Lucifer looks down at the little boy-child before him, watches as he backs away with terror written across his face and in his eyes. He follows, step for step, his vessel's longer strides able to keep pace with him easily. He does not break the eye contact that they maintain, makes no sudden movements, acts not so much like a rabid dog as he does some large and calculating predator waiting for the right moment to strike.

He reaches forward with one bloody hand and hooks gentle fingers around the boy's smooth jaw, leaving streaks of red standing out starkly against his skin. He holds still there for several long moments, his touch tender like benediction, like blessing. Then he lets his hand drop and seizes him hard by his young throat, feels the blood surge in the carotid artery so close to the surface of his skin, and squeezes. He squeezes until he can hear cartilage break, until he can feel the windpipe collapsing underneath the crushing force of his hand, until the thump thump thump of his heart is thready and weak and then... gone.