A million replies, some snarky, some reassuring, and some just pathetic, raced through Lucifer's mind. There was nothing for him in Ente Isla. Why didn't Satan just go back now? He didn't want the devil to pity him. He was fine.

Just fine.

Instead of a response, the action he took spoke. He drew back from Satan's outstretched hand like an animal recoiling further into its cage, embracing the pain for fear of what was unknown. The words were unspoken (Don't touch me!) but Lucifer's face read no distrust one way or another.

His wing had snapped back into place, and he flapped them once, very slow and experimental. He glanced up again, purposefully avoiding Satan's gaze. When he spoke, he didn't sound afraid or bitter or snarky.

"Let's just go."

There was no tone at all.