It was a black spear. This spear was quite unique in its design because both sides of the long shaft had a sharp tip.

The body of the spear gleamed and almost felt organic, yet there was a strange wrongness to this weapon, and at the same time, a familiar rightness.

It felt divine, like an absolute truth many would be forced to face. He felt the inevitability of its nature.

Damon knew this sensation all too well. This was death, straight up.

It was death given physical form.

"What… what is this…" Damon whispered.

Lazarak seemed to chuckle, yet his tone was anything but happy.

"That is Mutuwa… death. It is a spear made from a single strand of the goddess's hair and imbued with my essence… my repose."

Lazarak glanced at Damon.

"This is what you have been looking for, hasn't it? This is it. This is what death looks like."

Damon was silent. He had a feeling this was something that could truly kill him. Even deathless might not save him from this spear.

"Take it. It's yours now. I give you death."

Lazarak whispered softly to Damon as he reached out, tempted by the offer.

Then, full-on paranoia, as always, struck him. Damon glanced at the god of darkness.

"If you had such a weapon, why are you imprisoned here? Why not use it yourself?"

Lazarak moved, and a whooshing sound echoed through the void.

He didn't give Damon a response, so Damon questioned him further.

"You say you are a god of peace, yet you also embody death. Death is found everywhere, in wars, yet you reject war."

Lazarak laughed at Damon's suspicion.

"I am a god of peace and repose, not death. Similar, but not the same. Death has many forms. I embody a peaceful death and the rest that comes after. Like I said, I placed my essence when I forged this spear."

Damon was still suspicious of Lazarak.

"A weapon like this must have drawbacks."

"I never said it didn't. You can only use it once before it vanishes. The goddess wouldn't allow its continued existence here. After all, it is just a strand of hair," Lazarak replied nonchalantly, as if Damon's paranoid questioning was something he expected.

"This can kill anything but a true god."

Damon crossed his arms, now acclimated to his ghost body.

"How did you even come across a strand of the goddess's hair?"

That was a pretty valid question. The goddess's hair wasn't something that would just be lying around.

"I found it lying around," Lazarak answered calmly.

Damon did not believe him.

"What? I'm not being dishonest. I found it lying around. Did you forget I was the first to be created?"

Lazarak's tone was unusually reminiscent.

"Before there was light, there was darkness."

"Before there was war, there was peace."

"Before there was Aetherus, there was Lazarak."

"I came first, and for that reason, I happened to be there when she created everything else. I just so happened to pick up a strand of her hair that fell."

Lazarak continued as if picking up the goddess's hair was no big deal, unaware that he had left Damon dumbfounded.

"I mean, I kept it around as a keepsake for a few thousand years… well, until I was imprisoned here, which may or may not have been the reason I made a weapon out of it."

Matia slowly took off her helm. She had been quiet until now, piecing everything together from their conversation.

"Apologies for speaking out of turn. Aren't you a god of peace though? Doesn't that go against your nature?" she asked, her tone calm.

Lazarak glanced at the shadow who was now free to speak.

"How would you know light exists if there was no darkness? How can you know war if there was never peace? Wars are fought to protect peace."

"Therefore, peace can also wage wars."

Lazarak scoffed coldly, though there was a deep sadness in his tone.

"I am, after all, the creation of the goddess of doom. I was the original that didn't meet her expectations. That was why she created Aetherus, because I failed to be."

"I am a child who failed his mother. A shame."

Damon suddenly understood Lazarak a bit more. He also understood what it felt like to not meet the expectations of one's parent.

If Damon's father were alive, he wondered how disappointed he would be in how dishonorable and vile he had become.

"So… you're basically throwing a temper tantrum. Here I thought it was because you wanted to save everyone."

Damon smiled. Lazarak wasn't as benevolent as he had thought. He was just like all of them, flawed.

But in his own way, he wanted to achieve his selfish goals.

"If we do this, the future you create might still not be peaceful. Do you still want to go ahead with your plans?"

Lazarak was silent. Then he spoke in a calm, assured voice.

"My brother once told me, 'Life must burn to know it lives.'"

"but tell me…. can it truly live if it burns?"

His tone was somber.

"I want to thank you for showing me my wishes were not selfless. I want peace. I'm not fighting for everyone's peace alone. I am also fighting for mine."

The darkness speared all around them.

"This frustration that I feel is also mine. This sadness is also mine. I want peace, and I know I must win it. I call you, Damon Grey… help me achieve my goal."

Damon glanced at him. Lazarak's darkness molded itself into an arm several meters long, reaching out to Damon.

"Let us bring the age of the gods to an end."

Damon hesitated for a moment, then took the arm of darkness.

"From now, we'll do things my way. My way is going to be bloody, and you might not like it."

"I'll try my best to hold back my distaste. You do the things only you can, and I will do what I can."

Damon smiled, nodding as he picked up the spear.

"Then we have a deal."

"Let this day be remembered as the start of a beautiful friendship," Lazarak whispered.

History was made when the gods of peace met with the shadow steeped in blood, seeking its own end.

Peace perished when it was mistaken for death.

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