I once met a man, with a feral look and a skull full of busted wiring, who claimed he was the Devil. He did not react well when I laughed at him. There was really no choice. I had to school him. Educate him in the mathematics of the cosmos.
When I said he was not the Devil, he was just thick enough to ask me why I thought that. To which, with a maniacal smirk, a growl, and a predatory gaze, I said;
"Because I fucked the Devil's wife. And after I left her, fucked into unconsciousness, within the bowels of a dingy back ally that smelled of cinnamon, rotten apples, and sticky-sweet sex, in the last position I had her in, I paid the Devil a little visit. I beat the Devil out of several souls in an invigorating game of gin rummy.
"I have met the Devil, and he bares his jugular to me. The Devil knows I will eat his liver, grind his precious empire beneath my heel, steal his wife, and make goo-goo eyes at his daughter. I have met the Devil, and you ain't him!"
There is a certain look Homo sapiens get when they are truly broken. And the man had it. Oh, yes. And, trust me, every last word of it is true, even and especially the lies.