As he heard Sennelith's words, Lucifer simply smiled. Not only at the foolishness of the boy but also at the scene that could be seen by anyone who ventured close enough. Two men, closer to allpowerful gods than mere mortals, facing off in the moon's light. One of them burning with emotion so strongly that flames manifested around his feet to scorch the earth he walked upon, marching toward the enemy. The other cold like ice, mist rising from the ground around him, twisting around his body, his silver pistol aimed almost casually at the adversary. It was quite something to behold. The violence about to be unleashed, two tidal waves of power crashing against one another in a test of strength, speed and skill. Like demigods from mythological tales, the pair would do battle, turning to battle over the most trivial of matters, unknowingly fighting for the amusement of those that watched from the heavens. But it was time to dispatch of this insolent child. His finger curled around the trigger and pulled.
The bullet raced out of the barrel but as Lucifer watched it fly forth, time seemed to slow to allow him to watch the projectile without any problems, to enjoy the worksmanship of the weaponsmith. For this weapon wasn't any less a piece of art than the shuttle. Though having been created millenia ago as a gift given to him upon his birth, it hadn't failed once in it's duty. An ancient vampiric myth stated that a weapon given to a vampire at his birth was going to fit him perfectly once he was old enough to wield it. This was true for Lucifer. The hilt smoothed into his hand and whenever he saw the engraving upon the silver, the divine general marveled at how beautifully his name had been placed upon his weapon. Such was the fascination of vampires with art and perfection. No matter what they did, they put their heart into it, poured their soul out to create something that was both practical and pleasing to the senses.
Lucifer's crimson eyes watched as the bullet, also not without a highly detailed pattern placed upon it as decoration despite being shot too fast for anybody to see how much love the smith had put into this piece of metal. Even Lucifer only knew the pattern because he had looked at it before carefully placing the projectile in the revolver. A millenium or so ago he had asked a smith why they put so much effort into creating bullets if they were simply going to be shot at the enemy. The answer had been accompanied by a laughing smile: "We do so to please people like you. People who pay attention to even these details." But that was long ago and did not matter right now. What did matter was that the bullet struck flesh, passing through Sennelith's left arm at the elbow with ease.
The vampire's smile grew slightly. The sht hadn't done as much damage as it would have upon a lesser creature, who would have been destroyed by the force, or a vampire, for whom the weapon was designed after all. Instead of tearing off the lower arm immediately, instead it left a gigantic hole in the arm. Thin strands of flesh and skin held the limb together. But as Lucifer and Sennelith watched, the weight of the claw showed to be too much and slowly the strands tore, one by one. Then, with a sickening sound, all of the remaining connections ceased to exist and the lower arm dropped to the ground with a thud. "It appears that I'm not quite as arrogant as you thought."