[...You know, it would have been really great to at least have been turned into a PSYCHIC blobby gasbag. As it is, the best he can manage is more vague tendril waving and--oh no. Ngh. Not now--]

[He can't control it. With a gasp of inflation and a constricting "cough" it spats out an inert lump of red flesh that splatters to the ground in the center of the red landing pad that had been marked by many more before it. One that promptly dissolves into the familiar reddish ooze of the other beasts he'd been fighting. Immediately the tendrils whip down to try to control it, but it slips around and through, slithering towards Rex!]