"It's better that way," he says with an unfailing, mournful certainty. The hum of power buried in the symbols is foreign to him, threaded brightly with the same kind of source energy reminiscent of that which radiates from Lucifer or Gabriel, but it's wholly unfamiliar compared to his own. The sigil he hadn't even had time to draw on his new apartment door is seared into his head, the one built to keep Lucifer out, however little good it'll do him now.

"I wasn't meant for this, not here." He'd first Ascended because he'd assumed he could make some sort of difference on the higher plane - but he can't even make a difference here. The Rift is unrelenting as ever, and he can't even figure out how to access a fraction of the abilities he should be capable of wielding.