[Diavolo holds himself steadily determined until the moment Doppio's claws rake rough against flesh that has been lacerated before. His old scars sting beneath the touch; he flinches away from the sudden, piercing pain on reflex alone. His mouth opens to gasp for air, and his shaking hands grasp at Doppio's wrists, shoving away in turn. All instinct, no rationality, body and mind locked in battle.]

The point is... that you silence me. [He chokes out, his tail lashing harder against the ground.] At any cost. I needed to... ensure you understand the severity of this. To incite you into action.

[And then some logic settles back into him. There was a point to this exercise before fear gripped him tight and made him weak, hesitant, unsure. He tightens his hold against Doppio's wrists, and drags his hands and his claws higher — closer — against his throat.]