Joe grabs his head and groans as the ritual continues. The pain is intensifying and concentrating into points up above his ears. His scalp bulges. He screams as he begins to feel something poking through on either side.
"Motanaray Lotontongay Eecheemahlo soon--" the chant keeps churning. The circling cultists keep pacing.
Before long, Joe is no longer holding the sides of his head anymore, his hands having been pushed aside by the hard, sharp, thickening growths that have birthed their way out from his skull. Ironically, the more they go, the more they release the pressure, and Joe stops screaming but heaves and pants as more pressure shoves its way out. He lets himself drop to his hands and knees, the surging feelings in his head almost like an orgasm, but not exactly pleasurable. He starts to get his bearings as the feeling of growth begins to die down, but can't help to notice two foreign ivory tips sliding into the his peripheral vision. The chant continues, quieter but no less otherworldly.
Joe rises to a crouch and then steadies himself into a standing position. He looks beside him at whatever he can see to his left. Unfortunately, it moves with him, and he doesn't have any better luck turning to his right. Whichever direction he looks, the up-curled tips point in front of him, always the same distance from his face. He reaches up and instantly finds the thick hard protrusions, tracing them curiously toward and away from his head. He grip firmly and tries to rip them away from him, but it is no use. The voice of the one cloaked man who isn't circling and chanting speaks up again.
"There's an old saying about grabbing a bull by the horns. I doubt you'll have hands much longer to grab yours."
Joe has had enough: "What kind of bad trip is this shit? What are you mumbling idiots smoking? Get these costume parts off of me and get me the fuck out of here! You don't know who my parents are--"
"And you don't seem to get what's going on here. But you won't be able to deny it much longer. You're not in a position to make demands. You're just our magical experiment and when we're done you'll be our livestock."
"I'm getting tired of putting up with your mouth bigshot," Joe retorted. "Get me out of this damn starship jail whatever and face me like a man." But it was empty words as the chant got louder again and he felt something very different from the horns.