For the moment, all the damage were superficial. The cuts rarely went past the protective cage of his ribs, hurting only the nerves running through his subcutaneous layers. It was a good job, if Eliot viewed it objectively. There were less pain receptors around the organs, and the victim may last much longer, hours, days even as long as he didn't bleed out.

But damn it hurt like a sonuvabitch, and when the whole "hole" business started, it was bad enough that Eliot was left breathless from how much pain he was in. He was breathing shallowly, gasping and trying to minimize the movement in his chest to keep from agitating the area more.

Eliot couldn't speak to answer for the longest time, his breathing loud and ragged and eyes closed in pain. His hands were clenched tightly into fists and every muscle taut with tension. But as soon as he was given respite, his eyes opened although he had to blink rapidly a few times to make them focus past the pain.

"Y'know..." His words came out sounding like they were slurred as much as they were his lazy drawl. "Y'can... use... a rusty knife next time."

Eliot still avoided looking up at Sam, just like how the other was avoiding looking at him. He kept his bleary gaze on Lucifer, not hiding from his pain but not surrendering to it either. If the Devil wasn't there, he might've let himself succumb to it already, but before the king of hell, he could only keep fighting back.