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Slime stretching and bones cracking to support it, limbs twisting away from the humanoid form Jevin had built for himself. He doesn't need it. It's fine. Joints being pulled out of their sockets, slime pushed in a way that strained Jev's stabilizing magic for his form. Just keep going.
It hurts. That doesn't matter.
His hands curl and drip, transforming into a grotesque claw. He can't hold it. Yes, he can. His simple magic isn't made for this. Just make it work. He doesn't have enough—bones, magic, will, cartilage—to stabilise the form. Then they'll get more. Jev doesn't want to stabilise the form. Yes, he does.
His wrist snaps, he wants to scream. He won't, he doesn't need to. Echo sighs and finally stops, letting Jevin's body stop. What good is he if his form can't be pushed? His limbs blob, bones floating in lime green slime and trying to rearrange back into the form they had been in before. Back into a human skeleton. It doesn't feel right. Doesn't matter.
Skizz giggles at his drippy slime, he rolls his eyes. The real, Hermit Skizz wouldn't do that if he knew. Who cares? Jevin does. No, he doesn't. What?
Echo turns away from Jevin, leaving the slime in the back of their mind and focusing on the communicator they stole from Xisuma when they knocked him out. Jevin can't hold his slime on his own anymore. It's annoying. It isn't his fault, his mind has been tampered with. Work around it. He's always drippy because of them. So what? He's functional and usable. He doesn't want to be used.
Jevin slumps against the bottom of where Echo has floated up to, waiting for the bones to reset purely out of memory—because he can't manually do it; Jevin's afraid of them being unable to reset one of these times. That doesn't matter. They like being elevated, and Jevin is always at the bottom so he isn't forgotten. Sometimes, Jevin wants to be forgotten, just left to melt into the sculk. Then he wouldn't be usable. No, he wants to be used. Why would he want that? It assists Echo. Echo hurts his friends. So? Jevin doesn't want—
Obey.
Jevin loses focus. He isn't sure of what's happening, he doesn't know if it's Skizz who has sat beside him, or if its Impulse that is poking his blobbing slime—or if its the other way around. He's only sure he doesn't want to melt. It upsets Echo.
Why should he care? Because Echo doesn't want to be disturbed. They deserve it. Why would he think that? Echo isn't good. They don't have to be. But—
Stay controlled.
Does time pass? Feathers are caught in his slime now. Sculk has crawled over Jevin's boots and clings to his hoodie. It's unnerving. It's like his slime. No, it isn't. Sculk is a hive, it's dark and thrives off of death. What kind of comparison is that? Fine then. They're different.
He's different. He doesn't want death.
Now he does.
What?
Jevin is snapped back into controlled consciousness, his arm stretching out. The ulna pops farther, testing. Echo is watching again—toying with him. His bones had just started looking normal. Okay. Can't they stay normal? They always go back anyway. But what one time they don't? Maybe they'll get stuck in a useful position. No, Jevin wants them to stay human. But he's not human? Can't he be humanoid? That doesn't matter.
Limbs are twisting. Bones are crunching. Slime is stretching. Magic is straining. Jevin's mind strains. Echo keeps pushing, Echo remains in control.
Jevin wants it to stop. No, he doesn't.
But he's has no control over it. That's right.
He wants it over. No. Yeah.
He wishes his friends—fellow Hermits—good luck. He wishes their demise.
Just end this.
This is only the start.
Please.