Salvation of the Scum Fifth Prince

He woke, jerking up on the soft duvets as tears dripped down his pale blue eyes.

This time, it wasn’t a dream that blurred away with his memory, but a clear, haunting image burned into his mind as it played on continuous repeat.

Even the snippets of Raphael’s own thoughts that had wandered into his memory. Perhaps because the Death God had stolen Raphael’s, and it had unknowingly gotten mixed together, blended by the familiar scenes.

There were many questions unanswered.

The memories which had flowed in unorganized streams didn’t show the complete depth of the details. Of the time spent waiting, knowing Raphael would likely die. Of the after that awaited when the cold news was delivered.

How Ren Suzuki became a God, only after giving up on humanity.

Soren could predict it, however. Although Raphael had impacted his current life to such an extent, in the first world, the only person Ren had was Raphael. There was no crazy magician that kept the room lively, or a proper yet murderous teenager who always watched over him.

No siblings, no family. Just corpses that trailed behind him with every step.

He swallowed, and bent over, rubbing his throbbing temples. There was a burst of pain that gradually dulled, only to beat again every time he thought of the past.

There was a burn rising in his throat.

Then he doubled over even further as liquid splashed from his mouth, painting the pure white covers a terrible red. The cough lasted for minutes as each brought a splatter of blood along with it.

And as always, with the protagonist’s perfect timing, a knock sounded at the door. Soren didn’t need to see the person to know who it was.

“Are you awake, Ren?”

Soren peered over at the closed curtains, seeing the faint stream of light creep from the gaps. Morning already. He opened his mouth to answer, but only more dripping liquid slipped out as he choked.

“Ren?”

The voice was becoming increasingly alarmed, and Soren wanted to say that he was fine. He really was. This was likely simply a consequence of remembering. The aftereffects. But by the end of the day, he would be fine.

However, he couldn’t speak.

“I’m coming in, alright?” said Raphael firmly, although his tone was careful and he didn’t directly burst in. “If nothing’s wrong, say it now. Or I’m definitely opening the door.”

Soren could only helplessly wipe away the blood at his face, smoothening it clumsily over the covers as the red continued to spread. He jerked his head around in panic, looking for something to clean everything up.

He didn’t want Raphael to worry over such a trivial matter. More importantly, he didn’t want Raphael to ask what happened. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted Raphael to remember.

The weighing pressure that had been on that hero’s shoulders as he was forced to step to his death.

How did it feel?

The prince hastily jumped up, only to slip in the covers that tangled from his movements, falling to the ground with a loud thud.

The door burst open at that moment, and the person moved towards him quickly in large strides.

Raphael’s raven eyes skimmed over the bloody covers that had been spread across every corner after Soren’s tugging and messy attempts to wipe it away, then to the blood that still trickled down those now crimson lips. There were still tear tracks embedded into the pale skin, sky eyes glassy and confused.

Like waking up from a long nightmare. Only, to Raphael, this current scene was more like a nightmare.

“What…!” said the man loudly before he quickly lowered his voice, and helped Soren from the confines of blankets. “Why are you bleeding? Why were you crying?”

“I— “

“And if you dare to say nothing, I’ll hit you once.”

Soren narrowed his eyes and said bluntly, “That’s abuse.”

“.....well. Would you rather pet you instead?”

The sentence made the bloody, pitiful prince with shimmering tears in his eyes — possibly an overexaggerated image due to Raphael’s imagination — furrow his brows even further.

“Pet?” repeated Soren weakly from all the coughing, though the biting edge of the word is enough to kill an army.

Raphael’s eyes curved at Soren’s clear ‘what the hell?’ expression. “If that doesn’t work either, what would you like me to do? I’m open-minded.”

As he spoke, he had hastily taken off his cloak, cleanly slicing off a piece of the fabric at some point during their conversation, and wiped the blood off Soren’s face. Although the colour red was prominent on pale skin, making for a striking contrast, Raphael gravely disliked the colour.

Too often was this fool getting into danger, and painting himself a frightening crimson.

The blankets on the floor had been bundled up and pushed away into the other end of the bed, slightly tucked underneath.

Soren didn’t reply to the teasing words of Raphael, and lowered his eyes to watch carefully. The curve of the slender fingers scarred from numerous battles, the movements filled with care and worry even if his words were joking.

The entire time, Raphael didn’t ask anymore questions.

It was strange, the protagonist’s silence that had followed the prince’s, so Soren opened his mouth to speak, frowning slightly at the metallic taste that plastered over the walls of his mouth. “Are you going to ask what happened?”

Raphael’s movements stopped for a second before he continued wiping away the blood, having sliced off another piece of cloth when the first had gotten too dirty. “Do you want to tell me?”

The prince replied honestly. “No.”

A light chuckle that was somewhat helpless sounded. “Then you don’t have to.”

“You’re not curious?”

“I’m very curious, obviously. I walk into you bleeding and crying — do you think I’d be calm? But regardless, I’ll only listen when you want to speak. I won’t force an answer from you.”

His eyes flickered up darkly. “But if what you’re hiding endangers you, I won’t forgive it. Alright?”

Soren’s answer came immediately, without hesitation in his pale eyes, and with the blood that was cleared away, all that remained was a look of promise and confidence. “I’ll help you see past the end of this world. I promised that.”

He would not die before Raphael’s happy ending was reached. Even if it took a lifetime, or two.

The other breathed shallowly, folding up the dirtied cloth into the blankets as he stretched his arm out. Then, he pushed himself up and held out a hand.

“Let’s sit down on the bed instead of the floor.”

Soren stared at him and pulled himself up with the outstretched hand, moving to the center of the bed as he sat cross legged. Raphael also moved up, lazily falling back as his gaze remained on the ceiling.

Then, he looked at Soren.

“What is this made of? Gold? I’ve never lied down on a more comfortable bed in all my years.”

“If it were gold, it wouldn’t be soft.”

The matter-of-fact answer was quite like the prince. Raphael smiled, shuffling before he closed his eyes faintly. In fact, he could still smell lingering traces of the blood that had even permeated the mattress, but he scrunched his nose and ignored it.

It was Raphael who broke the silence. “Every person has the right to their own secrets, so I won’t probe you even if I’m deadly curious. But in all the worlds I’ve lived in, I learnt that it’s too easy for things to disappear. For the calm everyday to turn into turbulent storms.”

Soren listened quietly, leaning over from where he sat, his shadow grazing Raphael.

“I’m pretty sure whatever it is you’re hiding is important, though. So, little prince, let’s make a deal.”

“What deal?”

Raphael flipped to his side, abyssal gaze seeming to dig into Soren’s mind, see right through his soul. “I have a feeling that it’s related to me, in some way. So, right now, I won’t ask you what happened as long as you don’t want to tell me. But promise me, when you do want to tell me, say it immediately. Don’t hold back. How about that?”

The faraway sounds of chatter trickled into the room, and the birds were bright and singing. And they were alive. Alive in this world that was only destined for ruin.

Alive, when once, death had stolen them both.

There seemed to be a ball in Soren’s throat, making him hesitate to speak. But he swallowed away his doubts and fear.

“I had a dream.”

“Of?”

“The death of somebody important to me.”

The protagonist never stopped looking at him, only breathing softly as he said, “I see. I’m sorry, Ren.”

The icy gaze clouded over in reminiscence and grew a little colder. “It was something that would’ve happened eventually anyway.”

“Ren.”

“What?”

“You really need to change that bad habit of yours.” said Raphael with a sigh as he propped himself up, facing Soren directly. “Of thinking of everything as negative, or predestined to be negative.”

Soren frowned. “The reality is,”

“The reality is that even though good things aren’t guaranteed, neither are bad things. And that if all we expect is the worst, then how can we expect to attract the best? I’m not saying you should see the world as sunshine and rainbows.”

“Like you do?” Soren couldn’t help but ask, the cloud over his gaze darkening as he thought back to the memories.

Raphael looked startled before he chuckled. “You’re right. But if everybody loses hope, then that hope will stop existing. The least I could do is to keep that hope alive.”

“That’s nonsense.”

“And I like to believe in nonsense.”

This poor, pitiful hero. The sole survivor that continued to pray, even as his eyes were plucked out, as his limbs were stolen. Even as his mind was destroyed.

But it wasn’t as if Raphael was naive and innocent. He was well aware of the dangers in life, and of the betrayal that was deeply engraved into his bones. But even if he remained cautious, he also followed his morals and ideology. There was nothing that could break it.

“Raphael,” said Soren suddenly. “You can’t die before me.”

“All of a sudden?” laughed Raphael as he took in Soren’s serious expression. “There’ll be no dying for either of us, not now.”

“I know.”

“I’m glad.”

A knock rang through the room and broke through the peace.

Soren allowed them entry, and a certain teenager with fluffy black ears perched on his head walked in, though the manner in which he carried himself was anything but fluffy.

Damien glanced between them and said, “Lydia Jones has arrived.”

The boy had changed at some point, into clean and neat attire. Soren suspected that he may have been dressed up by Deimos, who couldn’t keep watching the fox wander around in tattered clothing. It had been a while since he’d been able to return to his tribe, and everything had been too busy to think about trivial things such as clothes.

It wasn’t a large or significant thing, but Soren noticed it. For a while he had wondered, what would it be like to see the world as Raphael does? To notice these seemingly pointless details for everything?

He was a little curious.

And that is why, as Lydia walked into the room to take a seat in the familiar room she’d visited once before, she found that the prince was staring at her a little more intently than usual.

If the indifferent blue eyes that casually grazed over people were intimidating before, the quiet and observant stare was a million times worse.

She smiled with her cherry lips and asked, “Good morning, your highness. You look lovely, as always. I pray you’ve been well.”

In other words, see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil. She felt as if it would be better not to ask.

Soren nodded. “Are we going to get straight into business, Lydia?”

Her eyes curved warmly. “I’d say I’m more curious in how you’re faring, your highness. It seems that a lot has changed since our last meeting, though I’ve still regularly supplied that lovely butler of yours with the candy you enjoy.”

“Everything is the same.”

“Although the same isn’t terrible at all, I wonder, do you believe in that?”

Of course he didn’t. The person most aware of the change was him, after all. But he wasn’t here to exchange polite chatter with Lydia, and he doubted she was here for that either.

Curtly, he said, “What did you need from me?”

The smile never left her lips, as if glued on. “I see that you’ve found the answers you were looking for. I must admit, you found them far sooner than I imagined, and in a brilliant manner too! I believe all the information I supplied was helpful to you?”

“Lydia. What do you want?”

“I’ve come to give my utmost congratulations, your highness. You even discovered secrets that I hadn’t intended for you to find.”

“And?”

Her finger tapped the armrest of her chair in the dimmed room, only the filtering sunlight from the windows brightening the area. It seemed loud when she wasn’t speaking, the sound of the muffled fabric filling the room.

“Your mother originally intended for your soul to be in one piece, existing only here.” said Lydia suddenly, tilting her head as Soren tensed. “But there were so many complications with everything, and to take something out of the Soul Forest was, well, forbidden. It was unlikely for her to succeed properly, if at all.”

“And then the seed split into two, somehow reaching my original world and here.” finished Soren as calmly as he could. “The point?”

“There’s an upcoming war that’s arriving soon.”

“I know.”

“They’ll be rushing to attack you here, likely in a few weeks. The Third Religion Leader wants you dead, your highness. Only because you are the most likely to foil his plans, and because he despises you.”

Soren frowned, his body leaning slightly forward. “Despises me? For what?”

Those soulful brown eyes curved. “You stole away somebody he loved dearly.”

The original was no sinner, and although he made enemies from flirting and drinking, he’d never taken a life. Thinking more into it, perhaps the death had been from a chain reaction. The aftereffects of his playing around.

Was that the reason why?

Did it matter? To understand the Leader, what would it even do? Make him sympathetic to that man’s cause? Soren had no intention of doing so.

“That wasn’t the main point though, so do as you please with that information.” continued Lydia. “I need you to be the one who wins this battle, your highness, though I have no doubts in your ability to reach the stars.”

“Why?”

“I made a promise to a good friend of mine, who has unfortunately passed. This world that was arranged by her — I don’t wish for it to end.”

Soren captured the main point and asked, “Arranged?”

“Worlds are created from stories that Gods write. It’s one of the main purposes,” she winced suddenly, as if a stabbing pain had hit her, but continued. “It's a God's goal. To create a world that’ll exist even after their demise. To leave a trace of themselves in some shape, even if it kills them to create it.”

“Are you allowed to tell me this?”

Lydia’s eyes wandered over to the window, the light reflecting off the brown to make it a warm honey. “Perhaps not. However, everything is nearly over and I needn’t play by the rules anymore.”

“What do you want me to do?”

She turned her head to him. “Haven’t you already guessed, your highness?”

“Do you hate the Third Religion Leader?”

“As I mentioned, I don’t wish for his success. There’s a story only he knows, but despite it, his choices would ruin the world. The power he wants as a God disturbs the natural balance of life — it is not allowed.”

“So you want me to take his place?” wondered the prince.

Lydia nodded. “Yes, that's what I hoped for.”

“I don’t want to become a God, Lydia.” said Soren simply, leaving no room for persuasion. The him of the timeline where Raphael died might’ve done so, but there was no reason for him to leave. The short glimpses of the floating space the God of Death occupied was devoid of life and lonely.

Soren didn’t want such a life.

She glanced at him and lowered her eyes, breathing steadily. “If you do not, then your dear hero is the second option. There is no other method to saving this world than to tear down the force that destroyed it to begin with.”

Soren suddenly slammed the chair, jumping to his feet. “Raphael won’t be involved with this.”

“Your highness, Prince Soren.” said Lydia slowly. “When a soul seed splits into two, it is broken. Eventually, it will fade away into dust or weaken over time. And when it disappears, you are vulnerable to death.”

Soren stilled, staring straight at her. The reason he was able to be killed — it wasn’t the special ability of whoever had attacked him, but the fact that his own ability had faded.

That would mean, currently, he was possessing the other half.

“The soul seed sustained the life of the child your mother created. Of you. It’s also what’s prevented you from overloading with the memories. But when that is gone, your mind will be entirely corrupt.”

“You’re saying…?”

“You have two choices, or three if you choose to accept mine. You become vulnerable, and your body falls to the memories that you shouldn’t even have. Or,”

“What?”

Her words were loud drums beating in his ears.

“You forget everything, once again.”