Lucifer brings up his hands, slowly, and... claps. Claps, like he has just watched a scene from Shakespeare in the Park and finds it amusing in ways that the production crew did not at all intend. Every pause between the sound is a long, measured beat of sarcastic silence. He slow claps it right out.

"Good for you," he says, like he's a distant father who's just had his kid wave her latest finger painting at him. He clasps his hands together at the end, folding them in front of him.

"Really, good for you. You should be proud of your accomplishments, even if they ultimately are meaningless because you lost your kingdom to a pile of cockroaches and lie forgotten and irrelevant in a squalid pit in the ground."