[There's a bare beat of a pause before Sakyou lifts the opposite hand from the shoulder Mandricardo is leaning against, gently cradling the side of his head. His touch is light as a feather and soft as the look on his face; a stark contrast to the sharp spike of bloodlust he feels.

Likewise, his words are quiet, despite the intensity of the fury behind them. He's done it before and he would do it again, twisting flesh into something unrecognizable and lashing out mercilessly in his hatred and rage.]

It would be a good thing, to make such a person regret existing in this world.

[There's a little flicker of something else in his emotions which is harder to pin down, but seems vaguely discomforted. His gaze drops toward his side, where the sword rests ever-present at his hip.]

...But I agree. We cannot carry on like this indefinitely.