[ Gen, perhaps surprisingly, does stop his slow advance. But it shouldn't take more than a glance to see that his halt is not out of a desire to cooperate. That hollow look in his eyes is starting to falter, sparks of clarity returning to his vision, but it's only because his thoughts are starting to streak through with a more pointed anger when he hears Abel's plaintive words.

'It isn't too late.' Haha. As if.

The gall of this man to spout that bullshit. Has he already forgotten? There are always consequences. ]

... he wanted me to kill him before.

[ It's said flatly as Gen's gaze flickers briefly from Abel's face, down to Dokja's blood-splattered visage, then back up. The cold intonation of his words is in discomforting contrast to the pale of his face, the way his next inhale comes stuttering and shallow before Gen manages to swallow back the tight feeling in his chest. He's not saying it to claim he was acting out of benevolence, though; there's not even the pretense that he was kindly granting Dokja's wish.

It's simply that, in his eyes, that is Kim Dokja's cardinal sin. The gall of the man for not only wanting to die when he has so much, but to foist that selfish desire for death upon him. ]

Your turn can come next.

[ His slow approach resumes the next moment, and Gen flexes his hand even as he feels blood squelch between his fingers. Everything feels too slick, the smell of blood clogging the back of his throat. Nausea's rising from the pit of his stomach, but he ignores it -- forces himself to don a wolfish smirk instead, because anger is always better than pain. Better to hurt others than to acknowledge his own weakness, even for a second.

It's what lets his voice stay level when he deadpans, ]

What was it you said? If I reach out, you'll answer? Let's do that. I'll let you know when it's your turn. So move.