He had lost so much, his friends, his sanity, and now his physical body.

What little he had left, he was afraid to lose. Damon was inherently a selfish person, a man who believed it was better to die than live through the pain of watching loved ones die instead.

It was a twisted, fatalist mindset, yet this same mindset had been the driving force that allowed Damon to endure.

He believed that his own death would lead to his sister's demise. For that reason, he endured. For that reason, he could still endure.

Life is forged through misery and pain, and strength can only be found by persevering through its trials.

Eventually, one day, you shall die, and all that would mean nothing.

This was the driving force, and now he was close, close to his long-sought, rightful exit.

No man or outcome could stop his hand.

By finding the cure for his sister, Damon's struggles would finally come to an end.

However, overcoming this hurdle was the first step.

Damon's shadows flickered wildly as he began to use a skill he had not called upon in a long time.

His own astral form began to break free from his disembodied remains.

Damon had three things that contributed to a good possession.

The first was his crown, which allowed him to dominate and possess the minds of his targets when he defeated them.

The second was his Soul Conduit skill, which allowed him to puppeteer the soul to a degree.

Finally, the most risky one, Astral Projection, which allowed him to remove his own soul from his body.

Damon normally didn't use the third one, relying instead on a combination of the first two. However, he was heavily suppressed within this prison, and for that reason, he had to use everything he had to possess a new, temporary vessel.

The vessel he chose was Ghost, a shadow.

Ghost wouldn't resist his will, and since he was Damon's shadow, he would work just fine.

Besides, if he was destroyed, Damon could live with that.

It wasn't like he saw any irreplaceable value in Ghost's continued existence. He was just a useful pawn and nothing more.

The shadow knelt before the flickering shadowy flames as Damon forced his soul out of his body through Astral Projection.

He instantly felt a chill wind touch his very core, as if that cold wind wanted to snuff out the fire of his life, extinguishing his will.

Damon endured as his form hovered in front of Ghost, threads made from the Soul Conduit skill connecting him to his formless remains, invisible to the naked eye.

Lazarak watched with keen interest.

"Hmmm... I'm surprised. I would expect no less from you."

Damon thought Lazarak was impressed with his skill, but the god was about to disappoint him.

"You actually imagined yourself as a handsome, strapping young man with long black hair."

Damon would have gritted his teeth if he still had them, or at least mimicked the expression with his soul.

"I see why you're in prison."

Ignoring Lazarak, he focused on Ghost, who was kneeling on the ground. Matia silently watched without a word, though Damon noticed a flicker of worry in her eyes.

He placed his soul's hand on the forehead of the shadow, and with a soft flash of twisting darkness, he began to force himself into the shadow's body.

Ghost's body went still for a moment, then moved.

Damon raised his hand. It felt different, slightly heavy, but still comfortable enough.

This body was much weaker than his own, yet Damon could sense its strengths. The arm strength was decent since this vessel had once been an archer.

"I can make use of his skill set."

He stood up, carefully getting acclimated with the body, hopping around and using the shadow's skills.

Lazarak sighed softly in the darkness.

"What an insidious and evil ability. No wonder you're imprisoned here. Something this vile is too much."

He paused, almost weary, before continuing.

"Though what makes it terrifying is your lack of hesitation to use it."

Damon tilted Ghost's head with a thin smile. This body was made purely of shadows, solidified to mimic flesh.

"Yes, I like it that way. I hesitated once, and I regretted it. I won't make that mistake again."

He glanced at Lazarak with a cold, evil smile.

Reaching down, he picked up the bow he had drawn from his shadow storage. Raising it, he aimed in Lazarak's general direction. Matia unsheathed her sword, ready to strike if he made a move.

"You see, I've heard your whole peace-loving thing or whatever. I can tell, Lazarak... you're a noble god. I've had some experience with noble people. I've run into quite a few of them, and let's just say it's never been a pleasant experience for me."

Damon's eyes narrowed on the darkness.

"Your noble aspirations are well-meaning, but noble aspirations won't help us here. I do not trust you, but I also do not doubt you. That's a first for me, I admit."

The bow quivered as mana poured into the arrow, Damon preparing to use one of its enhancements.

"Make it clear, what are your intentions?"

Lazarak was silent, then laughed. The god of darkness and serenity laughed.

"Ahhh, that's so funny. You sound just like my brother. But fine, you're right. However, I already told you my intentions."

Damon saw the darkness move.

"Peace is my nature, my friend, but peace can often be the cause of war. By my nature, I am the child of doom and the brother of war."

Lazarak gazed at him.

"When I see you, I see death—its seeker and its bringer. That is why I know you will help me. Of that, I have faith."

Damon narrowed his eyes as the darkness began to take a more solid form.

"You hate it too. You hate life, and you hate war."

"I am Lazarak, god of darkness, peace, serenity, and repose."

His voice was calm and gentle.

"I offer you repose. That is the reward for aiding me. I ask you to be my friend, O tired one who seeks rest."

"Peace is my nature," Lazarak said, his voice echoing like a lullaby sung from the bottom of a grave.

"All things yearn for me in the end, the child, the tyrant, the god. Even you. You fight, you bleed, but what you seek is not victory... it is rest. I am that rest."

Damon frowned, lowering his hands.

"I am cursed with life. How will you bring repose to one such as I?"

The darkness spread, condensing into a single long spear.

It was death.

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