"That would appear to be the case, yes," Lucifer nodded. He didn't mind Jarryd's occasional tangents about human history - he found it fascinating himself.
Many Angels, Fallen and otherwise, took no interest in the past of humanity; but he believed in the species, in a strange way. He'd seen their dawn, been named guardian of the First Man, and had watched them flourish across the Earth. He felt proud, in a way, looking back; Adam had done well to create all this, and Lucifer had been there to help him. Once, he mused, he'd helped people, even despite his nature.
But that was a different time, and a different name.
"I'd say we've got about four hours until Heaven tries to hit us," he said. "A demonic construct of some sort attempted to kill her earlier. Unfortunately for us, I cut it down before it could be interrogated, but if I had to guess, I'd say that the Archangels were trying to terminate her subtly without drawing attention to themselves."
He stared out the window for a moment, into the sky and the clouds above. What machinations were occurring as they spoke? What forces being assembled, malicious plans being formed? What angelic blades were being honed to cut down the human beside him? It was cruel, in a way unfair, for Angels to try and kill humans. They could not meet on even ground. But honour was something far beyond everyone in this war.