Salvation of the Scum Fifth Prince

The entire world was shifting. 

Soren watched the particles disperse and rearrange themselves, felt as tickles of darkness crept up his arm. He'd turned away the minute Raphael fell, a rush of wind blowing past his cheeks and diving into the unknowns below. 

The utter surprise on that protagonist's face was somewhat satisfying, and undoubtedly worthwhile, thought Soren, in his daze as he stumbled.

He wasn't sure what to call this, a dreamscape perhaps? The reason why Raphael existed in the end of that endless pit — he could guess the reason. But if their worlds in this space was connected, there would be a part where they didn't connect.

The time when Raphael didn't exist in Soren's life, and when Soren didn't exist in Raphael's.

Rather than having that stupid hippo fall into whatever madness awaited, it was better to let that person deal with his own memories. 

And so, Soren had pushed him.

Quite easily, in fact.

A slide in the floor made him stumble, large metal gears turning around him loudly, having appeared from thin air. He grasped onto a jutting edge as he watched them turn, as if he were part of a clock being fixed. 

Time was turning.

It echoed around him in the darkness, and he thought he might go mad. The only present sounds were the click of gears, shifting with every passing second. Wherever Raphael had disappeared to, it was already too far away.

The platform he was standing on rose in the air, higher and higher before finding its place in the cluster of metal shapes. 

'Ren Suzki.'

The androgynous voice echoed, piercing his skull with a numbing chilliness that promised nothing but terror.

'It is time for you to remember.'

An ominous creak filled Soren's ears before the machine stopped turning. 

'And face all that you are.'

And suddenly, he was falling.

Was it a habit of his dreamscape to have him fall? If so, he hoped this was the last time, since the air was stifling and cold, while his body cold only helplessly tumble in the darkness. He couldn't see, couldn't hear, he was — it was almost as if he weren't living.

For Soren, that was the most terrifying thing.

Being forced to stay alive while trapped in a cage that made the curse of immortality all the more vivid.

"Ren."

Soren's breath hitched. This voice, carefree and welcoming. This had been before Raphael, before.... before Ren Suzuki had fallen into inescapable depression.

He felt a splatter of water as he was suddenly sitting on the rocky floors of the abandoned city; the edges grazing his already bruised knees that had flaked from the lack of moisture.

A hand stretched out before him, a blur of people behind waiting. And warm brown eyes that lacked the cold harshness of the apocalypse. 

"Is that your name?" 

And that smile. Soren remembered that smile, burned vividly into his deepest memories. 

"My name's Jules. Would you like to come with us? There's always room for another person, hm?"

Back then, he had accepted the hand. As he stared at the blinding figure before him, whose face had already become vague, lost in his memories, he fell into a daze.

Ren's life before the apocalypse was simple.

Abandoned by his parents at a local orphanage when he was young, he had grown up to be a quiet boy.

There was a similar thing that many children in the orphanage wanted.

They wanted to be loved.

Ren wasn't an exception to that longing. However, unlike the other children, who were cheerful and sweet, he was quiet and simple.

While he didn't stand out for negative reasons, many stayed away from him. So even in this orphanage of like-minded children, Ren was alone.

Until, one day, a young couple adopted him.

They had been married, full of love, and ready to have a child. For the first few months, the anxiety in Ren's heart settled. He felt as if... perhaps, this had been what he longed for, all these years in the tender heart of his.

Then, the sweet couple's relationship collapsed. For the honeymoon stage could only last so long.

In their arguments, shouting, screaming, Ren was left alone. He didn't leave the room because he didn't want to disturb them, but they had forgotten to feed him or take care of him. But it was okay. As long as they didn't throw him away. As long as they didn't despise him.

At some point, they remembered. But by then, the young boy was curled up on the floor, frail and thin and shivering. Only muttering mute apologies under the stifling tears. 

How long he had quietly endured in the room, they had forgotten within all the angry words, messy quarrels.

When Ren woke up, they had divorced and returned him to the orphanage.

Six months later, Ren was taken into a new home again.

One month later, he was returned.

Adopted, abandoned, adopted, abandoned.

Because of arguments, because of his silence, because of money, because he wasn't needed anymore. Ren heard it all, engraved into his heart. The little boy decided, it was because he couldn't be loved. He wasn't made for it, nor could he give happiness to others.

The boy decided, resolutely, that he was a curse.

So when he was returned to the orphanage the last time, he quietly grew up, stuck in books and distanced from the world. It was fine. He was fine. This sort of life... 

...he could bear it.

And then the world fell apart.

Yet his luck wasn't so good during this time either.

The first team had been kind and caring... until an accident that drove Ren to death, when they found he survived despite it all. After that, they used him like a shield. He felt the splatters of blood as they treated him like a worthless trash, the pain that dug into his skin with every step he walked.

It hurt.

But Ren didn't really care. He endured and stayed quiet as he continued to survive the apocalypse. Because honestly, being with them and being alone, was there any difference?

And then, after a battle with an immense monster, everybody died. Everybody but Ren.

The second team was close friends before the apocalypse. However, they had seen his ability and approached him with ill intentions to begin with. Ren welcomed them.

But they didn't last very long either.

Then the third...

The fourth...

The tenth...

And then the eleventh.

The last team hadn't known about Ren's ability, but they admired his fighting strength and invited him to their group. Out of the blue was the random encounter, but it became the sole reason for the reaper's life.

They were like family, sharing food and keeping each other company. It was a truly peaceful time, even amongst the blaze of the apocalypse.

Then, the team leader had found out about Ren's ability.

Ren's heart froze, but he was used to the reactions. Except, instead of being used, the leader had kept it a secret and continued to act the way he always did.

Ren's abilities and skills grew to a point where he became notorious, but the team members didn't understand his ability, only that he was strong.

Once, Ren had said to the leader, "I am a useful shield."

The leader had laughed and then frowned. "We're family, kid. I'm not about to go around dragging you around as a shield, got it? I know it's not as if dying doesn't have an effect on you, so stop thinking about it."

After a ruffle of his hair, Ren was left standing in confusion.

Then he thought, 'Oh. So this is how it's supposed to be.'

However, peace was only temporary.

A large-scale battle ended with all their lives forfeit. Ren remembered the leader's smiling face before he got crushed, holding a finger to his lips, reminding Ren to keep his secret. The blood washed over him, sickening and warm. 

He threw up, wretched coughs at that moment, the years of indifferent hacking out of his chest as he sobbed. A shaking, pathetic mess of absolute worthlessness. 

The other members died not knowing.

Actually, Ren didn't mind being used as a shield. If it was to keep these people alive, he didn't mind it.

Not at all.

To the other teams in the past, he hadn't considered trying to save them. He had watched them get injured and fall, with his limited abilities.

But even with this undying body, he could only watch them die, underneath the monster's corpse.

Success that ended with death.

And once again, Ren Suzuki was alone.

So staring at this illusion, a bubble of laughter lightly trailed out of his throat as he stared blankly with a faint smile on his face. "Jules..."

Tears dripped down his cheeks as he continued, "You are already dead."

And the mirage faded like spilling ink, melting into Soren's trembling hand as it swallowed him whole in despair. It blocked his orifices, wrapped around his throat and made him feel as if he were floating, yet at the same time, sinking.

As it grew harder to breathe, he choked, tears poking at the corners of his eyes, he painfully allowed his body to go limp, the liquid pulled away.

He fell forward, like a doll whose strings had been cut and left abandoned, palms digging into cold marble. Staring at clean, unblemished hands that weren't his. 

Or, they once weren't.

The sound of boots clattered across the reflective floor, and Soren's eyes didn't lift, still lost in the painful memories that had just brushed over him. It was loud, the footsteps, hammering into his skull.

'Soren Rosenbam.'

The other part, sleeping in his mind, stirred. Trembling and reluctant to come out, their feelings crushed to the ground far too many times already, to relive these memories. 

It was overwhelming, the beating sensation of these withheld emotions smashing against his mind. Blending and mixing like oil and water with his own memories, Soren thought vaguely, perhaps he wouldn't survive through this. 

And maybe being lost in these haunting thoughts was a punishment exclusive for him.

And maybe he'd be fine if that were the case.

Because he deserved nothing less.

'You too, must face your judgement.'

He — Soren — lifted his head numbly and felt the original cower under the relentless, piercing stare of the man above him. Judging, dyed to the edges in an unforgiving hatred.

"Soren," said the man gruffly, scattering paper across the floor as he swung his arm out. "What nonsense have you been up to?"

An entire list of heinous crimes covered the papers in scribbles, until almost no white was left. 

His voice was faint. "Brother..."

"Do not call me that. You have no right." snapped Vincent in this delusion, though the contempt felt like anything but a dream. "Soren... you... have you any idea of what you've done?"

The funny thing was, the original truly never completely understood his wrongdoings. 

Who'd taught him right from left, bad or good? All he knew from the whispers of the children on the street, of the beggers who often called him and roped him into their tricks and games, was that this was the most efficient way for attention. 

Love me.

Care for me. 

Don't abandon me.

Please, please, please, please-- 

'Shut up!' hissed Soren to the plundering voice in his head, bouncing off the walls of his mind. 'Soren Rosenbaum, you are a fool.'

A wet liquid dripped onto his palms and he glanced down, wide-eyed in a strange combination of utter horror and indifference. Delicate fingers twitched, curled and opened before violently trembling.

I didn't do it!

'Open your eyes, idiot.' Soren let out a shuddering breath. 'Your brothers are terrible, but you still committed crimes.'

For the sake of  a glimmer of attention, Soren Rosenbaum became the scum known to all. He stole without a care, drowned himself in alcohol every day and every night, flirted with girls and men alike. 

He threatened the weak, he got tangled in fights; he was, in the simplest terms, a hopeless wreck.

The castle faded, as all the memories did, and he was back in the black space of nothingness. The voice still screamed in his head, and in his blindness, hands dug into his calves, pulling and scrapping. 

Sounds echoed all around, the screams, the insults, the disgust. 

He curled his legs up into a ball, small against the space which was so endless. Hands covered his ears tightly and Soren felt himself go insane. As if a noose hung around his neck, as the weighing death of all those he had killed clawed at his chest. 

Worthless.

You are hated. A curse. A freak. A monster.

Useless. 

What are you even good for?

And Soren knew the answer to that as he shuddered in the chilling space. 

What was he good for?

Unconsciously, his lips parted, thinking of the singular hand that pulled him out of the darkness several times. He didn't know when the name started to rest on his tongue, but in a strangled gasp he muttered, "...Raphael."

Absolutely nothing.

"...plea...se."

 

———xxx———

 

The man snapped his head back, staring at the sky which knew no end. It was littered with joyous stars, illuminated by the moon's gentle embrace. 

A strange creature followed him, shrunken down into a small ball of fluff with equally soft wings protruding from the back. Deep crimson eyes stared at the human curiously. The man glanced over with a thoughtful frown. 

"...I need to find him."

"Skee?"

Raphael hastened his pace. "I have a horrible feeling. Let's leave this place, soon, End."

"Skee!"

The man paused, and crouched down to pick up the small creature, smiling warmly. "If only you remained this way, back then." But it seemed, this lost friend of his had returned, protecting him again even in his delusions.

But the more Raphael looked, the heavier his heart fell.

This delicate and small creature had lived up to their name and became the end of the world. Even now, the sprawled out fur that sat in a mangled mess, blood and dirt coating their snowy colour as they weakly stared at Raphael. 

All they could do was stare, watch as Raphael drew closer with a sword in his hand.

Watch as fresh tears streamed down the handsome face, tragically.

And cry out as the gleaming metal pierced their body, bringing an end to the villain of that world. A murderer unexpecting, a murderer not by choice, but by some terrible fate laid out.

Raphael had collapsed, blood seeping from his chest.

Even if End was killed, the world did not reset.

And he would eventually learn that destruction followed him in his wake, no matter where he was tossed into. 

The only thing preventing this dreamscape from swallowing him entirely, was Raphael's unrelenting mentality. After a hundred lives, he should've gone insane from watching death repeat over and over, his goal so far from his grasp. 

And he had, at one point, wanted to give up.

Questioned the very things that made him himself.

In order to find Soren, Raphael kept walking along the strange pathway that spread out before him. He walked past the child he had failed to save the very first time. Past the woman who sacrificed her life to keep him living. 

Past the many, many failures that fell along constantly.

'Raphael Han.'

A hand gripped his jacket, and he stilled immediately. A weak child's voice spoke out. "...Mister, why didn't you save me?"

'The hero known to men, your judgement awaits.'

From the other side, another voice cried. "You promised to save the world, hero!"

'To those you failed to save,'

"You're a liar. What good are you if all you can do is fail?"

'Repent.'

"Save me!"

Raphael tore the tiny grasp away, furrowing his brows in confliction as pain danced in his eyes. He gritted his teeth before resolutely turning away.

He'd experienced things like this before. Succumbing to one's own terrible memories would only lead to self-destruction.

The weight dragging at the end of his jacket grew heavier and heavier, trailing against the ground. It was hard to move, and Raphael couldn't bear to rip away all those hands, bony and bloodied and desperate.

His movements slowed, as if he were trudging through rainwater.

Then, there seemed to be a light before his eyes in the form of a slender hand that glowed under the night. The voice was neither warm and caring, nor completely heartless.

"Come. I'll help you."

And as Raphael's knees buckled from the growing weight above him, his hands fell into the illusion in front of him.