Salvation of the Scum Fifth Prince

Nobody questioned Soren when he told them that he wanted to find the other Cursed Tattoos, only agreeing with a smile as they went to work. Damien already knew the location of several from his travels and sources that Soren didn’t think he wanted to know.

However, the group of people was a little larger this time.

The addition of four certain people who’d tossed aside their responsibilities to tag along. Of four certain people Soren had frowned at and told to stay, but of course, was ignored.

“Do you want help carrying your bag, little brother?” asked Atlas politely as he stretched out a hand.

Soren shook his head.

Later, when they’d sat down by the fire, a bowl of soup was thrusted in his direction, so that several drops spilled out and tumbled onto the ground. For the most part, it was intact.

“Here, take it.”

Erlen didn’t meet Soren’s gaze as the bowl remained in the air. The latter narrowed his ice blue eyes dangerously, and slowly took the bowl. Wasting food wasn’t good, after all. When he accepted, Erlen’s eyes excitedly flicked over to Brioc as if showing off.

The magician raised his brows, purple eyes glittering in amusement as if to say, ‘So what?’

Another thing that happened was when Soren tripped after waking up in the morning, his mind still a muddled mess from the terrible nightmares that continuously plagued him because of the memories. He stumbled on a root, and was it his irritating lover that caught him? No.

A strong pair of arms wrapped around him carefully, and almost awkwardly as the prince lifted his eyes to stare at a pair of amber eyes. Vincent asked, “Are you injured?”

“...I’m fine.”

The arm that was holding him still didn’t let go, and Soren had to struggle before adding, “You can let me go now. Thank you.”

“Oh. Yes.”

In the back, Celine bustled with loud laughter as Vendra laughed lightly, whispering to the other. They exchanged glances as they watched, eyes curved.

The last example of this bothersome group was when Soren accidentally hit his head.

As he turned around suddenly when somebody called out his name, his head had hit the large branch of a tree. The ‘smack’ echoed loudly in the silence.

Smack— ack— ack.

Alvara had coughed, then doubled over in laughter as Brioc joined in with a loud whistle, eyeing the bruise that was forming on Soren’s forehead.

Even Raphael had chuckled as he walked over to treat the injured man’s wounds.

However, Deimos had rushed forward and rubbed his clammy hands all over Soren worriedly, as if he hadn’t been hit by a branch but stabbed instead. Soren’s chin was tilted, mint eyes observing every crook of his face.

“Soren! Does it hurt? Do you need medicine? Should I buy you some?”

The calm prince, whose forehead throbbed more from a headache than the injury, blinked. “No.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yeah.”

“Really?”

“.....” Soren tilted his head away from Deimos and stared at Raphael in a silent prayer, unblinkingly. The protagonist cleared his throat with a wide smile as he walked over and rubbed the bruise that was starting to bloom.

“He’s fine, Prince Deimos. It’ll heal quickly.” reassured Raphael as Deimos nodded.

The second prince made sure to warn Soren, “If it hurts later, tell me.”

“...okay.”

Once, he’d been a reaper who spent not a single day not covered in dripping wounds, body black and blue from all the bruises he had hidden under layers of dirt. Even if he was stabbed, he’d tug out the blade and call it a day.

Now, it seemed like he was the youngest prince who couldn’t even hit his head without it being the end of the world.

‘What the hell?’

It was a little creepy, honestly.

It came to the point that Damien noticed that a certain master of his had wandered off of the path, keeping a two-meter distance from the other princes at all times. When he had no choice but to stay closer, he’d stand behind or beside Raphael, shrinking his presence.

Raphael would only shake his head and laugh, earning a pointed glare from the hiding prince.

“What’re you doing?” asked the protagonist at one point, as Soren hurried over to his side.

Soren stared ahead indifferently. “Staying away from trouble.”

“You’ll hurt their feelings, little prince.”

“They’re hurting my sanity.”

Damien walked by at that moment, glancing between the two with his relaxed forest eyes. The bruise had more or less healed at this point, but Soren’s wariness to his brothers only grew. “Master, do you think they’re watching you right now?”

Soren almost shuddered, refusing to look behind. “No.”

“You don’t want them to care for you?”

“It’s far too late for that.” muttered Soren numbly, his soul already having left his body. It was the original that wanted this weird affection, not him. And even if a part of him smiled at the other princes’ actions, the other part was wholly terrified.

Raphael smiled. “Maybe you’re just not used to it yet. There’s nothing wrong with affection between brothers, and also… I don’t think they’re going to stop.”

“There’s something wrong if I say it’s wrong.”

“Good luck.” was Raphael’s only reply.

They reached a clear area that was surrounded by trees, but the ground was relatively dry and there wasn’t much grass growing in the space. Damien quickly built a fire with the help of Deimos, and soon another evening came.

The days came and went, like flipping through pages. Soren thought this as he bit down into a chunk of bread that Celine had bought at a nearby village earlier.

Stars shimmered across the sky, and the fire crackled with life, giving birth to creeping shadows that fell behind them.

“We’re almost there.” said Damien calmly. “Gabriel’s Curse. Said to give the ability to immobilize people, turning a part of them temporarily into stone.”

Soren nodded vaguely and wondered, “What sin did he commit?”

Damien shrugged, leaning back against an old stump. “Only they know.”

‘Well, I know too.’ A voice suddenly echoed in Soren’s mind, a voice he hadn’t heard in a long, long time. ‘It’s been a while, prince.’

The prince paused and moved away from the group, wandering into the forest’s darkness as he crouched down by a tree not too far away. The light in the distance reminded him of the people nearby.

“Asmodeus.”

‘When you work Uriel up, I was kept under strict supervision. But what can they do? I’ve had most of my powers stripped and bound, and there is little they can punish me with anymore.’

“You know that she’s alive.”

‘Yes. Thank you, Soren Rosenbaum.’

“I told you I would find her.” When they’d left, Celine had been reluctant but the archangel who was still coming in and out of her slumber insisted. Uriel was left in the care of Hazel, and another one of Damien’s tribe members.

Asmodeus seemed to let out an unsteady breath. ‘I know. And thank you for fulfilling it, when humans often don’t keep their promises.’

Soren said nothing, so Asmodeus continued to speak into the former’s mind. ‘It isn’t very important, but Gabriel’s sin is cruelty. A human had killed his child that was wandering on earth, and he sought vengeance.’

“I see.”

Regardless of the powers one had, they were all bound to rules and consequences. Even an angel couldn’t find justice for themselves without it becoming a black spot on their record.

‘I’ve also heard of what you’re planning. Even if I couldn’t communicate with you, I could still see through our bond.’

“And?”

‘Are you certain of your choice?’

“I’m not.” said Soren slowly, surprising the demon. “But no matter what choice, I’ll regret it. So I’ll choose the one I’ll regret the least.”

He was all too accustomed to regretting, to making choices that would haunt his soul forever. Whatever outcome awaited, he wouldn’t call this a mistake. Because not one thing, not the journey nor the people he met, was a mistake.

He closed his eyes and tilted his head to the stars that shone above the crowding leaves. To the moon that watched, and the skies that waited. To the sun that would soon creep out from under the cloak of darkness, and shine bright once again.

‘...I understand. If you need any information regarding the Cursed Tattoos, ask and I will answer.’

“Okay. Thank you.”

The voice disappeared, fading into the depths of his mind as Soren drifted off into sleep.

— — —

There was a memory that didn’t play the last time Soren learned of Raphael’s death. It was the memory when, in fact, Ren hadn’t arrived after the hero had already died. He’d arrived just before. And as he stumbled to the scene, blood pooling out of Raphael’s stomach and the pain made his steps unsure, his heart turned cold.

The hero was dying.

Undoubtedly, and absolutely. He was fading right before Ren’s eyes.

The disappearing heat that Ren clamored to hold, the weak voice which was once been so loud, so annoying, but something Ren had fallen for long ago. Ren rushed forward across the battlefield, ignoring the monster that was lumbering away to rest after the battle.

Raphael gave a wry smile. “I don’t believe this is the end. It’s only the beginning for you. And one day, I’ll find you again, in another world, in another time, I swear I’ll find you.”

Ren remained silent, eyes unmoving as if a single blink would waste a moment. Raphael watched helplessly, and could only continue speaking, lest the silence drown them both.

“I have no regrets, not in meeting you and not in dying here. Don’t regret it either, Ren.”

“Raphael.” muttered Ren slowly, in a confused mess of emotions.

Raphael smiled. “I’m here, Ren.”

“Don’t go.”

A spoiled, helpless plea. Raphael had always wanted the boy to rely on him more, to request something from him.

But this first and last request... Raphael couldn’t fulfill it.

“Damn little fool. I told you, didn’t I? I’ll find you again, I promise. Trust me, okay?”

“I trust you.” Ren said almost too obediently.

Raphael wanted to laugh. “Will you wait for me?”

“I’ll wait for you.”

“Will you miss me?”

“I’ll miss you.”

“Damn.. why’re you being so obedient now of all times?” complained Raphael weakly before he closed his eyes. “Say, Ren, do you love me?”

Ren choked. “I love you.”

“I love you, Raphael.”

“In loving you, I wanted to stay. In loving you, I thought life was worth it.”

“All I need is you.”

“Please.”

The countless confessions slipped past Ren’s dry lips, restrained words of longing that couldn’t be held back any longer.

It was a shame…

…that the intended recipient could hear no longer.

— — —

Raphael’s death would not happen again.

Whatever it took, whatever was needed. Soren wouldn’t allow for it, not in this lifetime or another. As Damien took a step in front of the group, narrowing his gaze on the dark cave before him that echoed with eerie whispers, Soren calmly stared forward.

He glanced down and flexed his fingers, feeling the way his bones moved with his will, the skin rough and scratched, yet far softer than back during the apocalypse.

“Something on your mind, Renren~?” wondered Brioc as he slid beside, head leaning against his hands as he casually strolled. However, his purple eyes settled on Soren carefully, listening.

Soren glanced over at him, feeling the groove of the rocky walls as they entered the darkness. When the shadows stretched before him, he was a little more talkative. “It’s good you returned, Brioc.”

The magician almost tripped. His mouth dropped open as he stared wide-eyed in complete surprise, blinking furiously several times as if it were a dream. But the prince only continued to venture down the passage without a word.

Brioc swallowed, laughing quietly before it grew louder. “Man, Renren… so unpredictable…!”

Soren raised his brows in response, before there was a sudden drop in their step and the sound of whistling arrows flew by their ears. He jerked his head back as the blur sped by his vision, only millimeters away from nicking his skin.

A trap dungeon?

“Duck!” cried out a voice as a rumble rolled above their heads, and stones started to violently smash against the ground.

Soren jumped over, rolling to the side to avoid a large rock that had crashed in the spot where he had just been standing, leaving a painful indent on the ground. The uneven walls scratched a thin layer from his arm, but there was no time to think about minor wounds.

Everything trembled violently as there was the faint sound of gears turning from within the rocky walls that covered them.

“Run forward! Don’t stop!” ordered Vincent loudly, pulling Alvara who had narrowly missed being smashed open by a rock, now trembling as she struggled to control her body. “Run to the end!”

Alvara muttered uncohesively and Damien stopped in his step, twisting between the traps as he neared her. They both stumbled forward, one with careful steps and the other with clumsy motion as Vincent released her when an arrow flew in between.

“Boy! Do not let her leave your sight!” shouted Vincent as he continued, unable to turn back.

Damien turned his eyes to Alvara, tugging her to the side as they crashed against the ground, flipping over. He caught her carefully and jerked her thin body ahead once again.

“Are you scared?”

“Terrified!”

“Then don’t let go.” said the fox in almost a quiet, commanding whisper that filled her ear before she felt herself being tossed into the air and flipped over onto a sturdy back. A long tail curled around her legs with rare comfort, resting at her ankles. “Whatever I tell you, do it.”

“O-okay!”

On the other side, Erlen snapped his sword high up to deflect a rain of stones that pelted him. Some passed and dug into his skin, promising dark bruises that would later show. His amber eyes flickered to something on the side and he lurched sideways, hastily raising his sword a shower of arrows flew by.

He gritted his teeth before grabbing the person who’d fallen and sprinted.

Atlas heaved, but tried to keep on running as his legs were covered in scratches and rips in his clothing from all of his falls. “Thank you, Erlen.”

Erlen scowled, furrowing his brows. “It’s nothing. Keep moving!”

Soren, only a few meters ahead, felt as if the road was endless. How long had they been running now? And from what? Would the traps even end? This was a place he didn’t know of, a place not described in the book.

The noises that screeched around the cave grew louder, melding with the smashing stones and shouting from his companions.

A certain step made him press on a particular stone, and he suddenly had a very bad premonition.

The next second, the floor surrounding him pulmetted, dragging him down with him. In the darkness, it was hard for everybody to see within the chaos, so they didn’t notice the trap that had silently, discreetly closed up after trapping its prey.

All they saw was the disappearance of Soren, yelling out in surprise.

“Soren!”

“Little brother!”

“Ren!

There were many shouts and gasps, but none were heard below by the man who was sinking, falling down, down, down. He choked on water — or what he assumed to be water — as he stretched his failing arms out above.

All of a sudden, a ray of light burst out from underneath him. Then another, and another, until the deep blue was lit up with dozens of bright beams, making the water glow with transparent hue.

And as Soren stared at his fingers that were coated in the water, still buried down in its depths, he paused. Because the water wasn’t the calming, authoritative colour that the ocean typically was. It was purple, a majestic and intelligent purple that glowed as it bubbled over him.

However, it wasn’t the time to think as his breath started to grow more and more laboured, and he rushed to reach the top, kicking his legs back. Breaking through the surface, he gasped loudly, wet white strands clinging to his face as the near suffocation made his eyes red and tired.

He blinked away at the water, squinting as he breathed heavily.

The rocky black walls arched above and around him, purple water slapping against it from the edges. Further ahead where the ceiling was the highest, an elegant throne perched high on a rubble of stones stared back at him. There were broken swords and blades of all sorts laying on the cracked ground, and a broken staircase that led to the chair.

What had the necromancer queen called that place? The one where Asmodeus’ curse resided?

An island of sin.

Soren slowly narrowed his gaze, briefly tilting his chin up at the people who were likely searching desperately high above, before kicking his legs again, moving with the water.

Gabriel’s curse was somewhere on that island that reeked of arrogance and nobility.