Well, he doesn't particularly want to see Butcher get butchered, not by a bunch of shithead demons chittering in the dark. It feels cheap, somehow. And impersonal.

Doesn't mean he doesn't wanna see the guy sweat a little.

Homelander watches him flatly for a long moment, letting the chains tighten and pull at his flesh before heaving a sigh.

"...Fine."

He slices at Butcher's stomach again, in the opposite angle and direction, making a long stinging X across his abs.

"I wasn't asking for a five-star fucking rating," he mutters, jabbing the point of the knife into the center of the bloody cross. "I'm open to suggestions."