Salvation of the Scum Fifth Prince

Unexpected was the turn of life, an ever-changing passage of time full of impossible encounters and miraculous moments. The curious matter of falling in love with a passing stranger, respecting the one you once despised more than anything.

They could not have predicted that the terrible, heartless prince could've become such an irreplaceable existence in their life.

He spoke little, yet the impact he made had come in raging storms.

"You're lying." The magician shook his head, reflecting the same denial Alvara did. "Come on, Alvy, that's not a funny joke. I'm too drained to even laugh, seriously."

The silent girl stared at him, lips pressed in a straight line. "I'm sorry, Brioc."

"You're not. You're not, 'cause it's a lie, and... and no."

"Brioc."

"No." He barked out a laugh, raking a hand through his uncombed brown hair. Violet eyes gleamed violently, blood still smeared across his cheek the daggers—the gift from Soren, the blades which were fated to be his—were strapped to his chest. "Then where is he? Where's his corpse? If you let me see that, then I'll believe you."

She shook her head. "I can't."

Brioc licked his lips. "Then don't say such stupid things."

"You're upset." stated the necromancer with a shaky voice, stepping away from the wounded she had been treating. He followed her. "I'm also upset, crazy upset. Do you think I'm calm right now? I'm not. I'm not, I can't be, I won't be, I'm... processing. I'm trying to, at least."

His gritted his jaw, smashing his teeth together as any false humour drained, leaving a confused spectacle of emotions. For a second, he looked utterly terrified. Suddenly, he snatched up the daggers that whispered murder in his mind, and stalked away.

"Hey!" Alvara chased him, grabbing his arm and yanking him back. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I'm done listening, Alvy!"

"No, you're not!"

Brioc tensed, before striding up to her in a few steps, dangerously close. He narrowed his eyes and grinned. "I'm really~ really not in the mood to joke with you right now."

Then, before he could say another word, somebody pulled at his arm violently and threw him to the floor, catching him in surprise. Brioc struggled, but the other snapped their legs around his body, and pinned him to the floor.

"Simmer down, Haze Prince." Erlen lifted his chin, frustration running along the line of his jaw. "Tsk. You're too spontaneous and unpredictable. It is not the time to act out of turn."

Brioc stopped struggling, laying limply with his back pressed against the floor as he rolled his head, laughing. "Ah, Leny~ you have such good timing. I wouldn't feel bad about roughing you up at all~" There was bloodlust in his eyes, clouding over exhaustion.

"I wouldn't either." replied Erlen with a raise of his eyebrows and a sneer. "Unlike an idiot like you, however, I can keep my head straight."

"Hmm~ yeah, you're so annoying to look at that I think I'm willing to take the punishment for killing you."

The prince tightened his grip in irritation. "My brother isn't dead."

Alvara jerked her head, and Brioc's eyes widened.

Erlen continued. "At least, that's the theory that they believe. That fox should be on his way soon with Raphael—he asked that I go looking for whatever nonsense you were up to. And look at you being completely ridiculous."

"Here." a voice said quietly off the side, as if it came from thin air. Damien stood, arms crossed and watching curiously with Raphael standing next to him.

The latter looked desperate and hopeful, but also in shambles of despair. He still couldn't organize his thoughts, and although there was a chance that the foolish little prince of his could still be alive, there was still a possibility that they'd never see him again.

But hope was something that this hero was once good at, and for the sake of that fool, he thought he could learn to hope again.

"We contacted Lydia, well, more like she contacted us in whatever weird ways she does things." started Raphael, paying no mind to the scene before him. It was better to let people wrestle out feelings, than to interfere in the period of mourning. "There is a possibility that Ren is still alive."

"What? How? Why?" Alvara stepped forward, frowning.

"Do you think his goal was to die? Or do you believe he had another goal, Alvara?" asked Damien.

"I don't think he wanted to die. But he's gone! I can't even feel his life anymore—he doesn't exist. Why are you asking... he..." Her eyes widened in understanding. "Is he alive? Just not... here?"

A ghost of a satisfied smile, appreciation. "Would you do anything to save him?"

"I—obviously! Is that even a question?" Her head was spinning in disbelief, mouth parted in surprise and words that she couldn't form. Soren. Alive.

Her hands grasped at her clothing nervously. Of course that would be ideal, after she'd shut down and felt so sickeningly empty. And she'd sacrifice her found happiness if it were to bring him back. The only question was—was there truly a means to do so?

Raphael walked over and ruffled her hair with a short laugh. He glanced at Damien. "You're too cryptic sometimes, kid."

The boy tilted his head. "It was a necessary question, don't you agree?"

"And there you go, always ending things in questions when you can help it." Turning to look the uncertain girl in her eyes, he decided to ruffle her already messy raven hair. She blinked, confused. "Look, you're something special, Alvara. You have the ability to save him if you wanted to."

"Special...?"

Damien's slanted eyes gleamed, stepping closer. He loved fascinating things, and the mysteries that surrounded. Although Soren's death weighed heavily on his mind, along with Hazel's and even Sage's betrayal from long ago, he buried himself in curiosity. "You're wonderful, Alvara."

The necromancer's entire face flushed, eyes unfocused and even more confused than it was before. "Okay, now I'm seriously lost—not that I was ever not lost to begin with."

"Open your hands for me."

She didn't hesitate and obeyed, spreading her fingers out and holding it in front of him.

"You will be the one who saves master, although you must take Raphael with you." explained Damien slowly, his closed fist reaching out to rest in her hand. "I believe he severed his ties with reality and took the place of the God of Death. There, time is empty and confusing, impossible to escape. But if ending his ties made him rise to the skies, do you think tying him back down will bring him back to our world?"

"I... I'm not really sure I get it, honestly."

She heard sounds of Vincent's shouts in the background, echoing in this bubble, sounds of rustling, movement and groans from the many casualties of battle. Sensitive to the sound of the injured, the sounds of the almost dead. Right now, however, Damien's words seemed like a lull that cast a blanket over her mind.

"He is lost. We need to find him."

"That helps, but also how?"

"Lydia has agreed to meet with you, to help unlock the seals you placed on yourself. Since your connection to the world never died, only remaining dormant, you don't need to follow the same path as master. However, it'd be an issue if we lost hold of you too—" He lifted his gaze, staring straight through her with those steely green eyes. "—which I don't intend to do."

Raphael sighed, crossing his arms. "You left out the most important part. Alvara, you've always wondered about how you ended up on that mountain, where you are from, yeah? You can't remember any of it."

"Yeah, that's right...?"

"You're the mortal form of the God of Time, Jones. The one who created this world."

She collapsed to her knees in such surprise, the pinned down Brioc couldn't help but laughing out loud. Whether it was due to his equal confusion, or because her reaction was truly amusing went unknown.

The fox crouched down with her, holding onto her palm.

"It's complicated, but it's necessary to make sure you will face the least danger possible." muttered Damien quietly, his curled tail resting patiently on the ground. "Trust me, Alvara?"

"Always." responded the girl immediately, despite the tremble in her throat.

"Are you confused? Are you scared? And if you are all those things, are you still willing to do anything to save him? There will be no going back."

"I will do it." She forced herself to stare at him with clarity, confidence in her tone.

"Then," said the boy softly, opening his closed fist and wrapping his delicate fingers around her hand. "Don't blame me."

There was a sharp prick in her palm, before the pain erupted, like prickly thorns running under her skin. She gasped, tears springing in the corner of her eyes at the unbearable stabs along her arm, watching as blood dripped from their connected hands. Brilliant white strands of silk erupted from their hold, circling around them in a spherical web.

"I swear to stake everything that I am on your life, for as many lifetimes we may coexist. My blood oath, a promise and a story. I, Damien Black, will never go back on this vow." said the boy, though flickers of equal pain danced along his outstretched arm. His eyes never left her.

Alvara gasped again, not from the pain but his words. Her lips fell open in question, but then stopped. Do you trust me? He'd asked. And she did. To the point she'd blindly swear an oath that likely had consequences she didn't know about, for reasons she didn't quite understand.

Maybe she was a little stupid. But this teenager before her who remained nearby in quiet comfort, and for the man who was so foolish but had saved her from that darkness... screw it all.

There was no turning back.

Her voice was hoarse. "I swear to stake everything that I am on your life, for as many lifetimes we may coexist." repeated the girl naturally, taking a deep breath before lifting her ruby eyes. "My blood oath, a promise, and a story. I, Alvara Jones, will never go back on this vow."

She claimed the name of the God that lied sleeping in her mind.

This time, the boy's smile wasn't faint and casual, nor mysterious and enchanting. Damien's smile was blinding, formed by the light curve of his lips and eyes, warmth seeping in those calculating emeralds

The strings expanded, and then wrapped tightly around their hands, sinking into their flesh. The tension in their shoulders both relaxed, and Alvara grinned.

"That was pretty cool."

Damien tilted his head, amused. "Yes, wasn't it?"

"And now what?" wondered Brioc, having pushed Erlen off at some point—though the latter was more than willing to move—as he leaned back on the sand.

"Now," started Raphael with a heavy sigh, tapping on the hilt of his sword. "We go save what is currently probably a curled up ball of gloominess."

———

A certain curled up ball of gloominess continued to float aimlessly in the vastness of the universe.

He'd lost track of time easily, when there was nothing to do but drown in one's filthy chaos of thoughts. It was strange, like he was present but not quite there. As if nothing bound him to reality anymore, as if he were in that strange space between life and death.

No sounds, no sights, no feelings.

Death was warm, wrapping around the body like a silk cocoon, blurring all thoughts and memories into a hazy dream. Disconnected, and floating.

That's how he felt.

'...where... am I?'

A state where no worries existed, where fears and anxieties became nothing but a faded feeling.

'Who am I?'

He felt his finger twitch—his finger? His body existed, but at the same time it didn't exist. That's when he realized that his body was merging with the title of the 'God of Death'. That he wouldn't be able to come back.

That he had lied to them once again.

He squinted, allowing his body to float in this empty space, a glaring light in the distance. He moved towards it, a slender finger grazing against the edge of the brightness. He froze.

'This is...'

A giant, bloody creature with drooping limbs and bulging eyes, salivating over the humans before it. A familiar group, faces covered with a mask of fear and worry as they fought. And a reaper, he had thought he had escaped from.

'...my memories.'

Thoughts flooded his mind—the memories and feelings of his future that had failed.

The God of Death helped the Raphael since the very beginning, he who most longed to see this world has a happy ending. In the original world, the man had a comrade.

A very important comrade. The identity was already known.

And then the world fell to pieces, and he lost everything he cared for. He went to the peak of the world and screamed, eventually becoming a God. He thought by being one, he could save that comrade. 

But it was impossible. At some point, that friend of his had been taken away by fate, and he watched his friend suffer over and over helplessly. Until he entered a final world.

And in that world, it was destined to fall apart again.

As a last attempt, he found that his own soul root was connected to that world—only, a god could not involve himself. Thus, he found the one most similar to him: the him of eons in the past, in the very first world. He sent him across, using all of his power.

His friend was the son of fate, and he was not. He could do little, weakened after time.

A tiny, thin root, connected to the world because of the connection with his friend. When he died, his past would gain the memories of the future.

He'd cooperated with a dying god, who wanted to reverse the tragedy that befell the story she created. It was a collection of souls that were bound for doom, of Soul Trees with withered roots. In the center of the story was the very person the God of Death wanted to save.

Jones had made a deal to twist time, allowing the God of Death's past self into her own world, while restarting the story. Everything played out clearly, as if it were a movie to be watched.

Damien found the book, long before the story started and rewrote it, placing it back in that library.

Ren had read that book, but a version that was twisted in time—it had no ending. The pages had been ripped out. He'd always wondered about the ending. Perhaps that was why he'd eventually be drawn to help the protagonist. Later, he was pulled into the world, to the beginning of the story.

And the entire time, the God of Death watched in his silent space, waiting for an inevitable demise that was to come.

Soren watched as the scene of his comrades death changed. 

Now he was standing, with legs he couldn't feel and a body that was his, but felt like anything else. He was in the library now, staring at dusty shelves that lined the walls and a pile of books forming a nest on the floor.

He walked forward, before noticing a conspicuous onyx book on the shelves. He grabbed it, a veil of shadows drifting over his pale arms, and flipped through the pages. Lips curling down, he narrowed his eyes and started to skim through it more rapidly.

The Transmigrator's Last World.

Here in his hands, whole. 

He trembled slightly, staring back at the pile of books. A friend had recommended the book to him, hadn't they? Though he couldn't recall which friend, as if it was a made up memory in his head. There weren't very many people he talked to, if any at all. 

Most died, perished or abandoned.

Finding the book was a blessing. It motivated him to help Raphael, helped him move forward. Made him curious and intrigued. In a sense, had Ren Suzuki not read the book, it was likely a different ending would've occurred.

Speaking of an ending, he stared at the mentions of death that were described on the last pages. Damien had attempted to change the result, but failed. The words used him to write, but he did not write the words.

It was a really terrible story.

With that thought in his mind, he curled his fingers around a cluster of pages and yanked his arm away. Crumpled paper in his hands, and the jagged leftovers remained in the emptier book.

He walked over to the stack of books, and placed down the broken story onto a pillow.

And then Soren, now the God of Death, walked away.