My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger - Chapter 769

Chapter 769: Chapter 770: Death, Become My Blade
It wasn’t quite clear what Lazarak had done. Damon was sure his power was a darkness attribute, yet this was something else entirely.

“Is that a spell?” he muttered.

But he didn’t feel any magical energy at all. It was as if the world itself had acted in Lazarak’s will.

The mirror seraph collapsed with its domain. Liquid mirror spilled from its wounds as it slumped forward, limbs limp. Its once terrifying form was riddled with deep gouges, its former magnificence torn and hollow.

Lazarak fell to one knee, his tiny body trembling as though he had pushed himself too far. Slowly, he rose. A deep, ancient, fearsome aura poured from him. Darkness unfurled behind him like a cloak as he walked toward the fallen seraph.

He stopped in front of it. Even in toddler form, even with it kneeling, the seraph still towered above him. Lazarak raised his small hand and touched its head.

“You are at peace with my authority. Serenity has affected you. All your desire for resistance, violence, and war are gone. Your pain and grievance that you cannot forgive have been taken by me.”

His eyes closed, and the mirror seraph stared down at him with a dim, fading light.

“Fear not, lost child. Your pain is not invalidated. Your pain, your rage, your grievance, all of it I have taken onto myself. I am Lazarak, god of darkness. I am the gentle darkness for all children to rest in. Lay in my shade and fear not the perils of the illuminating dawn. There are no wars here.”

His voice was a soft melody. For the first time, Damon felt genuine divinity from Lazarak, a strange and benevolent presence rather than the casual madness he normally carried.

The mirror seraph slowly closed its eyes and lay down, as if all its struggles had simply dissolved.

Lazarak sighed and opened his eyes.

Damon glanced at the creature. “Is it dead?”

Lazarak shook his head. “Not quite. I can’t kill even if I want to.”

Damon stared at him in confusion. That made no sense. Lazarak had been fighting like he intended to kill it earlier. And wasn’t his entire goal to wage war against gods?

“Erhm… I’m confused. Aren’t you trying to wage a war? I mean, you’re literally planning to summon something that can fight the goddess and take down your brother and his posse.”

Lazarak shrugged with a thin, conniving smile.

“And nothing has changed. I simply didn’t want to scare you off from the start. But I can’t actually take a life. It’s my vow. I cannot actively kill someone. Anyone, really.”

He smiled gently. “I took a vow renouncing murder.”

Damon raised a brow. “How do you intend to win a war without killing anyone? Do you intend to kill them with kindness?”

Lazarak understood how ridiculous that sounded, but he did have a method. Lazarak was god of darkness, peace, and repose. Repose was akin to death, but his death was peaceful. He was the final resting place for warriors.

“I can try killing someone,” Lazarak said, “but even if I do, they will not die. My vow resurrects them. It was necessary to resist the influence of the power that drives us all to war.”

Damon knew exactly what power he meant. The ninth Pillar of the Omniverse. The Pillar of Conflict. Hidden in Aetherus since the zero epoch, rather it had been here always.

“So you know about it,” Damon whispered.

Lazarak looked at him with a knowing smile.

“You know about it as well. I knew I liked you.”

Damon didn’t know where it was, only that it was somewhere in Aetherus. He still had a system quest to find its exact location. He decided to bait Lazarak into revealing something.

“You know where it’s hidden too,” Damon said, pretending confidence, hoping Lazarak would slip up.

Lazarak’s eyes widened. He suddenly leapt up, grabbing Damon’s face with shocking urgency.

“You actually know where that foul thing is hidden. Tell me now.”

Damon narrowed his eyes. “I don’t, actually. I was hoping you did. Looks like that’s a stretch.”

Lazarak dropped down, brows furrowed.

“That’s a shame. How little do you trust me? If I did know, I would tell you. You really are a paranoid person.”

Damon rolled his eyes. He already knew he was paranoid. That was how he survived. Doubt, always doubt. He didn’t even trust himself. How was he supposed to trust anyone?

He also didn’t love himself. So how was he supposed to love anyone?

Damon lowered his head at the thought.

Lazarak sensed the shift in mood and changed the subject.

“I can take a life, but even if I do, they resurrect. Basically, I can’t kill someone. But that’s fine. I have you.”

He smiled at Damon, gentle and warm, while speaking the coldest possible words.

“Death, become my blade. And reap for me a million souls.”

Damon’s expression remained calm. This confirmed it. He had been right not to trust Lazarak. This god of peace was completely insane. Who else would want to befriend Damon?

In this world everyone wanted something. Nothing wrong with that. That was life.

Even Damon’s friends never gave a damn about him when he was the defiant weakest. Maybe he was interesting, but nothing more.

‘We are all worth something to someone. If you have no value, you have nothing and no one.’

Growing up meant understanding that even parents loved based on value.

“A god of peace who wields death as his blade,” Damon muttered. His lips curled into a thin smile. “I knew something was off about you. Sure, I’m in.”

He glanced at the mirror seraph, already drifting to sleep, recalling how Lazarak brought it down with one word.

“What did you do to it? Serenity. What was that?”

Lazarak waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, that little thing. It’s nothing. It’s merely my authority. Just a little thing gods have. No big deal.”

Damon had vague knowledge about authorities, but he didn’t think they were such a tangible force.

“What’s that? Tell me.”

Lazarak smiled. “Fine, but only if you stop holding a grudge about me keeping things from you.”

Damon smiled softly. “I promise I’ll pay you back in a less hurtful way.”

Lazarak shrugged. “Good enough for me.”

He raised his hand.

“An authority—”