The prison was made to hold him. Naturally, Lazarak had taken precautions long ago to ensure he could escape if he ever felt the need. It was not that he could not leave. He simply never felt like doing so, or perhaps he always knew he would fail to accomplish his goals even if he did escape.

So the question was what changed.

The answer was simple. He now had company. Someone who would see his goal through to the end, even if that someone was the strange and suicidal shadow that accompanied him.

It was a strange creature, yet Lazarak couldn't help but like him.

He seemed quite cruel, but from what Lazarak had seen, he was quite kind as well. He had given up a chance to rebuild his physical body just so his knight would regain her will.

He liked the shadow.

Lazarak stood in the reflective hall of the mirror cathedral.

Its halls were lined with statues of the goddess of doom, each carved in a different form, each representing a different symbol of her nature. Yet only the one in the center captured his eyes.

In his mind, it looked the most like her.

It was a veiled woman, her face covered completely. Even with the veil hiding her, she radiated an everlasting beauty. Yet behind that beauty, when one looked closer, there was eternal rage and coldness hidden beneath her ruthless intensity.

But Lazarak saw something else behind all that fury, behind the doom she embodied.

He saw sadness. Deep, lonely sadness. The goddess of doom was sad.

Perhaps this was the first thing he ever saw when his creator made him, when she crafted the world he existed in countless eons ago, long before he had gained will, long before the darkness that became Lazarak had consciousness.

When he gazed at his creator back then, he did not only see coldness. He saw sorrow too.

Far be it for a minor god of a small world to know the heart of a true god. Lazarak knew nothing. He understood nothing. Everything he had, everything he was, was simply a product of her will, a result of her creation.

He was the god of peace created by the goddess of war and doom.

His gaze remained fixed on the reflective mirror sculpted in her image.

"You are a failure." The voice came from the statue of the goddess.

Lazarak smiled softly. His toddler-sized form looked even smaller in the vast hall that glorified her. Mortals did not worship the goddess of doom. They did not pray to her. They prayed to lesser gods, who in turn prayed to the goddess.

Still, Lazarak remained unshaken by the accusation.

"Peace is the mother of war. If there is no peace, how can war come? I am not a failure. I am a perfection."

His tone was calm, steady, and unbothered by the mirror's attempt to provoke him.

"Peace is merely a pause before the next war, a temporary rest before glory and carnage."

Lazarak's expression almost faltered, yet he recognized the tactic. The mirror seraph was trying to wound him.

"In life, peace is a pause, yes. But all who fight wars are seekers of peace. Men of peace are the architects of war. In the end, they all desire peace. And when all wars end, when the flames of life die, they find peace in death."

His voice did not waver. Lazarak had always feared he was a failed creation of the goddess of doom. If he was good enough, why did she create his brother, who was his complete opposite?

"You are a failure and a disgrace to the goddess of doom." The mirror seraph mocked him.

Lazarak smiled again at the creature, servant of the lesser god Seraph Null.

This time he struck back.

"My goodness. Are you saying our creator, the goddess of doom, is not perfect? That the mistress of inevitability, the one who controls fate, has acted in error?"

The mirror seraph fell silent, shaken by its own blasphemy.

Mortals did not understand how to fear the goddess of doom because they could not imagine what a true god was capable of. Even lesser gods barely understood.

The omniverse was vast and infinite, yet a place like this was a mere playground for a true god. Here, the rules were whatever they said they were.

If a true god lacked the ability to do something, it was simply because they felt no need to do so.

"How dare a lowly creature like you blaspheme my creator when you know nothing of her greatness."

The mirror seraph regained itself.

"If you knew her greatness, why rebel? Traitor. You were among the greatest, one of two minor gods overseeing this world, yet you grew jealous."

Its words hit Lazarak at his core.

"Your brother, Lord Aetherus, was the heart and soul of this world. Despite you being born first, you were just the backup. You hated how everyone venerated him. You were full of envy, so you tried to usurp him."

Lazarak's brows twitched. It was not wrong.

He had been jealous of his brother. He loved him, but they never saw eye to eye. It was difficult having a sibling who was your exact opposite. A sibling who excelled where you failed. A sibling praised while you faded into obscurity.

Aetherus had all the followers, all the devotion, all the faith. He could inspire entire tribes with only his presence. He was the light. Beautiful, radiant, charismatic.

'Admit it Lazarak. Deep down you were jealous.'

The thought echoed through the cathedral, loud and crushing.

Lazarak bit his lip until he tasted blood.

By contrast, he himself was eccentric, unpredictable, and entirely un-godlike. He did not punish mortals with disasters. He did not give the dramatic security lesser gods offered. Those who prayed for peace were often met with silence at his dusty, forgotten altars.

Promises he made were rarely kept.

"Aetherus could rain down light on battlefields and wipe out entire armies opposing those who prayed to him."

"He could heal wounds and make his devotees nearly immortal in war."

"I am ashamed to say that as his big brother, I fall short. I may wield darkness and power, but I lack the will to carry out such violence with such certainty. I am afraid to kill those who cannot fight. I hate the sight of blood. I tremble at the drums of war."

His eyes filled with tears as he tried to hold back shame.

"I know I am a weak god. I want to uncover and learn. I want to hear laughter, watch plants grow. I want to share knowledge and see dreams come true. It is weak and pathetic, but that is what I want."

His head lowered. His small hands curled into fists.

"I was ashamed, but not anymore. Because you are all wrong. Every last one of you. Just because I do not fit in does not mean there is something wrong with me. It is all of you who are sick. You who keep killing each other."

His tears hardened into fury.

"It is you mad gods who want blood sacrifices. You want heads thrown on your altars. You are insane."

His tiny hand quivered.

"All that blood, all that stench of rotting corpses on your altars. Why would you encourage sacrificing children? Why kill women? Why is everything an endless cycle of vengeance?"

Lazarak had seen it all. He loathed it.

"Lesser gods give their blessings in war to tribes and races. Each one encourages conflict to test mortals like toys. Virgin sacrifices, ripped-out hearts, firstborn children. And you tell me to feel shame?"

His voice cracked with indignation.

"Ashamed? Why would I ever be ashamed when all of you are so twisted? You can give blessings freely. They cost you nothing. You could offer weapons and trinkets created with simple magical alchemy."

His tiny form bristled with pure offense.

"You hoard knowledge. You keep mortals uncivilized and barbaric. You create tribalism, racism, separation, all to feed your flames of war."

"Religion is a joke if it can't preach acceptance, peace and love."

His tears burned with rage.

"How could I not rebel?"

His small hand lifted.

"You did not make a monster out of me. I made a monster of myself to stop monsters."

His tears dried as darkness coiled around him. With a wave of his small hand, a vast blackness swallowed the cathedral. Every mirror dimmed. Without light, a mirror was blind.

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

A sound erupted like thousands of stones hurled inside a glass house as countless mirrors shattered. Darkness slowly withdrew.

Lazarak found himself standing in the same cathedral, yet this time a true entity stood before him.

Footsteps echoed behind him. Damon and Matia entered the cathedral.

Lazarak did not take his eyes off the creature.

"I killed your reflection. You are next."

'Lazarak was peace, and peace would wage war for another day of peace.'

'This was Lazarak's vicious circle and his nightmare.'

Damon could only watch this tragic comedy unfold.

'Would he ever wake up from this horror?'

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