Salvation of The Scum Fifth Prince

[86 - knife; to die a human]

What was death?

It wasn't something he feared when he'd practically taken ownership of the darkness. It was surprising, and suffocating, like a noose tied around one's neck a little too tight.

A space where no sounds existed, somewhere between existing and not existing.

It was a feeling that sometimes, as he walked down the streets alone, he felt. And when he felt that overwhelming disconnection to reality while his eyes were open, victim to the brightness of the skies, it felt more lonely than anything else.

Ren Suzuki, the reaper who died more times than he killed, found a strange solace in death.

This was the calmest he'd ever been.

Time slowed, he slowed. His movements felt sluggish, but maybe they weren't. Maybe to the bystander watching, the observing eyes that could never, ever, understand what it was that he was thinking, thought he was moving fast.

Maybe a watcher would be scared, anxious for the next move. From either of them. Worried as to who would live or die, panicked to see the ending of the battle.

But the once reaper of the apocalypse who wanted to die more than anything, now prince of this kingdom who longed for the life he obtained, felt utterly calm.

Because he knew he wouldn't lose.

As the King's blade fell down, Soren's eyes snapped open and the blade around his arm jutted up, piercing through soft flesh. His father — the King, the enemy, the Third Religion leader — flinched for the smallest of seconds, and his aim tilted.

The strange, glowing blade drove past Soren's eye, pain blooming violently as it jerked to the side and finally landed slammed into the floor sands, past ruffles of white hair.

Soren smiled.

The King gasped.

"This wasn't a battle you could ever win." He pushed forward, the slender blades of his chains going further through the man's chest as he stood up, watching the man fall to the side. "Your motive is lacking."

He yanked the blade out, watching as the red spread into the sand. The man wouldn't die so easily, no. He was stubborn, carrying many tricks up his sleeves. He couldn't have come this far if he didn't, couldn't be trying to reach the Gods if he had no cards to play.

But Soren didn't need to kill him — that was a task that too many others were all too willing to do. What Soren needed to do was something only he could, waiting at the top of the building.

He staggered to his feet, mind unsteady as his body was. The gash in his eye was sharp, and he would probably never see through it again.

"It hurts." muttered Soren absentmindedly, trudging past the fallen body of his enemy.

A hand snaked around his ankle, gripping with a final desperation. Pathetic. Humiliating. Hopeless. "I... will not let you save everybody."

"Okay." said Soren slowly, dragging his leg forward with a sudden tug. "I don't want to save everybody."

"Then... what are you..."

"But I want to save somebody."

To the very end, he wouldn't make saving the world his single desire. He wouldn't become a hero for the people, a god for them to worship. He wouldn't fall like Raphael did, that foolish, kind and utterly idiotic man.

He didn't need to.

Soren wasn't a hero, nor was he a villain. He was simply a human, willing to burn the world to ashes or lift it up from hell in order to protect what he wanted. And that was his reason for living.