A fairly bland alarm rings on a generic and cheap looking nightstand. Eventually a resounding CRUNCH is heard as a clawed arm of black obsidian flops from under silverish blanket shape.
"Fuck not again." He flings the now smashed alarm clock into a pile of similar ones, similarly smashed.
As the blanket comes back in the pitch black room, the only source of light crawls in from under the door. The figure sits up and goes into a large closet with slightly more light from a modified freezer box with a clear cover. He ignores the frozen body for the clothes on the hangers, grabbing black slacks with a customization of the right side being wider at the top than the left side, and a convenient hole a couple inches above the rear seam. The shirt he grabs is blue cotton, and button down, but it only has one sleeve on the left, the right side opening wide at shoulder and barely hanging onto the right side with a single added on snap. The black carapace ends a few inches below his right butt cheek, with an ugly scar covered by the pants before switching to the tender and pale white flesh. As he puts the shirt over the similarly pale side, half an inch past his belly button it also has the same ugly scarring separating the black carapace from the frail flesh. He simply flips the right half over his shoulder rather than putting his thicker arm through it. He buttons it down the middle and snaps an added on button near the base of the left side, securing it in place. He closes the right fist tightly, digging his own claws in until he felt it, though not hard enough to penetrate. The thick whip-like tail dangling out of the aforementioned hole in his backside swings back and forth with agitation, almost without the awareness or intention of the man, haired man who walks out of the closet. He glances at the enchanted fabric outfit similarly crafted at the far end of the closet and sighs, pushing it out of his mind. As he steps into the bathroom he braces himself before gently flipping the switch with his left hand awkwardly.
It's not a particularly bright light on its own, but the contrast is blinding. Thankfully the angry black flesh ends at about his collar bone, so the shirt and pants are enough to hide the angry scaring where one side ends and the other begins.
He had an appointment today, his second, so he left the costume in the closet and made himself look as normal as he could, there was no hiding it though.
Two hours later he's sitting in a chair dreading the next moments at the end of the meeting, his blue eyes already wincing as the woman speaks.
"As usual before you go, I've got to ask you the mental health check up, have you been having any thoughts of suicide or self harm?"
"No suicidal thoughts, and I told you last time, when I scratch the demon flesh it's not about harm, the feeling in my demon flesh is muted, sometimes it almost feels like it isn't there, like a reverse phantom limb."
"Have you thought about having a doctor look at it?"
"And do what, even a meta healer is only going to tell me it's because of how shoddy the grafting was done [REDACTED] was badly wounded when he-" he stopped, realizing the garbled nonsense that came out of his mouth was the same as every time he'd tried to say the master's name, "when this was done."
She asked a couple more questions and noted his responses, then they were done.
Taking her advice he went to the nearest park, he stayed just out of sight of the children for fear of scaring them, but he sat on a stump nearby and just listened to the sounds around him. (edited)
