Lucifer lets the body fall, lifeless, and would have moved on like he had after all the others he'd killed, if not for the boy's animal. He hears the growl and turns; a dog is no threat to him and its bite would do no more harm than a mosquito's, but he swings his arm in a powerful backhanded motion, striking it before it gets the chance.

It was not a large dog; all of forty pounds, maybe, if even that. The strength of his arm is far greater than what's needed to knock it aside, and he does not care to pull his punches; when he strikes, it is with full force and fury.