Salvation of the Scum Fifth Prince

A body smashed into him mid-fall, sending him flying across the air, high above the battles below and crashing through another wall. Sharp jolts of pain ran through his bones as he groaned, feeling the sand uncomfortably crumble along his back.

"What is this..." muttered Soren, as he shoved the lump off him, groaning.

A mop of pink hair roared out a laughter, far louder than any of the clattering sounds in the background. Celine fell to her back after being shoved off, breathing heavily. "Seriously, prince. I had to get a running start, and I wasn't even sure I'd make it."

"And why did you start running?"

"By the Lord, did you think I'd just let you fall?" Celine shook her head with a huff. "I'd be murdered alive by that fox kid of yours. Which doesn't sound appealing, by the way."

"Where's Vendra?"

She glanced outside, a tinge of worry flashing so fast, he almost didn't notice it. However, when she caught the prince looking, she smiled without hiding her fears. The woman she loved could die, and that thought terrified her. There was no shame in that thought; she would wear it proud on her face.

'These are the feelings only she can give me.'

"She wanted to prioritize keeping our soldiers alive, so she's running all over the place. Less fighting, more healing. It suits her, it does."

"It does."

"What is your plan, prince?" asked Celine, lifting her golden eyes to meet his dead-on, solemnly staring. "It may be hypocritical coming from me, but I am tired of watching them die. Any of them."

All the people below. The soldiers that chose to fight, their group that fought for the world, and the enemy that fought for their leader. The enemy that some fought without choice, manipulated by sweet words and promises. By delusions.

Two choices.

Soren could choose to forget, and protect his own self from losing control of the overload of memories from the Death God, a hundred lifetimes worth of loneliness and quiet suffering in the silent skies, in pitch black where nothing could find him. What emotions would he find locked away in those memories, and how would they destroy him?

He wondered, but couldn't find an answer.

And after he forgot, what then? He'd save himself, but what would become of this battle? Of the Third Religion leader's desires that wouldn't stop at just murdering everybody here?

Or he could choose to remember, to remember and accept the same fate. Prevent the Third Religion leader from gaining what he desired, as Lydia wanted him to. And perhaps that would bring an end to this, or an end to the future tragedy that may come.

The present, however, had an endless amount of possibilities.

A shout snapped them out of their conversations from a side window, large enough for a person to stand as it oversaw whatever was happening on the ground. "What nonsense! You are not our leader, Prince Vincent!"

A low voice responded, on the verge of snapping, with no room for mercy. "Your King is dead."

"That's wrong!"

Soren's eyebrows gradually knitted together, glancing over at Celine, who also looked worried. She sighed, running calloused and dirty fingers through her hair roughly. "I thought I heard he decided to bring the army with him. They're loyal to their country, to their King, some of them. Idiots, is what they are. Unfortunately, your lovely older brother has a limited amount of power."

"He is the First Prince. The entire kingdom respects him."

"Yeah, well. There are plenty that don't, envious of his ability. Jealousy doesn't kill until you let it. And they've let it. Consume them to the point they can't respect him, that they can only doubt his decisions that dragged them into this bloody fight to begin with." She shrugged.

There was the delicate screech of a sword being drawn from its sheath, and Soren walked over to the window, peering down. The soldier, surrounded by many others with equally uncertain expressions, had drawn his blade, pointing it straight at his own leader.

What was more dangerous than being surrounded by a thousand enemies, was a single ally that turned their back on you.

Vincent wouldn't kill or harm this man. But the man would kill him.

The Third Religion's leader must've revealed his identity — the King of the Qazia Kingdom. It would brew discord within the soldiers, and those who originally fought on his side may be conflicted, hesitant. Who would dare fight against their King? The one they pledged their loyalty to?

Soren watched as Vincent stared at the sword calmly, not moving an inch. He'd promised to fight, to fight for the younger brother he'd abandoned, for the father that abandoned him. For this world in which he stood.

"Your King is dead." repeated Vincent sternly, lips taut and unmoving. "And as long as I remain your prince, the Crown Prince, you are to obey my orders. Do I make myself clear, soldier?"

A flicker of hesitation. "...You cannot expect us to fight for you when the one we're loyal to stands on the other side!"

"....." Soren paused. "Did he tell them the circumstances?"

Celine looked amused, leaning over the edge. "You and your brother are pretty similar. Would you explain the circumstances just so they can understand you?"

"No."

"There's your answer." There was a moment of consideration as grains of sand slipped from her hands and she raised a brow. "Although the fact that you even considered that means you've changed. Not bad."

He ignored her, walking to the ledge before swinging his legs over, leaning against the wall with lowered eyes, quietly observing. Celine watched curiously, as he parted his lips to speak.

"Who do you fight for?" His voice seemed to carry an arrogant echo even in the open space, eyes immediately snapping up to him. That foolish brother of his looked especially surprised, startled even. "Is your loyalty to your King, or to your kingdom? Those are two fundamentally different things."

Leaning back as if he didn't care, head pressed against the walls that could fade at any moment.

"If you fight for your King, then stop fighting. There is nobody for you to fight for. If it's for your kingdom," He glanced over lightly, tilting his head. "Then you wouldn't be hesitating."

Humans were stupid, oh so foolish. This was a pointless debate, a trivial argument. Soren sighed to himself, boredom washing over even as the sound of battle drummed against his ears. There was a flash of red in his eyes, the gentle and all-commanding butterfly beating its wings in his eyes.

The ability didn't work on this many people, nor with this much distance. But they saw the power he held high in the skies, looking down on them like mere mortals. The indifferent stance, the chilly expression. The air that buried a mountain of skeletons, dragging at his feet.

This wasn't somebody you ignored, this was somebody you obeyed.

And these seemingly obvious facts that easily slipped past Soren's lips, the words that only one who was confident in their beliefs and morals could speak, made everybody listen.

"The Third Religion leader is a threat to the people. Do you plan to let it just happen? The endless slaughter."

When he closed his eyes, he saw the scenes he was used to. People of all ages falling, dying, fighting. Surviving. And when he opened them again, he saw the distant rows of the enemy ready to attack. A different world, but the slaughter was always the same.

"Turn around." ordered Soren.

They all gazed at the scene.

"Draw your blades."

Swords swung across the air, posed.

The first prince paused, eyes seeming to soften in a rare sort of trust, before he too drew his elegant blade out. There were no fancy jewels or beautiful designs, but a clean, sturdy sword that much suited him.

Soren said nothing more, and Vincent's back straightened. When had the thing he once wanted to protect, become one to protect him instead? Vincent almost laughed at the irony, and at the twist of fate that was a result of his terrible choices.

His voice boomed out, louder than Soren's low speech that carried in the wind. "You all heard my brother's words. Now what's your answer — what do you fight for?"

The first to speak out got buried in the silence. "For the people."

Vincent shouted louder, irritated, as he raised his sword in the air. "What do you fight for?"

This time, everybody shouted at the same time in a chorus, a battle-cry. "For the people!"

"And what else?"

"For the Kingdom!"

"Before you stand the enemy who wishes to have the world submit to them, to bow down at their feet. What will you do about that?" He controlled his voice in a charming way, raising his tone when needed and stressing all that needed to be said. "What will you do about it?"

"We will fight!"

"Then, move!"

And the battle begun, swords drawn and ready, voices loud and roaring. Vincent glanced back at the tall towers, nodding slightly before rushing forward with the rest of the soldiers. The number on both sides was about even, so it'd be down to skill in the end.

Celine tapped his foot from where he stood urgently. "Come on, prince. We need to move."

Soren blinked. What did he want to protect? What did he now value more than anything? His fingers felt for the vials tucked away in his cloth, the cool glass gliding over his skin. Whatever he did, it might not take effect right away. He still had time after making his choice, although he wouldn't be able to go back.

For the sake of their happiness.

His arm yanked out of his pocket, snapping the top before he tilted his head back and drunk. His eyes shuddered close, the liquid tricking down his throat and burning in his blood. It tasted sweet, a melty touch on the tongue, like the candy he always carried around.

Thinking about that, he scoffed. Lydia had a way of making an impact, even in the subtlest of ways.

The Death Saint stared at him with a suspicious frown, unease written across her features. "What did you just do?"

"I made a choice." said Soren, stretching out his arm and opening his fingers, allowing the empty vial to fall into the raging chaos of brutality. "Let's go, Celine."

"You aren't going to tell me what sort of idiotic, or not idiotic choice you just made?"

"You'll find out soon."

She sighed heavily, and then laughed warily, her feelings a conflicting storm in her head. "Yeah, yeah. You'd better hope it's a choice I approve of."

"It's none of—"

"Right. C'mon, let's go!" She turned around and made way for the stairs that seemed to only go up, Soren jumping off the ledge and following close behind.

There were both enemies and allies alike roaming this strange sand palace. Soren and Celine would interfere several times, lunging out and letting metal slam against metal. The latter laughed loudly as she found, eagerly running around with only her fists that seemed to rival and other's weapon.

He felt the air leaving his lungs, the non-stop running slowly draining his energy. Breathe, Soren, breathe. He needed to make it to the top, wherever it might be. He wanted to curse Leviathan — was it a thing for them to make endless steps, or optical illusions?

It was in bad taste, he thought with annoyance, as his chains clattered, knocking several men off their feet. Although really, the whole situation was in poor taste to begin with.

Actually, where was the Third Religion leader?

"Soren Rosenbaum."

'I spoke too soon.' sighed the prince as he skidded to a stop, raising an arm out to stop Celine from attacking recklessly. They'd just reached a platform, another 'floor' at the top of the stairs. Behind the irritating man that stood before him was the shadow of an arch, and more stairs that led to even more.

...was it too late to turn back?

There was no time to regret the stairs as the King continued. "I do applaud you for your efforts, however futile."

"I think your unskilled army is applaudable, too." nodded Soren in a polite, concise tone. 

It wasn't as if he were saying something wrong, half of the Third Religion followers were common men and women, untrained and clumsy in battle. There were a few notable ones, though.

The King's eye seemed to twitch. Soren also realized an important fact during this moment...

...did he even have a name?

There was no mention of one in the books, and he hadn't heard of nor cared to learn of it here. Would it be inappropriate to ask? He wasn't sure. He'd have to ask one of his brothers later, if even they knew this man's name.

"Are you relaxing in the middle of battle? That is unwise, Soren."

Soren glanced up, lifting his chained arm in the air and lazily dropping it to point ahead. "Why do you fight?"

"What a ridiculous question. I fight to avenge your mother—"

"And I fight to honour her." finished the prince.

"What nonsense."

"This is pointless." Soren sighed, glancing at Celine who stood a step back, uncertainly.

She winced in visible pain, seeming to clutch the side of her ribs as if there were something poking at it.

The Third Religion mark. They still didn't know how to combat it.

He wasn't completely certain how it worked, only the man in front of him knew exactly, but it seemed like being in his presence made the holders of the mark succumb. Celine wouldn't be able to fight him with the reminder of her previous loyalty burning in her flesh.

"Go back. Help the others, Celine. I will deal with him here."

"Soren."

"Go!" snapped Soren, just as the King leaped forward, his robes billowing around him like a storm of white. Celine gritted her teeth and spun around, hoisting herself out of a crumbling wall and jumping. Where she would land, and where she'd go after, would be up to her.

He turned his attention back to the King, narrowly avoiding a beam of light that broke through the edges of his clothes. Behind was where his goal awaited, and so did the conclusion.

But this battle would have to end with one of them dead.

The glowing light steadied, forming a straight blade that could cut through anything. Perhaps it was the leader's power, or another one of the Cursed Tattoos. Soren lifted his chains and swung. The King wasn't the only one borrowing the powers of the sins.

He stepped to the side, ducking low just as the blade swung over his head, fluttering strands of white hair falling to the ground. Soren kicked out his legs from under him, spinning around only to be knocked back against the wall. He groaned, hanging half out a window ledge that had formed.

His eyes cleared and he saw the blood that painted the ground in death and destruction, the fallen bodies and the surviving.

It felt like his body was burning, his lungs, his skin, his very soul. He twisted to avoid another blow, this time reflecting the punch and slamming against the King, hearing a satisfying grunt of pain.

"You damn son of mine...!" growled the King as he ran forward again. "If only you weren't born."

Soren sidestepped, snapping out his chains with a scowl. "You disgrace her name." To the woman who showed them all affection in the cold reality where none existed. Everything the King wanted, desired, went against the very thing she wanted to protect.

Ridiculous.

"I loved her! You don't understand it, Soren! I would burn the world for her, even at the cost of my life. I didn't care for the world, for the people, I'd give up any luxuries and riches for her sake! She was the only thing that shone bright in this foolish society."

"I don't doubt your love." said Soren, tearing off a large piece of cloth. "I doubt your sincerity."

A painful impact to his stomach made him gasp in pain, blood trickling down his lips as he coughed violently, jerking the chains to retaliate. But Soren continued. "Can you love somebody when you understood so little about them?"

He had no right to comment... that is, if it was before he met Raphael. If the King's adoration for his mother was like the simple, consuming love he felt for that idiotic hippo, then he could understand.

Because in another life, he might've set the world aflame to see Raphael again.

But it was different now. He'd changed, learned and experienced things he didn't before. What he understood was that it wasn't about destroying something for the one you loved, it was about protecting what they left behind. Protecting who they were, and honouring their desires.

And perhaps, it was to protect and remember the lost that was more difficult than vengeance.

Once again, the King attacked, knocking Soren over as he raised his blade high into the air. Nothing was happening slowly, but for some reason, it almost felt like it was. Soren tugged at his chains, calling the tip of the blade to his palm.

When he looked up, the King was crying. Angry, frustrated and terrible tears. A furrowed brow that mourned a loss that meant the world to him, and a hatred to the world.

Soren closed his eyes.

"In destroying the world," He said softly, "You destroy her memory."

Hesitation.

And then the blade fell down.