Rather than disorienting him, the pain clears his head, conditions him, bringing the room, his body, Genie herself into sharper focus. Reality is tighter, better with his own blood running down his arm; he's already fingering the incision, fingertips pressing into the opening of the wound--not to suppress the pain or staunch its flow, but to increase it and feel their way inside.

She gives him no chance to answer her question before she cuts him again, and he hisses in pain before recklessly pressing forward, eyes alight.

"Yes, yes!"

He's eager--too eager, ready to throw himself upon her blade in the dizzying overflow.