[Normally, Mettaton wouldn't stand to see a human acted upon with violence to the point of death (unless it were in front of a camera). Not even being kidnapped by the Rathmore's would push him to want that... There was very little that could, unless it was for some greater good (i.e. killing a human child to rescue the rest of humanity, apparently).
But during his time in Aefenglom, the Puca had been getting himself slowly, surely acclimated to the taste of human blood. Seeing this Witch bleeding out like this does nothing but incite him toward a more monstrous mindset, eye fixed on the way blood spatters from the cultist's mouth upon contact with Berserker's foot. Mettaton finds himself staring... Zoning out.
(He wonders if he could take the body, since Berserker was offering. (He's never killed somebody before; he's seen them die, in other mirrorbound's memories.) But that thought's pushed away desperately as he tears his golden eye from the man, fixing his attention once again on Berserker.) The Puca's voice is low and silky, intimate even, playing a devil's advocate.]
Or... You could finish the job, and not get caught. A dead man's a silent one, so they say. [A sort of joking smile as the robot contests with his own thirst for blood. Mettaton idly jabs his claws into his own thigh to keep focused. (His vision tilts.)] Well! Ahem. You seem hesitant, though. We can try to... You didn't intend to kill them. Are you more accustomed to killing, darling?
[Where has he seen Berserker's likeness before...? He squints at him, as though to focus on something other than the enticing smell of magic coursing through the dying Witch's blood.]
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But during his time in Aefenglom, the Puca had been getting himself slowly, surely acclimated to the taste of human blood. Seeing this Witch bleeding out like this does nothing but incite him toward a more monstrous mindset, eye fixed on the way blood spatters from the cultist's mouth upon contact with Berserker's foot. Mettaton finds himself staring... Zoning out.
(He wonders if he could take the body, since Berserker was offering. (He's never killed somebody before; he's seen them die, in other mirrorbound's memories.) But that thought's pushed away desperately as he tears his golden eye from the man, fixing his attention once again on Berserker.) The Puca's voice is low and silky, intimate even, playing a devil's advocate.]
Or... You could finish the job, and not get caught. A dead man's a silent one, so they say. [A sort of joking smile as the robot contests with his own thirst for blood. Mettaton idly jabs his claws into his own thigh to keep focused. (His vision tilts.)] Well! Ahem. You seem hesitant, though. We can try to... You didn't intend to kill them. Are you more accustomed to killing, darling?
[Where has he seen Berserker's likeness before...? He squints at him, as though to focus on something other than the enticing smell of magic coursing through the dying Witch's blood.]