"Third day?" Wait no, he's not in the mood to debate anagogical importance with Satan, least of all in application to himself. "No, no, try descending after a year. There was no rising, and there was no, ah, well, you know, it was awful hard to keep track, there on the higher, um, higher plane."

Don't think Daniel has missed the oh so obvious hilarity of his name and all the biblical jokes that can be plumbed from it, but he's getting the more and more distinct impression that he's flailing hopelessly in a cosmic-scale game of cat and mouse with the odds stacked so high against him that it's, quite frankly, absurd.

"Anywho," says Daniel, with an almost manic edge to the forcibly light tone, "if you're, um, quite done making shaky theological comparisons, I'm gonna, I dunno, wake myself up or something." Not that it would help, because the Devil can just go and find him the minute he leaves his building anyway. Add that to the fact that Daniel still can't figure out how to wake himself up, and he's left more or less floundering.

How typical.