Human. Carlisle's eyes dart back to Glacius -- the false one, he now knows for certain -- at the term, his gut plummeting. It's too familiar, too much like Algidus: the voice, the tone, the words, the way he looks at him, is so sure of his betrayal... it's all there. He is practically the green alien in all but appearance.

Carlisle cannot begin to express his discomfort, how appalled he is by the conclusions his mind is starting to draw. He bites them back as he stiffens, his fingers curling against the sheets beneath him, his convictions rising in his chest.

"You didn't ask for this," his chokes out, "but we are not the same. You- you are a figment of the false gods, a creation wearing his face."