This is probably gonna be like a literary GRWM thing… except you're seeing how the souls roll.

Ermac is someone who likes to keep things neat and tidy, regardless of their weared down look. This definitely goes for his appearance.

Because Ermac in the last Mortal Kombat game was a whole mood lmao (minus his uselessness plotwise) I couldn't help going back into the current timeline of MK and writing a thingy about him, he's my boi.

This will sound rambly, because I could see Ermac, internally, being a rambly-minded being (I mean come on, like 10,000 people in your head? Ramble is an understatement), so it's kinda in his point of view but still omniscient. For the sake of lowering confusion, the underlined and bolded thoughts are Shao Kahn (the more dominant soul), and the italicized ones are just randomized thoughts from various Edenians of no name. The bolded thoughts that aren't underlined is the thoughts of the collective as a consensus (or they can be King Jerrod. That's kinda canon, right? Hmmm…). Yeah, das it.

A imaginary pendulum would've struck upon Z'Unkahrah once the wee hours of the day were around. The large, sandy city would be overcast by a blue moon which radiated every room casting a serene ray of low light upon every opened window. Or rather, every existing opened window. In Ermac's case, his windows were not open or closed… because he had no windows.

The only source of ventilation came from the small lined openings on the very top of his red walls. Right below them hung soft and silken red drapes that spilled down to the wine colored floor. There was no bed in his room, only a neatly arranged bunch of pillows that varied in shades of red as well as candles on the floor, around his stacks of books, and on a small mahogany table that sat just before the pillow-bed. There was a line of flowers sitting below a source of light that he tended to occasionally. Oil lamps were mounted against the wall high above Ermac's short height, so that when it came down to it, he didn't end up smashing his head into some curved metal burner.

That actually happens a lot… not the burner thing, but the headbanging thing. Since kotal Kahn gave Ermac the choice to make a room for himself, Ermac purposely chose the one room that was both on the other side of almost every other enforcer's premises, and was windowless, just so that no one else can see what he does when he's alone. If you think it's just sitting down and staring at the ceiling, it's not really that.

For better reference, imagine every Quensadilla vine where she's in her room… but all of that is going on in his head, and he accidentally reenacts the shit all of the souls say sometimes.

If it's not that, then it's him meditating to quiet them down, or it's him reading book to quiet them down, or if all else fails he just slams his head on the wall to quiet them down. And then he screams sometimes, loud enough to make anyone who's sitting in the lower floors turn their heads and wonder what that sound was; he quickly learned that that was not a very proactive way to quiet everyone in him down.

If he isn't doing any of those, and if it's in the middle of the night where everyone was asleep, Ermac would assess his physique and decide whether or not he needed his body to be washed. This was one of those nights.

He was no different from the majority of people out there, he only had one similarity to everyone else when it came to showers: he definitely didn't want to go in. Though it had nothing to do with cleaning being uncomfortable, it was what he was showering that made the souls in him queasy. His body was near emaciated, and it may not look as bad as it does due to the way he is dressed which was not light at all.

Ermac adorned at least three layers of heavy leather clothing, an extra layer went to his shin guards and the straps tied around them. The sleeves of his arms were thick in order to give the appearance of something other than bone and decaying skin. The only place that wasn't ready wound up in clothing were his legs and since Ermac didn't do much strenuous work, he didn't need to cleanse his body for a long time. Thank the Gods for that because the collective did not like facing his naked self.

Well, the last time he's done so wasn't so long if he didn't think about it. If he did think about it, his last cleaning session was… literally four years ago, a year after he had pledged allegiance to Kotal Kahn. There were a multitude of souls that made noises of disgust at how long that was.

He stood up from his bed of pillows and sauntered towards his door. He usually chose to walk when it came to this process since he'd have to take nearly everything off (save for the talisman etched on his chest), including the gem on his head. He wanted to conserve as much energy as he could while he can even though the walk was not that long. The construct opened and quietly closed his own door after looking around the area multiple times, and he went westward.

The showers were a floor below where he resided, the room itself was huge; it actually had something akin to a hot spring, like a waterfall that could come along and filter itself as it did forever. Ermac did not particularly like that, he'd rather be in the private sectors of the showers which were small rooms that had mirrors, soaps and sponges, and a tub to sit in. At the same time, he also did not like the shower stalls because the mirror was literally right there, in front of the tub, and every time he'd look up he'd see himself. The collectives hate seeing his bare face and body, or what's left of it.

With the whispering and the sounds of annoyance as well as eagerness floating along his head, Ermac was keeping mental tabs of wherever he'd pass, making sure no one else could catch a glimpse of him. The souls actually hated how slow he was walking right now, and meanwhile were arguing back and forth over his lack of speed being for him trying to conserve his body for the shower itself. It'll be explained once he gets there.

Ermac reached the tall stall doors and closed his eyes. These doors were not tiny, so if the hinges were not oiled regularly they would creak loudly. That's not going to do the twenty five-ish year old construct any justice, hopefully nobody was in there, or nearby to hear if it happens. He placed a hand on the handle and pulled; to his luck, there was no creaking.

He went to the stall on his furthest right, a considerable distance from both the entrance and the shower springs. There was not one living being in sight, nor in sense - he was all alone as he always liked to be. Even with that verified, Ermac still opened the stall door and peeked as if his extrasensory abilities could play tricks on him.

Look, sometimes when you have 10,000 people yelling, whispering and guffawing random shit all at once, you can't help but second guess all six of your senses.

He closed the door and refused to look to the left. That was where the mirror wall was, and the last time he did this he would undress himself facing the tub. The first thing he'd start with is his shin guards, unwrapping the straps around both his calves and placing them gently on the ground beside him. He removed his gloves, exposing his pale and wrinkled hands, then tore his eyes from them and then looked to the etched design on his outer coat that resembled his talisman. Why they made this particular thing look like the uncomfortable bind on his chest, he seriously did not know nor think it important enough to dwell upon. He removed the etching like one would with buttons, and then twisted his belt buckle in opposite directions and pulled it apart, unveiling his thick undersuit. His bandaged head was now exposed, and even though he was still fully clothed he felt strange- not having as much layers as he felt he should made him feel naked.

He soon removed his undersuit and pants, folding them neatly next to his hoodie, and he looked up at the ceiling while reaching across his lower chest to undo the knot that held his bandages in place, he unraveled them while feeling the once covered skin grow cold from the sudden exposure. Once he had reached his chin area, he pulled the gem off of his forehead and continued unraveling until his entire head was free, already feeling like a heavy shield was wiped off of his person.

Ermac felt at his skin, the souls were a bit quieter this time in him observing how sore his skin felt. The wrinkles were softened and flattened, and he stretched his jaw to feel how closed his skin was on his left cheek and below his nose. Then he turned around and faced the walled mirror out of instinct.

He approached it with an expression no further from pure discomfort. Maybe with time, his lack of overall care for his appearance withered, much like his body did, because the souls in him made sounds and 'expressions' of disgust, shock, and contentment. Well, as for expressions, Ermac can sometimes 'see' what their 'faces' look like, at least in the most metaphysical way possible, and a lot of them were holding their cheeks or frowning or scrunching up their noses.

Aside from his entire body being so pale that it meekly reddened upon a brush of air, his abdomen was the most grotesque part of his whole being. Completely sunken in, one could see the breaths he takes if he were to breathe through his diaphragm. From the way his skin was tugging against any bone facet, it looked like the lowest of his rib cages would protrude if he stretched his back far enough. Below that, the shape of his hip bones were grossly visible.

Underneath his real talisman sat his chest, the brightest (still dull though) part of his body that pulsed along with his heartbeat, its ripped surface showing just how badly the entities in him yearned to pass on. His heart doesn't beat very fast on a daily basis, and that may seem like a good thing but Ermac runs on magic; his heart beating dully shows just how long he has left until he's done for.

His legs and arms retained the shape of its former, healthy brawny form but only a shell of it. He could circle his entire hand around his arms and his lower legs, both being remarkably scrawny, and his hands were bony with weak but sharp nails. They look like a ruse, a portion of the collectives deduced; if he accidentally hit his finger into a wall his nail would bend and pathetically cleave.

His knees were just beginning to look bigger than his lower calves, his ankles protruding and leading to wrinkled, scarily veiny feet. One could see the dull green glow traveling down all the veins in his legs to his feet, where they disappeared before they even hit his ankles. Funnily enough, Ermac could not feel much in his feet, and his body's glowing lack of circulation shamelessly showed that.

That's not even funny.

A snort. Few chuckles, a solid snicker... It was ironic humor maybe, to some of them. To Ermac, the collective remained impartial even though he wanted to rip his eyes away from what he was seeing. This was his body's regression, four years after he had first saw himself.

But it's just one of those things that you can't not see; the second he looks at himself he'd find it hard to look away because of how nasty it looks. But why be surprised when you know you're dying, and don't want to admit it because it's not something the collective… wants? Does he even want anything? Ermac didn't have the ability to want, and to want is to overstep his fundamental existence; he was only made to serve. Then again, shouldn't he want to live in order to fulfill his purpose?

Pitiful…

Shao Kahn is dead.

The Emperor is in you as we speak.

Your fulfillment is long overdue-

He stopped dwelling on the repressed portions of his collective thoughts, and looked to a small bucket. He did this weird double take as he watched himself turn around and walk towards the treenlike bucket, because his spine was horridly visible.

The construct actually sighed and made a face when he saw his back go out and in near his rib cage while he did that.

Ermac took his bandages in one hand after taking the bucket and turning on the faucet to fill it up. He took just a simple bar of soap, and just dropped it into the bucket and watched the water become really suddy. He turned off the faucet, moved the bucket to the center of the stall and made the weakest of grunts when he realized that it was physically too heavy for him. Without his gem, the majority of his physical strength was just above superhuman level at best, given that he was a ninja, but at this moment his weight was well below what his body could compensate for. He could've lifted that bucket with one damn hand normally but now, he was reduced to trudging it along the ground while making sure it didn't spill from accidentally getting caught by his own feet.

He'd be lying if he admitted that the souls in him, the more insufferable ones, weren't cackling at how pathetic he looked right now, bent over pulling a bucket of water along the floor on weak and awkward moving feet.

Ermac stopped his treak once he was close to the bathtub. He sat down in front of the bucket facing away from the mirror, and began dipping the bandages in and using the soap to wipe all of the gunk off, and the soap didn't even smell like anything.

Scented soaps don't matter in this case. He's still going to smell like incense and dead people.

All he could hear were sounds of fabric rubbing against each other, wet and soapy between his shrunken hands. His gaze was heavy upon the way his bony fingers looked grabbing and holding the wet bandages, and watched at how easily his skin picked up the moisture, turning his wrinkles to prune-like ridges. The marble floor felt really cold and hard against his rump, but he'd rather sit down then do anymore standing at the moment.

You're very weak.

You don't say…

Why can't you just get the cushion over there?

At the mention of that, Ermac looked to the cushion that's been sitting by a chair. He then looked down at his knees.

Oh what, is that too far even?

Cut some slack, he can barely walk properly even while draining our energy!

Can't he just crawl and get it?

The rude souls in him snickered at the humiliating thought.

Maybe that might make his knees buckle.

You see how tiny they are? By the Gods…

I'm surprised his feet haven't fallen off.

All of you need to be quiet. Now.A tiny batch of silence in him, while the rest of the stall remained pliant with the sounds of progressively vicious scrubbing.

You can not win this battle.

Not again with this; the collectives as a whole keep bringing up that they do not like Shao Kahn's presence within the construct, as the Emperor would always butt in and try to take control of everything. He became an imperialist in Ermac's whole mind, shutting down and swallowing anything that isn't his. Unfortunately, that was the main reason as to why he started decaying like compost, the balance that was once in him will only get more and more worse…

Or maybe he was never balanced to begin with and was just weaned off by Shao Kahn's magic to ignore them.

You can't ignore us now.

He never ignored us…

He always knew what we were saying!

You all are lying to yourselves. Ermac stopped his scrubbing, not paying attention to the fact that he may have scratched himself accidentally several times. This construct knows nothing of what we are, who we are, and what we want. If he did, he would have offed himself a long time ago, because that would essentially be his purpose.

Our purpose is to serve. Get it right.

You can't take any grant from that. You no longer can kill us, so keep doing what you're doing because it's working.

What a disgusting thing to say: they ought Shao Kahn's dominance to continue being upfront so that Ermac, as a whole, will continue to degrade until he turns into… like, dust or something.

Please refrain from trifling any further, all of you. This is doing nothing for us.

What are you doing over there?

Over where? Like, if Ermac were dumb enough to look around and had a soul of his own, he would retort instantly as to how there is no over there in the mind of an individual. A lot of the souls do that; they keep referring to themselves as if they have a whole body and are standing in the room with the construct.

He blinked, his expression remained blank as he continued washing the very last strands of his bandages. In his room, it would take a good two Outworld days for his bandages to dry since he puts them above a small 'radiator', which is basically a dome-like trivet with a incense candle beneath it. That would mean that he'd have to spend two days not wearing his usual uniform, two days sitting in his room in a looser, silken robe-like tunic that made him look like a sick patient. He hated looking sick.

This is why he didn't cleanse often.

Nasty…

It's because of ni'djin-too's like you. That was the Edenian's nice way of calling someone an asshole.

Riiiight, do I have anything to do with this?

None of us do…

What if we do?

What if I punched you in the face?

But… you have no face.

Ermac, immersed in the stupid conversation and his sud-filled bandage washing, accidentally facepalmed and grimaced feeling soapy water on his face. Oh, the irony…

That soap seems really soft on the skin...

Shut up.

Is there such thing as a break? Ermac calmly placed the now bandages on the floor, slowly, like it was a glass artisan piece… and then kicked the bucket away from him to release his aggravation, not caring if the murky, soapy water had splattered on his naked body. It seriously felt like hours had passed since he plopped down to clean his bandages, and now he had to actually clean his body.

He turned the shower knob up until the water was hot enough to steam the room, since his body was feeling irrefutably cold. He hated being weak, temperature discrimination was heavy with him because he was technically still in his physical 20s. If he was actually old, he probably wouldn't have a problem with how lukewarm the temperature in the room was, but right now, he was slightly shivering.

A bath would seem more reasonable than a shower, now that he thought about it. Not to mention, he probably wasn't strong enough to stand in the shower on his own for more than… ten minutes. He watched the water rise until it was inches below the rim, which didn't take long, and then he turned off the water and dipped a foot in. Literally, if his damn skin could make noise, it probably would sound like someone sipping real hard out of a straw, because he for damn sure felt his skin react so thirstily towards the water. A full leg went in, then two, and then Ermac was staring down at the water before he lowered himself, and he actually had to hold the rim of the tub like an 150 year old in order to sit without hurting his butt. The only positive thing he had from this, was that the water was really warm and it actually felt nice.

Can someone explain why water is doing us so much justice?

It's not, dummy. We are a being created from magic, material things like water do not nourish us.

Then why is his skin feeling better?

It's not feeling better, it's a ruse. Yeah, lotion and dermaplaning can't save this man. At all. Ouch.

Ermac shifted to pull the bucket towards him and he fished in there to find the soap bar. Once he found it, he took a bathing sponge and lathered it with soap, dipped it into the warm water, and started washing his arms and his upper chest.

Alright… okay, he'll take back his earlier statement of hating showers because… the collective actually really liked showers; they felt nice and warm and comfortable and he always came out with a fresh and clean body. It's the showers that they are more than fine with, Ermac is just ugly.

Ha.

Maybe we should find a new body.

Maybe we should be free.

Can you all quit it now? The benevolent part of him started to get irritated. That's like the worst thing ever, once the more sensible side starts to become annoyed with the always-never-satisfied side, they all end up sounding the same. Ermac took a deep breath and decided to focus on how swell the sponge felt rubbing against his tiny body. He shifted out of his sitting position reluctantly to wash his lower body; his stomach and nether regions were first, and he scrunched his lips seeing how the water poured out of the abdomen cave like a bowl. Wow… someone could drink out of us.

…

…

A moment of silence for how dumb that statement sounded.

Ermac shook his head and sat back down and then lifted his right leg to scrub his feet, He made this really pained, old man grunt noise when he lifted it though. He wasn't that flexible anymore, and he was kind of afraid of dislocating his skinny leg. He scrubbed at his feet, his toes wriggling from the sensation and no, he's not ticklish over there.

No one knows this, and he prefers no one to know anyways, but Shang Tsung was a dickhead for making Ermac ticklish on his shoulders. He lowkey has extra layers on them for that reason that he accidentally discovered: when Shao Kahn was alive, he was walking around the Soul Room, and something was hanging from the far ceiling and it only grazed the side of his exposed shoulder, and Ermac literally jumped at the sensation. If anyone heard that story, especially Erron and super especially Ferra, he would never hear the end of it.

They would also try to poke him through his ninety eight layers of clothing thinking he'd stupidly giggle.

He had realized that… he hasn't touched his body, like actually touched it, in years. Ermac had only touched his feet four years ago, and now the feeling of a wet sponge against his skin was so alien-like, but it was welcoming. In fact, feeling every crevice, bump, and smooth surface on his body was like opening an untouched but aging book for the first time. If this were when he was under Shao Kahn's liege he would have thought the same thing, but back then he didn't need to cleanse himself because his body was still thriving and living. It's technically still living right now, but its sustenance resembled that of an Earthrealm phone on low battery mode for eternity. The construct moved around, watching the water infused with old, natural oils from his skin pores moved and ripple around. It was still warm, even though he felt like he had spent hours in here.

Perception of time gets wonky when you constantly hear whispering, and some random person giggling, yawning, or just groaning in the background of your thoughts. Technically this could've been like two pages long but here we are, and here he is.

Ermac turned the faucet on and started letting the water drain by pulling the plug. He allowed the clean, warm water to cascade into and out of his palms, and then washed his face with both hands. He frowned; his hands actually felt like bone, just skin covered bone and nothing more. And all of his phalanges despite the steaming warm water, were still inherently cold. The construct heaved a sigh, not liking the feeling of his own hands, so he lathered the sponge again and scrunched his face up before rubbing his cheeks and things with the softer material.

Meanwhile, some of the quirky souls found amusement in the way Ermac looked just before slapping a sponge to his face.

After he was done, he pulled the tiny clutch above the faucet to turn the shower head on. The tub was starting to empty out at this point, and he closed his eyes as the water cascaded down his body. Slowly standing up and trying not to accidentally die, Ermac grasped the ends of the tub as he got on tiny knees. And those asshole souls started again…

What an ancient.

It's been twenty five years and this is what it's reduced to?

Okay, that one voice that keeps referring to him as an 'it' is probably the worst one out of the entire collective. And the collectives agree on this one.

We have been decaying ever since Shao Kahn became part of us.

Well, look at you, actually putting your foot down.

Ermac breathed in deeply; there was no foot involved.

He turned off the shower once his body had been rid of suds, and carefully stepped out. The construct took the towel from where the mentioned cushion was, and the walk there was quite expensive for his energy level, so he had to dry himself off as quick as he can manage so that he can put his everything back on. His skin already did half the job for him, he'd expect to be at least a bit damp with how nimble his grasp on the towel was but he was so 'malnourished' that his body drank the water off of him.

Before he even picked up all of his clothing, he went straight for his own gem and stamped that shit right back onto his head, sighing in relief when he felt his energy rise refreshingly. This was the one part he liked about cleansing; he was clean, and once the gem is back he felt better than ever… or something.

You're still dying, you know.

You're still part of us, you know.

This is depressing.

… Can I go home?

Yup… Ermac shook his head. The souls that 'still don't know that they're dead' make his nose twitch.

Putting his gem on was the first and foremost important thing he had to do, because like hell he was to return back to his room without his gem intact. He'll probably have magical cardiac arrest and die on the floor and turn into… dust? Is that what's gonna happen when we die?

Uh-huh, because a living breathing being is synonymous with Earthrealm's concrete in a vacuum when they die.

Amazing.

Shut up, all of you.

You are in no position to tell us what to do.

YOU are in no position to tell US what to do.

Know who you're talking to. I ended you ten thousand years ago.

Now they're all yelling at each other. That's just dandy.

Ermac wrapped the towel below his sunken waist and grabbed all of his belongings after he had put everything back where they were supposed to be. He exited the stall, and opened the large doors, sliding out of the shower room and into the surprisingly cold hallway. It probably wasn't even cold, Ermac's body was just not good at producing enough body heat, and his feet couldn't help the slight shake it had with every step. He had to at least walk out of this floor before he can float without any headaches. He reached the steps, and once he'd completely ascended up, he finally, finally, floated down the corridor to his room.

Also, throughout the entire time time Ermac was walking, he did not know how to position his legs the right way because he had only walked being clothed for a few years, and even that was awkward for him. So he ended up looking like a waddling penguin holding a bunch of leather and fabric straps by his stomach. Yes the souls, and Shao Kahn even, had quite the laugh at bad the construct was at being a proper individual.

The second he saw his door his floating pace sped up; he opened the door, slipped inside, and closed it quickly. Good Gods, he didn't have anyone see him throughout that pathetic display, that ends the first half of his cleansing process. Ermac removed the towel from his waist, dropped his clothing on the floor and put his bandage above his makeshift radiator, and threw himself into his sea of pillows and groaned loudly. Cleansing was probably, the most needlessly tedious task he's ever had to do in his life. And it's mostly done for the souls' sake, and also because the Rangers themselve have remarked several times of Ermac's corpse incense scent.

That made the souls mad, because a lot of them liked flowers, and his incense were always of a floral aroma. The smell of dead-people flowers did a heavy disservice to the loud majority in Ermac.

He could say his body felt less not nice when compared to before his bathing. It didn't look any better, but looks shouldn't matter in this ca-

We almost saw your spine.

You look as my old as my corpse would be.

Our body's skin can be mistaken for tree bark.

Maybe… maybe to them, it matters, but not Ermac. Even though Ermac is them, and they are Ermac…

You all can never catch a break, can you?

We're dead. We don't get breaks.

You'll be broken once I'm through with you.

The hell are you gonna do? You can't see me.

I'm everywhere, idiot.

There is no everywhere, we aren't physical beings, smart Emperor, you…

I'll slap all of you into silence.

YOU HAVE NO HAND!

And once again, Ermac needed to calm them down, and his bad temperament at the moment made him resort to headbanging the pillows in aggravation. You would think having his gem off would make the chatter worse but nope… no matter what the case is, they will always have problems with each other.

Ermac turned around and sat up. He was still naked, but at least nobody was going to bother him for a while so… he had the freedom to roam around without any clothes. He still got up and went for the white tunic folded on the floor by his pillows to put it on. Meanwhile, all of the souls were still trying to throw intangible hands.

He decided, after tying the tunic around his waist, that he was going to tend to his tiny garden seated by his far left in order to calm himself down.

Take showers, everybody. 'Tis good for you.