“I shall not be killed!” The count smiled scornfully, as if death were something that only others suffered. - Michael Moorcock

So you are still our Master," said Sabrina. She was frowning. She had come to be afraid again.
"Not so!" Lucifer turned, almost in rage. "You are your own masters. Your destiny is yours. Your lives are your own. Do you not see that this means an end to the miraculous? You are at the beginning of a new age for Man, an age of investigation and analysis."
"The Age of Lucifer," I said, echoing some of His own irony.
He saw the joke in it. He smiled.
"Man, whether he be Christian or pagan, must lean to rule himself, to understand himself, to take responsibility for himself. There can be no Armageddon now. If Man is destroyed, he shall have destroyed himself."
"So we are to live without aid," said Sabrina. Her face was clearing.
"And without hindrance," said Lucifer. "It will be your fellows, your children and their children who will find the Cure for the World's Pain."
"Or perish in the attempt," said I.
"It is a fair risk," said Lucifer. "And you must remember, von Bek, that it is in my interest that you succeed. I have wisdom and knowledge at your disposal. I always had that gift for Man. And now that I may give it freely I choose not to do so. Each fragment of wisdom shall be earned. And it shall be hard-earned, captain.

How the weak hate weakness.

It’s what they call a “theocracy”—priest-ridden in the extreme, full of dark superstitions and darker myths and legends, where all gods and demons are honoured, doubtless to be on the safe side. The people are cruel, ignorant, dirty and proud—they look down their noses at all other races.