Salvation of the Scum Fifth Prince

Alvara laughed, a purposely loud chortle that carried hidden uncertainty, shoved under layers of volume. She had been the closest to Damien when he spoke, his crimson lips parted and speaking the most ridiculous lies.

Because that was what they were, right? Lies.

"You can't be serious." said the nervous girl slowly, stepping over to him as her hands collapsed to the side, the sweat on her face ignored while the bone creatures clattered to the soft grounds. "You just can't."

Damien stared at her unblinkingly. "What would you like to believe?"

"I, that... well. If somebody like me—" A pointed glare was given at those words before she continued. "A girl from the slums can suddenly revive after a death I don't even remember, which means I wasn't dead, I was sleeping. The point is," She was rambling now, and the more she spoke the less it made sense.

"It is?"

She laughed breathlessly. "He can't be dead."

A painfully slow swallow, the roll of his pale neck as his eyes shuddered close. None of those were good signs, not at all. He said nothing, yet the silence seemed to confirm everything she wanted to deny.

A dark figure staggered out of a passage, covered in torn robes and an expression that seemed like the world was ending, dragging their sword sluggishly. Alvara's eyes brightened, snapping her head to him. "Raphael, he's not dead, right? Right?"

Her words were trembling now, as the man lifted his gaze and the blood drained from her face.

Those raven eyes were unfocused, paying no mind to the surroundings. Raphael continued to walk, but he felt as if he were floating in the air, as if he wasn't really there. White noise scratched at his hearing, blocking out all other sounds and driving him mad.

In fact, on the walk down the stairs that he'd numbly accomplished, he saw that awful, terrible man, the King. Raphael's ears had already started ringing by then, the unmistakenable feeling of something missing dragging him back.

The Third Religion leader groaned, and a hot flash of anger painted the hero's vision.

"Is this what you intended?" asked the tragic man who, for the first time, wondered if he'd have rathered seeing the world collapse another hundred times. "His death?"

The body on the ground stilled, unmoving for several moments. Then, a gasping, wretched chuckle. "...What do you think? I had... the intention of taking power into my hands, and that murder...ous son of hers stole it. I regret not taking it sooner, not his death."

The sword slammed into the man's hand, straight through the center.

Raphael gasped, digging it further into the ground and the king violently shook with the little strength he had.

"I want somebody to blame. I guess, I always had, but he wouldn't have needed to make this choice if you weren't such a fool." said Raphael honestly, twisting the blade as the King groaned more, a sort of morbid disgust running through his veins.

But this hero was not cruel.

And a second layer, he snatched away the sword and trembled, cradling his face in his hands. Soren had wanted the King to meet his end in the hands of the other princes, of Damien, or somebody who desired vengeance.

Raphael would listen to those wishes. Because there was nothing else to follow, no more that he could do.

He had stared longer at the body before turning away, his steps unsteady and carrying the occasional stumble. He was a mess, a disorganized wreck. But this wasn't over, and he'd seen many fall in his arms before.

Just never somebody that meant this much to him.

And when he saw Alvara's denial, her shaky laugh, he wanted to crumple to his knees again and beg time to turn back.

Alvara fell silent at his appearance, not wanting to question it further. Oh, she felt like she was burning inside out, something tearing at her body and flipping her skin backwards. It was terrible, painful. Too many things, and not enough words to describe it.

She felt like she was dying. As if she wanted to pretend and delude herself, and laugh like a maniac. It had only been a short time ago when Soren swung out of the windows, and Alvara had eagerly waved. It wasn't that long. It wasn't.

But now he was dead.

If Alvara felt like this, then how did Raphael feel?

Damien was the first to break the terrifying silence that settled over them. "I assume master requested several things, and I can make a guess of them. I will deal with the current situation. What will you do?"

It was Raphael who those emerald eyes, aching with tempered sorrow, turned to look at. The man couldn't cower before that gaze.

"We'll properly clean everything up, alright? When we're away from this... I don't know, kid. I don't know anything right now, honestly." He shook his head at himself, tucking away the now damaged sword of his. "All I know is that... the idiot I love decided to sacrifice himself for me."

A part of Raphael couldn't help but wonder if the fate of this reaper always belonged to death. The prince seemed to have regained a new vigour to live, but Raphael wasn't sure exactly.

What if Soren always intended to die? And that his wish to live were the real lies? Doubt filled his lungs, and suddenly, he couldn't breathe.

"He never meant to die for you."

Damien's tone was quiet, as if telling a forbidden secret. There was something a little tragic glazed across that forest gaze.

The next words were strained. "But he was always willing to."

Raphael choked. "And what does that mean?" asked the man, who of all people, should've understood the best.

"It means," said Damien anyway, fixating his stare in steely truth. "Master wanted to live, with you, for you. And yet when faced with only two choices, he chose death. Not because he hated life as he did before, but because he loved it so much."

"...but what good is that love if he's gone?" Raphael took a deep breath, hearing the sound of footsteps steadily coming closer.

Vincent's blade swung at his belt, and he glanced around before his eyebrows knitted together, eyes narrowing in foreboding. His jaw clenched, and he slowly said, "Where is my little brother?"

The soulless eyes that stared back at him were his answer.

Despite realizing, Vincent asked again. "Where is Soren?"

The first prince remembered what death looked like in that younger brother of his. He'd seen it in that cursed forest, and believed that the sight he saw wasn't a lie. Somewhere in the complicated passages of time, Soren had died.

He loved and regretted losing that brother of his, who he'd never get back. The spoiled, helplessly immature and naïve child, the one that he couldn't consider being the same as the current.

But he also loved and cared for the cold, calculating and expressionless man that was just as naïve as the other, in simply different ways.

And he couldn't lose them both.

Not when he'd only just been given the chance for redemption, even if he spent his entire lifetime trying.

But when he received no answer, his body shook and his eyes closed. "My little brother is dead." stated the man, still receiving no answer. He didn't need one. He wanted a lie.

More footsteps sounded, and the other princes arrived.

Erlen swiped blood off his clothes and scowled. "We heard the order, both sides have stood down for now. What happened?" Then, he caught sight of their expressions and grew deadly still. "What happened?"

Deimos simply lowered himself down and cried, not bothering to ask what he already understood. His fingers cruelly dug into his skin, tears freely falling down his face. So this was the end, regardless of what they tried to do, was it?

Damien glanced around. "Where's Atlas?"

"Injured." reported Erlen curtly, staring at the ground. "Alive, but he'll need serious treatment."

"The others?"

"How can... you be so damn calm?" snapped Erlen suddenly, amber eyes blazing. "Or am I wrong to believe that the missing person here, the despairing expressions on your faces, doesn't lead to the conclusion I've reached?"

The fox lifted his empty gaze. "Do I seem calm to you, Your Highness?"

"You don't, no, but how can you just carry on when that knowledge is sitting on your, all of our heads?"

"The others?" repeated Damien again, not answering.

"Answer, Erlen." said Raphael, straightening his back and seeming almost relaxed, if not for his tense shoulders and the red that rimmed his eyes. "The sooner we deal with this, the sooner we can mourn."

"...that crazy magician was wrecking things at the far south of the castle last I saw. Celine was following Vendra while she healed others, working together to keep an eye on the overall state. Severe casualties were prevented due to their help."

"So they're alive." muttered Raphael in relief. He'd seen the dead strewn across the floors, inside the castle and outside. This was no easy battle, but with both the leaders down, there was no point in fighting. Neither side would move until a new order was given.

He turned to Vincent. "Your father is down near the top floor. I don't know if the sand has shifted and he's moved, but it should be around the area. He's severely injured."

A nod. "I'll send my men to arrest him immediately." Then, as if standing here would be too unbearable, he turned away and left.

Raphael crouched down in front of Deimos. "Deimos. I'm..." His voice wavered and he cleared his throat to swipe away the unease. "I'm hoping that there is a way for him to still be alive. Lydia wished for him to become a god, and I think he's done just that."

Silence.

"As long as that possibility exists, I can't mope around here though I'm pretty tempted to." He tried for a weak laugh. "We can try to determine his status only after everything is dealt with."

Deimos lifted his head, blond strands plastered to his face that were wet his tears. A pathetic sight. A reasonable one. His voice was a mere croak. "I am aware, Raphael. Thank you. If you don't mind giving me a moment, then I'll collect myself and join you momentarily."

"Of course."

He pushed himself into a stand, nearly tripping as he did. If he fell now, he wasn't sure he'd get back up. Turning around to speak to the soldiers that stood at a distance, remaining in their positions after Damien's orders were yelled earlier. The fifth prince was dead. The Third Religion leader, missing.

What now?

"I honestly can't care whether you're the enemy or not. If you want to submit to the Qazia Kingdom and abandon your religion, then you'll return and run through some formalities and such. If you don't want to, then into the cells you go. You have no leader, worshippers, while we have many. Make your choice."

There was no warmth in his words, stripped away. "And for the soldiers who fought on our side, your King is as good as dead. If you had any doubt, forget it. You serve your kingdom, and the one who sits on the throne. Not a fallen man whose abandoned you for power."

"That's it."

"Raphael." At some point, Damien had moved beside him in his soundless steps. "Would you like to leave?"

"I'm sure everybody wants to run away right now." said Raphael, his ears still ringing. "But that doesn't mean it's the best option."

"I asked Lydia a few things before we left. Do you want to know what they were?"

Raphael's shoulders tensed, and he tilted his head to stare in wonder. Lydia, who knew too much about the world in her long lifetime. She wanted to save this story, and it resulted in Soren's death. But a conversation with her could change an ending, result in miracles, or so it seemed.

"Continue. Please."

"I inquired about the whereabouts of Jones, the original creator of the world and the one who wrote most of the first half of the story I finished. So long as she exists, the world is stable and Soren doesn't have to remain a god — that is, if he is one."

"If Jones exists... what is she the god of?"

"The God of Time." Damien was meeting Raphael's dead on now, unmoving. "Whatever destiny that should've played out in the novel did play out, once. And then time was turned to our life presently, in which master's existence has changed the course."

"The God of Death brought him here. Would that mean he was in contact with Jones?"

"That is likely. Regardless, if master chose to become a god, then he's in a place we can't reach. He cannot be saved. Lydia said it's complicated, that one cannot leave so easily without help."

Raphael's eyes widened as he mulled over the mixed tumble of thoughts in his mind. "Could another god find him?"

"What do you think?" There seemed to be a sliver of a smile on those blood-red lips, painted on in cheeky hope. It looked good on Damien, the teenager who often seemed mature beyond his age.

"I think that I'd like to believe in that."

The boy's face grew serious again. "However, there is no guarantee. Master may be..." A pause that lasted a few seconds too long. "He may be dead, and there might be nothing we can do but grieve. Do you understand, Raphael?"

"I do."

"Good. Lydia said that the God of Time used up the last of her powers before it ran dry, and she was tossed into the very story she wrote. Somewhere hidden, where she wouldn't be found easily. Her time is warped and confused, so it's likely her memories are also out of order."

Raphael's head snapped up. "Even gods were human once."

Damien was already looking into the distance, a curious gleam swirling in the green. "Can you think of somebody whose time is mysterious and strange?"

Far away, Alvara was helping wrap bandages around the injured, using wisps of her power to help her fasten it more securely. Feeling a gaze at her back, she turned. Tilting her head in confusion, she lifted a hand to wave before returning back to her tasks done with unskilled, but careful movements.

Surprise flickered in his face, before Raphael chuckled, clenching his fists and sighing. "I can."

———

Thousands of stars littered across the darkness, blinking and watching. Swirls of colour, of pink, blue, purple and more blended together, twisting and turning.

There was only silence that existed here, nothing more.

Then, a curled up ball floated across the space, a single name in their mind. White hair, with black roots nestled into the rounded skull, swayed and spun with every movement.

The ball lifted its head, and a pair of eyes opened in this vast reality.

One the hopeful colour of the never ending skies, and the other, marked with the deep death of an abyss.