against the floor hard, didn't you? My whole body aches." complained Celine, before her golden eyes peered at Soren. "I don't really understand, however, why you're going through all of this. Our Leader keeps an eye on you, prince. And I know that you left everything behind — why come back? 

“…I don't know." 

"Judging from your questions, I don't think you're a huge fan of killing either." 

"There was somebody who could forgive me, despite who I was." said Soren with a heavy breath, sweat trickling down his forehead as he stood in the shadows. 

Celine huffed, tiredly staring after him from where she laid sprawled on the ground. "Aren't you lucky? Who is it?" 

The thoughts rearranged themselves in Soren's mind like the gears of a clock fixing into their proper positions. He remembered. That hazy nightmare of the destruction, of the corpses. Of himself, as he stood amid it all.

And Raphael, who watched. 

“An idiot,” said Soren after a drawn out silence, words clear in the violent air. “one who never left my side.”

———xxx———

“…what are you doing?” asked Raphael tiredly, eyes raking over the scene in blatant confusion.

There was no response from the body strewn across the rocks.

Broken glass and scraps of unidentifiable ‘parts’ were laid across rocks that had been long splattered with deep crimson, until the stench almost became overwhelming. An evident sign of battle.

The only questionable thing was the lump who slept unmovingly, but was undoubtedly alive — or so Raphael believed, judging from the soft rises of their chest.

He nudged the person with his foot slightly, receiving no reply. But really, what sort of strange creature fell asleep after a battle? On the same battleground, dirtied and coated in death?

“This isn’t the place to sleep, little fool.” Raphael sighed, crouching down as midnight strands traced his eyes, thin lips frowning. “It’s time to wake up.”

He patted the torn back, scattered with scars and broken strips of fabric. He’d make a note to bandage those wounds later.

And maybe find some new clothes.

With another reluctant sigh, he wrapped his arms around the other, holding his breath as he dragged the body up.

The man was light, likely malnourished, figured Raphael through narrowing eyes. Despite that, his body hung like steel plates, completely immobile.

In other words, an absolute pain.

“Come on.” Gloved fingers tapped the dusty cheeks with surprising gentleness. “Wake up. I can’t drag you all the way.”

“Mm.” Ren groaned lightly, twisting in the hands that held him firm.

“Are you awake?”

Responses only came in more painful groans and quiet murmurs. Sweat had begun together at the boy’s forehead, brows scrunched tightly.

“Hey?” said Raphael again, worry in his tone and he abruptly laid the body down and crouched low. The rocks’ jagged ends jutted into his calf, but he ignored it. “Hey. Hey, wake up. For real, this time.”

“Please.” choked the man in his hidden whispers, almost so quiet they’d go unheard. “Please…”

“Hey.” Raphael tugged the man over his lap, pushing the hair back as his arm wrapped around the man. “What’s the matter?”

And suddenly, as the words fell from his lips, those midnight eyes snapped open in violent surprise.

The man lurched up, coughing as blood trickled down his skin from old wounds that had yet to heal. Before Raphael could say anything, the other had lunged forward with wild raven eyes bleeding madness.

From the rubbles, a monster larger than any other rose. Piercing shrieks and smashing curls of tentacles, curving around his dysformed body as he bared the several rows of glistening knives in his mouth.

It seemed to be smiling, full of mocking darkness as its mouth stretched from on corner of the other, fleshy chunks of meat still embedded.

A small figure raced against the flying pieces that had been tossed when the creature rose.

The man wove through, a sword hanging from one hand heavily as he ran, moving at an impossible speed to block flying debris.

Raphael flinched as a tentacle caught the man unguarded, slicing against his leg violently as liquid gushed around.

Yet when he moved to grab his sword, a voice shouted in startling firmness,

“Stay! Don’t move!”

The image before his eyes was beautiful, sculpted by the brightest of minds down to the fine details. The man seemed to move through air like magic, slicing through the coarse flesh of the monster with no hesitation.

And then the monster opened it’s horrible mouth, teeth glimmering under the light hue of the apocalypse skies, before snapping down.

It ripped through the man’s arm, tearing flesh despite the other’s indifference to the pain. Then, the monster opened its mouth again.

And slammed it closed.

Raphael’s whole body froze. For the vivid shadow that had been leaping from left to right… was gone. Gone with the monster’s satisfied tremor, which only made the sense of foreboding worse.

He broke out running, drawing his sword roughly from its hilt before a faint sound entered his ears.

Of cutting flesh, muffled as if… inside the monster’s stomach. 

Acid poured out in waves, stopping short of the height where Raphael stood, paralyzed. His eyes fixated on the scene before him.

The monster collapsed in a wrinkling heap, and a bloody gap was made at its side, a person bursting out in melting clothes and liquid drenching them head to toe, until all one could see was the brilliant red.

The man slowly stood up from amid the carcass, dripping and hunched. He lifted his head slowly, almost fearfully. Awaiting judgement from a person so bright that their words may be enough to tear apart at the crumbling walls that surrounded.

His starry night eyes stared right at Raphael tragically, silent tears running down his impassive face. An arm where Raphael had witnessed one being torn off. Healed. Whole.

“You asked who I am.”

The tooth fragment which jutted from his body was roughly yanked out, a quiet cough escaping his lips. He seemed to possess no care for life, already lost in the wandering of death.

“I am Ren Suzuki.”

Raphael stared wide-eyed from below, disbelief raining across his handsome visage. He thought, that just maybe, he’d seen a smile on those pretty pink lips.

One of everlasting despair.

“The Undying Reaper.”