"And I," replied the figure in Satan’s body, his voice lighter but dripping with a terrifyingly calm, regal authority, "would appreciate it if you stopped slouching. You are ruining my posture. And do not touch my phone. You have neither the security clearance nor the right to view my messages with Lord Diavolo."
was refusing to leave his room because he couldn't handle the "normie psychological horror" of his two scariest brothers trading skins.
Lucifer was back in his own body, and Satan was back in his.
Across the room, Satan (in Lucifer's body) was nursing a cup of tea. He was staring at a portrait of the seven brothers hanging on the wall. He wasn't glaring at Lucifer's painted face with his usual resentment. Instead, he was looking at his own painted image, realizing the immense, crushing weight of expectations Lucifer carried every single day to keep their dysfunctional family from falling apart. They caught each other looking.