Remember that breath? Brother has already inhaled that. Such a lovely taste of nothing. He allowed his skin to learn osmosis, gave the carnal coat the helm, locked away the screeching mind and dove head on into the Ichor Lake, a velvet hole infinitely collapsing in on itself
And Brother opened his mouth and said, “This feels good.”
While he cut through the murk, his skin began to barter with the Ichor sliding around it. It broke off pieces of his concentrated, original core, trading off parcels of Brother’s spirit. But those absences were soon filled with the waters of the lake. Because Brother’s eyes were shut in brutal bliss, he did not see the violet essence dart away into the blackness, like incandescent sperm squiggling away into oblivion. Soon, the skin had finished trading off all portions of Brother’s identity, except for the mind which had been locked away. The ichor was within. The ichor was without.
The night waters began to manipulate Brother’s outline, as it was inefficient for movement in the deep. Stretching and pulling and splitting and breaking. All of which forced Brother to open his eyes. Because this did not feel good.
In the remaining light of Brother’s mind, he saw how his traitorous skin had been changed. Arms and legs gone, morphed into pale scales and fins pushing him gleefully deeper into the ichor.
The mind did not recognize Brother, and shrieked and shrieked, but the clamor of the Animal urges was much too loud, and it swallowed the mind, as the ichor swallowed what was once a brother.
It swam deeper.