Unlike most others, Serph had kept his mind through the night. In a way, his demon had protected him from the worst of its effects, allowing him to fight other Drifters down... but it was because he kept his mind that he'd decided to sacrifice flesh and blood from his left arm in an ill-thought out attempt to slake some Drifters' hunger and bring them back to themselves. And when he'd reverted to his human form... everything had hit him all at once, as though he was transforming into his demon for the first time. But unlike his demon, whatever this is, it doesn't feel strong or full of unbridled power.

"For now."

Carefully, Serph hauls himself up to the vacant side of the bed, wings making that a much more difficult task than usual. Having so many limbs on his back weighs on him oddly and his control over them is still nascent, so the likelihood of feathers unintentionally brushing over over John in the process is high. Serph doesn't lie down on his (generous) side of the bed so much as let himself gently fall forward onto it. Only then does he turn his head to look at John properly though he's squinting as if trying to focus his vision, the third eye on his forehead barely visible beneath his fringe.

"You're unchanged."

It's as much as question as an observation. Maybe John had managed to stay within the shields? Serph says nothing of the scarring and obvious evidence of past injury marring his skin, though he silently makes note of them.