Acknowledging every word spoken Caliban could only let his head tilt ever so slightly in contemplation before nodding slowly. Like a literature connoisseur he'd soak in the given answers, somewhat resonating with both logics. That's where his empathy for a story partly mirroring his own ended and bitter tone took point. In all these years no human could have a clearer picture of how life really worked. The crude truth hiding under a dirty rug nobody wants to touch out of fear. There was a bit of irony in the thrall's theorems: being so disgusted of one's humanity to willingly cast it aside in the form of a wretched amalgam? It took guts, for sure. Strength - and yet, weakness. Yet he wasn't sure what kind of weakness it was.

Not much, to be honest. I know the meaning by definition: to reach a higher form of being - the very peak one can achieve; maybe even consider yourself to have reached divine power. But that doesn't apply here, does it? You are here stuck to a ceiling, probably holding up a last ace up your sleeve."

Caliban would leave out a light chuckle as his position adjusted. Hands were left lower to hip-level. Left hand gripping the right, and his right hand forming a relaxed fist as he stood with a straight back and stern look at the abomination before him.

You're not looking to give yourself praise for the good job you've done so far, are you? Seems a bit beneath you.