[ Lucifer had never been under any allusions. He knew that Michael was far from broken, of course, and the fact that his brother was chained did very little to break any of the spirit it held in bondage. Michael was...well, he was Michael. Their Father's little soldier, His sword, His champion. Lucifer knew that swords didn't bend; he knew that, ultimately, if he wanted to tear Michael down he would have to snap him in half, but he hoped that wouldn't be any time soon. No matter how frustrating it could sometimes be, the idea of Michael spending the rest of eternity as a dribbling wreck with no resistance left saddened him. That wasn't what he wanted, even if one day it was practically inevitable.

For now, Michael wasn't broken. Michael glowered at him, Michael was defiant, Michael was proud and strong, and Lucifer was more than happy to own that. It wasn't a failure to not have destroyed his beautiful, brave, older brother yet. That pitiable moment would come, and Lucifer would no doubt throw him away when it happened (who wanted to play with a broken toy?) but for now he could push back against Michael from this point of superiority, of ownership.

And if God never came, then he never came. It wouldn't only be Lucifer he was forsaking. ]

I can't corrupt you. [ He soothed, darkly, and as he did he brought his free hand up, caressing the other archangel's cheek. ] He made us too perfect for that.

[ Which of course was crap. Lucifer was himself corrupted. He could feel it; had always felt it, even after he'd given the Mark of Cain away. She lived inside of him, somehow, and he could never escape that part of him. But he wasn't having a conversation with Michael about any of that; it was by far the last thing on his mind. No, he wanted to make Michael hurt as much as he did. ]

He's abandoned you too, Michael. It didn't matter which of us won or lost, He was never coming back.