Loathe as he is to admit, he's got to practice. Get into the habit of not being at full strength in a fight. What better than a bunch of shambling, nothing-to-concern-himself-with corpses?

He's armed with the small switchblade he had "acquired" from the girl in the woods and his bare hands, popping the blade free when Kyle goes in for a strike. For Lucifer, this is the ideal fighting style. He'd prefer the blade to be a few inches longer, but this is enough to make it work.

The bonus of this excursion is that he gets to see if Kyle's at all worth his salt.

Kyle goes for one; Lucifer goes for the other, pulling an arm away from dragging the body with his open hand, slicing the blade up through what little flesh remains, and then tearing the limb free with his natural brute strength.

Slice, rip, tear. Again and again. Hard to keep moving if all your limbs are in a pile.

The stench only serves to remind him of Hell.

Yaaaay.

He checks on Kyle and then glances at the body they were dragging, leaning away while he spins a severed limb crudely in his grip. "I'm not a medical professional."

Lucifer could, very obviously, tell if someone is dead or not.

It's clear enough that he just wants to make Kyle to it.