Lazarus is a central figure in the Netflix original anime Cagaster of an Insect Cage—a series adapted from Kachou Hashimoto’s manga of the same name. Set in a post-apocalyptic world plagued by a deadly insect-borne disease called Cagaster, the story follows humanity’s desperate struggle for survival. Among the many characters shaped by this harsh reality, Lazarus stands out as one of the most compelling. As the narrative unfolds, we gradually learn more about Lazarus and his transformation—not just physically, but emotionally and ideologically.

At first glance, Lazarus appears to be a formidable antagonist, a soldier turned monstrous insect who still retains full human consciousness—a rare case among those infected. This unique condition plays a major role in shaping his worldview. Over time, Lazarus begins to see himself as something beyond human, even above both mankind and the insect horde. He refers to himself as a “superior being,” believing he’s destined to lead a new world order where power and strength reign supreme. And honestly, when you think about it, Lazarus isn’t entirely wrong in feeling different—after all, how many others could survive such a transformation and keep their mind intact?

But there’s more beneath the surface. Lazarus wasn’t always a villain. In fact, he was once a loyal soldier, committed to protecting others from the very threat that would eventually consume him. The tragedy of Lazarus lies in betrayal—his own comrades, fearing what he might become, cast him aside like a broken weapon. That moment shattered his faith in humanity. It’s no wonder then, that he turned away from people and instead aligned himself with the insects. To him, they were honest in their violence; there was no deception, no backstabbing. Eventually, Lazarus didn’t just join them—he led them. And in doing so, he became something neither fully human nor fully beast, but something in between.

Despite his ruthless actions and cold demeanor, Lazarus remains a deeply tragic character. His journey reflects how trauma, isolation, and betrayal can twist even the noblest intentions into something dark. He’s not evil for the sake of being evil—there’s logic, pain, and a warped sense of justice behind everything he does. That complexity makes Lazarus far more than just a typical antagonist. In fact, one could argue that Lazarus embodies the core theme of the series: how extreme circumstances force people to change, sometimes beyond recognition.

Now, stepping into personality analysis, Lazarus seems to fit the ISTJ profile quite well—the “The Logistician” in MBTI terms. He’s introverted, rarely engaging in unnecessary conversation, and always observing, calculating. You’ll notice that Lazarus doesn’t act on emotion or impulse. Instead, he relies on logic, structure, and practical outcomes. Every move he makes feels deliberate, almost military in precision—fitting, given his background as a soldier. His judging trait shines through in his need for control and order. Even in chaos, Lazarus seeks a system, a plan, a way to impose his will on the world. It’s clear that, to Lazarus, disorder is the real enemy.

When we look at Lazarus through the lens of the Enneagram, Type 8—the Challenger—emerges as a strong match. This type thrives on autonomy, strength, and control, often rising to leadership roles during times of crisis. Lazarus absolutely fits that mold. He doesn’t wait for permission—he takes charge. Conflict doesn’t scare him; in fact, he uses it to assert dominance and test loyalty. Yet, interestingly, there are moments—brief but telling—where Lazarus shows a protective instinct toward the vulnerable. It’s subtle, but present. And that duality is classic Type 8: fierce on the outside, yet driven by a deep desire to shield those who can’t protect themselves, even if they don’t realize it.

Of course, it’s important to remember that systems like MBTI and Enneagram aren’t set in stone. They’re tools, not verdicts. Still, when we examine Lazarus across these frameworks, a consistent picture emerges—one of a disciplined, intelligent, and deeply wounded individual who has chosen power over compassion, not because he lacks feeling, but because he believes feelings got him betrayed once before.

In the end, Lazarus is more than just a villain in Cagaster of an Insect Cage. He’s a symbol of what happens when society discards its protectors. He’s a man transformed by disease, yes—but also by disillusionment. And while his methods are questionable, his presence forces us to ask difficult questions about morality, survival, and identity. Whether you see him as a fallen hero or a self-made tyrant, one thing is certain: Lazarus leaves a lasting impression. After all, few characters carry the weight of their past as heavily—or as powerfully—as Lazarus does.