As soon as he had lungs back, and a mouth, he was able to scream - wail, even - because the only thing more painful than having his hand cut off was growing it back.

He was shaking by the time he hit the floor, frightened and wild eyed, staring up at Lucifer as he swooped down, an avenging angel, driving a knife to his throat and cutting ruthlessly. There wasn't a moment's hesitation, and why should there be? This was Satan after all, and if they had anything in common it was that they were both ruthless. He howled again, curled his newly grown fingers in, outward again, and flattened both wrists above his head.

And then smirked through the pain as he melted the knife with a look, and spoke through what was left of his lips.

"I'm not a mind-reader. Oh--wait..."