"What's wrong?" Lucifer asked, looking at the displeasure on Anatoly's face. "Who pried up this wall tile?"
"Schiller," Anatoly said in a low voice. "It couldn't have been anyone else. Only his kind of ability might go unrestricted in an instance like this."
"Oh, you mean his..." Lucifer clearly knew about the whole "the worse Schiller's condition is, the better his condition is" thing too.
Then he also sucked in a cold breath, because he realized that, given how sturdy the floor tiles here were, the strength needed to pry one up directly would be astonishing. That proved Schiller might be in a very bad state.
He flapped his wings a little restlessly, then said, "Schiller actually got matched with us. Wait, he didn't enter the game with Bruce, did he?"
Anatoly turned to look at him. "How did you know?"
Lucifer was at a loss for words for a moment. "Good question, but if I explain this clearly to you, I'm afraid we'll be dead last for sure."
"Long story short," Anatoly said.
"All right, then I won't go into what happened before. Anyway, just know that whenever those two stay together, this sort of thing happens."
"By 'this sort of thing,' you mean?"
"Stabbing each other, or stabbing themselves, or stabbing the other person first and then stabbing themselves..." Lucifer gestured as he spoke.
"Don't look at me. I don't know why either." Lucifer flapped his wings again, his mental anxiety making him forget the pain for a moment. "For the past few years, I've been working with the Justice League to keep them apart, letting them each stay busy with their own things, preferably without meeting. Otherwise, you get this kind of situation."
"I thought Schiller was much better now," Anatoly said.
"Then you're far too optimistic."