"Nnngh-!" His expression twisted, the serrated kitchen knife ripped free from his right hand. Sam caught his breath and brought the hand forward, flexed his fingers weakly and winced. But it could still bend, which was all he needed to pull the second knife free. Blood dripped to the floor and Sam lurched from the wall, feebly clenching the knife handle. He tried to flex his left hand. It hung limply at the end of his wrist, unresponsive. Sylar had severed the central nerves.

Sylar. Sam swallowed and looked down with disgust at the half-faceless, grinning thing on his bedroom floor. Logically, he knew he should have expected such a gruesome response from Lucifer. The sight still turned his stomach all the same. ...But not enough to ask it to stop. Obviously it couldn't be that horrible for the bastard, not if Sylar could still manage humor.

"Don't waste your breath," Sam told Lucifer distantly. All he could muster for Sylar was a sick churning in his stomach. "He's a worm. ...Even if it's a worm with teeth. You can talk all you want, it's never gonna sink in for him."