Salvation of the Scum Fifth Prince

Soren's mind throbbed as he trudged along the shadows, body still weary from the extensive battle with Celine. She'd forfeited easily, though that outcome had been expected when Uriel's name was mentioned.

For some reason, he had a faint feeling that Vendra would find Celine soon.

The memories were growing more painful; he felt it. The sweet memories at the beginning flowed through like honey, but it had been the apocalypse.

When all the sweetness was stripped away, what would be left but the bitter taste of nothingness?

As he neared the King's room, the lacking guards became more apparent. Earlier, they had flocked as if protecting a national treasure, but now it laid barren, as if the treasure had been swiped away.

'He's fast.'

Cowards usually were quick at running away.

He stepped inside, scanning the room which screamed luxury — as expected of the King. Glittering gold in elegant designs from every corner, silky velvet draped across the bed that flowed like cloudy rivers.

The chains rattled around Soren's arms, and he swiped the raven curtains, tugging on the cloth before throwing it over his body. He didn't necessarily care about revealing his bare legs under the scraps of skirt which he had torn off, but it was cold.

And when given a choice, Soren much preferred remaining warm.

He tugged it over after walking out of the room, fidgeting with the fabric to find a way to have it remain over his shoulders without holding it.

The direction he was heading was simple.

Most likely, the entrance that Brioc had revealed to them was compromised after their arrival. The route that the King would set his eyes on would be the very method his son had used to escape him.

Ironic, it was, in its own strange way.

Soren moved faster, even in his lazy movements, than the King could even imagine.

The Haze King tried to run, but Soren already knew.

He stood waiting at the secret exit, languidly leaning against a wall as he stared at the dripping ceiling carelessly. When the patter of footsteps entered his hearing, he glanced sideways through the mist of murderous eyes.

"You're here."

"You—" The King stopped dead in his tracks, face contorted. It was rather different from his typical arrogance, that haughty look that stared down from his throne; the throne that Soren had stolen in the chaos above. "How are you here?"

He snatched out a sword angrily, gripping it until his knuckles turned white. He held it up in a clumsy fashion, one easy to swipe or attack.

A fine line kept his sanity, yet it trembled on its teetering edge.

"No, that doesn't matter. Had it not been for you or that cursed man, I would be still sitting on my throne! Don't think you can snatch it from me. I'll get it back, fifth prince of Qazia."

Soren frowned. "...? I don't want the throne."

"What lies you speak! There is none that exists who do not wish for power!"

"Dealing with traitors, management, territory sounds like a pain. Why would I want that?"

"How hypocritical. You play the saviour, as if your desire is to save lives and that only." A mocking laugh ripped from his lips, crazy licking at the tips of his words. "You knew of my plans for a while, didn't you? Including the deal I made. But you only interfered when those children were involved, otherwise, if I had set the lands ablaze, would you have acted?"

Soren's gaze deepened, and in the flickering flame that illuminated the narrow passage, his expression seemed devastating.

The role of a hero wasn't something he ever sought, nor something that suited him.

He was a bystander, one that watched the play unfold from the side quietly, indifferently. A bystander that, at times, didn't even bother watching the ending.

It had been that way since he was born.

An outsider.

Despite that deeply rooted belief he held, the words still provoked him. The tap of his footsteps sounded, bouncing off the walls as he drew closer to the King who stepped back, fear strewn across his face, vivid as any other.

He kept walking. Closer and closer, until the blade pierced through his tender flesh, foreboding red trickling down onto the stone ground.

If he was to crush the King,

He'd crush him until there was nothing left but a scattered husk of what once was.

"Did you think you could rule everyone?" said the man quietly, yet his words seemed to echo loudly down the tunnel, unable to be ignored.

The King trembled violently as slender fingers wrapped around the hilt, jerking it further through as those eyes stared, void of life.

Judgement was coming, and the result had already been decided.

"With that much resolution?"

Soren lowered his chin, the whispers of his voice tickling the King's ears in a deadly vice. "Don't you know? The leader of the Third Religion used you, your majesty."

"W-what...!"

"They would not help you find power. All they wanted was a foolish pawn that held enough power."

"What lies you speak...!"

"No. You fell from your throne with your own hands. Used and thrown away, just like what you did constantly."

"Look at you. The person who would stare down at everyone,"

Soren snapped his head up, a vague smile upon his lips. "Is it you or me, King?"

And something crumbled under the pressure of his icy tone.

The proud King, one that had sneered at Soren only a day or two before from where he stood, expression collapsing under Soren's words. From the beginning, the Haze King had been weak and simple.

A secret would have to be exposed, one so terribly frightening that it would destroy a coward in moments.

The King trembled, quickly releasing the sword from his grasp as it hung in the air, embedded in the chest that it pierced.

Soren stepped back casually, glancing down at the pooling blood before looking up at the fearful man before him.

The King saw it well — that blade, gleaming in sharpness and deadly delight, was sitting comfortably in the stomach of that senseless Prince like a decoration.

The Fifth Prince did not die.

Not even the slightest glimpse of death shadowed over the boy, but when death didn't exist, did life? Was there such a thing as a human who couldn't die?

At that point, could they even be called a human anymore?

And if not a human... then what would they be?

The King tumbled to the ground backwards, scrambling as the stone floors scratched his hands. Yet at this moment, he didn't care for his pride as his eyes fixated on the bleeding chest. Death was such a thing he feared more than anything else.

"D-don't you dare take another step toward me! You monster!"

The cloudy blue eyes lowered with striking indifference.

If the sword wasn't pulled out, he wouldn't be given the chance to regenerate. He needed to properly die, in order to live again. A hassle, thought Soren, temporarily distracted.

But in the King's view, this viscous monster was thinking of ways to kill him, reflected upon those moonlight sky eyes that hid an immense cruelty.

In Soren's momentary distraction, the King thought of many things.

Finally, he lunged forward and yanked the blade out of Soren's chest, eliciting a choked groan from the other who hadn't expected the sliding pain.

Before Soren could react, the sword had been spun around with shaking hands and driven through the King's chest.

Soren gasped, feeling the pooling blood as his mind grew hazy.

His gaze narrowed. It hadn't been his intention to kill the King right away, not when he figured Brioc would've prefered to do it instead.

The King's body slumped to the ground as his eyes rolled back; from the pain of the sword or of the overwhelming fear that drove his mind to collapse, Soren didn't know.

It wasn't the first time the sight of his undying body drove a person to madness, however.

"Ren?"

The voice broke through his thoughts sharply, as if a simple illusion in the moments before his death. It was awful timing, thought Soren blearily, considering he had intended to kill himself properly to hasten the process.

But in the presence of the other, something willed him to stop.

His hand clutched his stomach that painfully prickled, as he slowly turned around. The bloody visage painted across the blank canvas Soren was filled the other's raven gaze. They seemed to flicker between the image before them and the King' s corpse that slumped at the side, but they'd always go back, fixated on the sight of Soren.

"Hey... what's going on, little prince?" said Raphael with a tremble in his voice, shakily stretching a hand out.

It was hard to speak with the mass of blood spilling from his body, but Soren frowned and said, "It'll be fine."

"This is evidently not fine."

"It is." There seemed to be some morbid amusement reflected in those icy eyes. "It always is."

Soren wondered, how had the Raphael in his memories reacted after witnessing the truth? With biting hatred across those empathetic raven eyes, or disbelieving horror carved into his expression?

If he had stayed by Soren's side until then, did he leave, after finding out the secret?

Although the prince was confident in his striking actions and lazy choices, he had no confidence in this. That people would stay, after finding the truth.

Raphael wouldn't be the first to know, but the others needed him, and wouldn't leave his side until he finished helping them. But that protagonist who always found a way to weave through life and go against fate, he didn't need Soren.

He could leave. Easily.

"...give me... a few minutes. And it'll be fine." said Soren in short gasps. He'd rarely fully lived through a death like this, always choosing to kill himself immediately.

"You are clearly not fine!" snapped Raphael in sudden anger, storming up as he grasped Soren's shoulders, eyes raking the sight of carnage. "This is clearly not fine, Ren."

"You don't understand."

"What exactly am I not understanding?" hissed Raphael in exasperation. "And why do you keep talking? Be quiet!"

"No."

"No?" repeated Raphael, as if he'd go mad at any moment. "You're bleeding out, speaking in that raspy tone that is so unlike you, and yet you're pushing aside my good will like this?

Soren stared at him. "Yes."

"....."

The man was speechless for a moment, though his eyes still trembled as they kept flickering between wound to wound, covering Soren's body. "You're ridiculous." said the man finally, his voice somewhat strained for his scolding words. 

"Completely ridiculous. Really, I don't know why I've let myself get caught up with such a bothersome person who can hardly take care of themselves." continued Raphael as Soren continued to watch the everchanging expressions on his face. 

It was fascinating, it always was. To see somebody react in such a way for his death, those colourful expressions seeping with emotions. 

Ah, the blood had rushed to his head. 

Soren's knees buckled and despite the pain that swarmed his body, he didn't mind too much. Although he typically chose to end it quickly, this wasn't bad. Not at all.

As his body dropped, warm hands wrapped around it in a gentle embrace. They were gripping tightly, as if scared to let him go, but at the same time softly, as if holding a precious treasure. Soren felt inexplicibly scared.

Would this warmth last when his secret was revealed?

It never had. 

And so the countdown begun, again. 

One. 

In some haze of conscious, he felt those hands wrap around more tightly, almost frantically. It was as if those emotions he had watched seeped into his skin, drowning him in them.

Two.

Three.

If he were able to open his eyes, only surprise would feel them at the soft splashes of warm tears on his cheek. Raphael... was he crying?

Four.

Five.

He didn't feel his conscious return. The time was dragging, and five seconds was no longer the period it took.

Six.

It was really hard, trying to think and feel in the floating space he felt himself drift. The time between his death and revival had always been weird, connected and disconnected to reality. Raphael was the only thing that made him know he was still 'alive'.

Seven.

'Ren...! Hey, wake up!' Soren thought he was hearing an illusion, penetrating this death of his. 

Eight.

Silence.

Nine. 

A warm embrace.

Ten.

Soren's eyes snapped open, flickering with the flames of life illuminated by the fire that dimly lit up the passage. His body felt limp, grazing the ground as he tried to move them. 

At the twitch of his finger, the body that was tightly holding him against their chest stiffened. Raven strands brushed against Soren's face, a head pressed against his shoulder and coating it in is heat. 

"Ren." The voice quivered, scratchy and hoarse as it rumbled by Soren's ear. "Ren." It repeated in a hushed whisper. 

Stars glittered on the protagonist's cheeks, distraught apparent across his midnight eyes that were underlined by the red that his tears had caused. He looked absolutely wrecked, brows furrowed and confused. 

There was... 

"You're alive."

...relief?

"...I told you, it would be fine." said Soren, though his voice was still surprisingly weak and raw. 

"Yes, well, I didn't really know the details behind those words, did I?" retorted Raphael with a shaky laugh. "How are you alive?"

"Are you scared?"

Raphael paused at the abrupt question, pale blue eyes staring right at him. Desperately, hopefully. They were searching for an answer they didn't believe he'd give. 

"Why?"

"Because I'm alive."

"Ren," said Raphael slowly, frowning. "why in the world would I be scared that you're alive?"

Soren didn't really know a correct answer for that, other than what he had witnessed throughout the years. "I died. And I'm alive, again. I... a monster. I'm a monster."

The word was said with such scorn that was unlike the confident airs Soren often held himself with, walking at his own leisure pace with no care for any other.  

"If I weren't certain how your state is, I would hit you." was the simple, blunt reply of Raphael with a wry smile on his lips. "I'll say, this is weird. But I'd rather you live again, then not live at all. There is nothing wrong with being alive, little prince, so don't ever ask that."

"....." Soren opened his mouth, and closed it again. He couldn't help but say, "If you need a shield, or a sacrifice, my ability makes it useful to play those rol--"

A hand clamped over his mouth, and Raphael stared at him with rejection in his eyes at the very idea. "What on earth are you saying?"

Soren scowled and tugged the hand off roughly. "There may be times when you need--"

"I didn't mean continue explaining that...!" sighed Raphael as he rested his forehead on the crook of Soren's neck. "Why is it that you have such a low opinion of yourself?"

"I'm not going to die."

"Don't throw your life away so easily, don't treat yourself like a tool that can be reused, do you understand? What if your power runs out, what if one day you don't wake up again? And don't tell me you don't feel pain, because I'm certain you do."

"That--"

"Value yourself, Ren. You have every right to."

Soren stopped speaking, staring blankly into the distance as the words absorbed into his mind. A reaction he hadn't been prepared for, one that felt like a dream that washed over his mind. 

"You're a fool." 

And as Soren felt the warmth around his body remain, he numbly remembered,

This man never changed.