"You really are somethin'."

It was the nature of the 'beast', really: Good and Evil always sought to crawl into each other, cancel each other out. Wounds from blessed weapons was like watching a smoldering ember slowly spread across kindling, eating and spreading until there was nothing left.

It was why there were always the terrible screams after every Purge, as Sinners suffered and felt themselves practically being eaten alive by their wounds.

But Lucifer, Fallen though he was, still had some measure as a holy being. He had authority.

The wound had gone on for so long, that he could practically be here for days without rest and likely stitch Alastor back together save for a particularly gnarly scar. But he'd be rather grumpy about being helped, because he was just 'a favorite'.

Fucking... rgh.

So when he lay a palm that pulsed with his own power, he would instead exert his. Sometimes during training, angelic power went awry and liked to move like a frenzy to seek Evil to cleanse. It needed to be directed. It needed to be suppressed, just like Evil did.

One must never suffer from extremes of either of the primordial powers.