Creation Details
Prompt: “As the world evolved, exotic pets too, but food too…
People stopped being surprised a long time ago.
It had started quietly—rumors online, blurry videos, conspiracy forums whispering about things that shouldn’t exist anymore. Demons were supposed to be gone. Stories, myths, something buried with the past.
But humanity had never been good at leaving things buried.
At first, they were hunted again. Then studied. Then… farmed.
Because demons didn’t die easily.
Because demons healed.
Because demons—if restrained properly, fed just enough, controlled just right—could regenerate endlessly.
And humans were always hungry.
The facility was clean.
Too clean.
White walls. White floors. The faint smell of disinfectant layered over something metallic—something that never quite went away.
Ubuyashiki sat still in the center of his enclosure.
He had long since learned that movement only invited attention.
His wrists were bound loosely—not because they couldn’t restrain him tighter, but because they didn’t need to. The seal etched into the metal around his neck pulsed faintly, suppressing him. Weakening him. Keeping him from ever becoming what demons once were.
Dangerous.
Free.
His long, pale hair spilled over his shoulders, uncut, untouched. His skin, once fragile even in his human life, now held that strange, unearthly smoothness demons had—but there was no strength in it. No pride.
Only quiet.
Always quiet.
A small screen outside his enclosure flickered to life.
Specimen 07 – Regenerative Class / High Stability Yield
He had a number.
He had a classification.
He did not have a name.
Not anymore.
“Good recovery rate.”
“Better than last week.”
“Let’s proceed.”
Voices. Clinical. Detached.
They never spoke to him.
Only about him.
Ubuyashiki lowered his gaze as the door slid open.
He didn’t resist when they approached.
He didn’t pull away when they took his arm.
He didn’t speak when the blade came down.
There was pain.
Of course there was.
Regeneration didn’t mean absence of pain. It only meant the body refused to stay broken.
His arm hit the sterile tray with a soft, wet sound.
Somewhere, someone noted the time.
Somewhere else, someone was already preparing it.
Food.
The thought came and went like a passing shadow.
Ubuyashiki’s breathing stayed even.
His shoulders remained relaxed.
Only his fingers—his remaining hand—curled slightly against the floor.
That was the only sign.
“Growth rate begins immediately.”
“Fascinating…”
“Keep monitoring.”
They always sounded pleased.
They always sounded impressed.
They never sounded sorry.
It always started the same way.
A slow, creeping warmth at the severed point.
Then a pull.
Then something deeper—like roots forcing their way through soil, like bones remembering themselves.
It hurt.
It always hurt.
His new arm formed gradually, muscle knitting, skin stretching, nerves awakening in a sharp, electric bloom of sensation.
Ubuyashiki closed his eyes.
Not to escape.
Just… to endure.
He used to think a lot.
In the beginning.
He remembered fragments—sunlight filtering through paper screens, the soft murmur of voices filled with care, the weight of responsibility that had once rested on him not as chains, but as purpose.
He remembered kindness.
He remembered leading.
He remembered people.
That was the hardest part.
Not the pain.
Not the endless cycle.
But the memory of something gentler.
Something warm.
Something gone.
“Full regeneration in progress.”
“Stable as always.”
“Prepare next extraction schedule.”
They never waited long.
Why would they?
There was no need.
He would grow it back.
He always did.
Sometimes, when the facility was quiet—when the lights dimmed just enough to mimic something like night—Ubuyashiki allowed himself one small indulgence.
He would look at his hands.
Both of them.
Whole.
Unbroken.
He would turn them slightly, as if trying to remember what they had once been used for.
Not for taking.
Not for surviving.
But for guiding.
For protecting.
For reaching out.
His fingers trembled, just slightly.
Then stilled.”
Art Style: Noir Comics
Color Mode: Full Color
Panels: 1
Created: