D-Animal
Elara let out a low sigh—tired, dragged out—and finally gave in.
She sat down on the floor of the abandoned apartment, crossing her legs carefully so as not to strain her already battered body. The concrete was cold and rough, stained with old marks of dampness and something darker she chose not to identify. Light filtering through the broken window cast uneven shadows across her dirty, sweat-slicked skin.
She pulled the first-aid kit closer and opened it.
The smell of old alcohol and oxidized metal rose immediately.
Elara swallowed hard.
Her back throbbed; every shard of glass still embedded in her flesh seemed to pulse in sync with her heartbeat. The white sports top—tight enough to provide support—was stained red along the crossed straps on her back. The fabric was torn in places, revealing irregular cuts: deep enough to bleed, shallow enough not to kill—the worst combination.
She ran her tongue over her dry lips.
Opened her mouth to speak.
She was going to call Seung-Woo.
Not out of weakness—but necessity. She would never ask Lucas to deal with something like this. Never put her younger brother in front of that sight, that responsibility.
But no words came out.
An ill-tempered grunt cut through the air.
Rafael slammed his right hand against the nearby table with enough force to make the furniture shudder and kick up settled dust. The sound echoed through the apartment—sharp, irritated.
"Damn it…" he muttered.
Before Elara could react, he crossed the room in firm, decisive strides—too decisive. He stopped behind her, so close she felt the heat of his body, the heavy, uncomfortable presence.
And then, without warning, Rafael leaned down and yanked the first-aid kit out of her hands.
"Hey—" Elara started, startled.
Too late.
Rafael had already opened the kit, grabbing cotton, alcohol, an old pair of tweezers, and an unopened bandage. His movements were fast, efficient, almost aggressive—someone who had done this many times. Someone who had learned through pain.
"Stay still," he said flatly. "If you move, it'll get worse."
Elara didn't have time to answer.
The tweezers went to work.
Rafael grabbed one of the glass shards embedded in her back and pulled.
The sound was almost imperceptible.
But the pain—
A groan slipped from Elara's throat before she could stop it. Her body arched instinctively, fingers digging into the fabric of her black running shorts—lightweight, torn in places, still functional despite everything.
She bit down hard on her lower lip, tasting metal as she tried to smother any other sound. Her breathing turned irregular—shaky, shallow.
Rafael didn't apologize.
Didn't slow down.
He pulled out another shard.
And another.
Each extraction came with an involuntary spasm, Elara's body shuddering as she fought to control it, as if pain were just another enemy to face.
Seung-Woo stepped forward.
The muscles in his neck were taut, his jaw clenched hard enough to ache.
"You could be more careful," he growled quietly, his voice edged with warning.
Rafael clicked his tongue.
"Want to trade places?" he shot back without even looking at him. "Because all I see you doing is talking."
The silence that followed was heavy.
Lucas watched everything in absolute silence, fists clenched against his chest, eyes wide, caught between fear and helplessness. Elara made a point of not looking at him.
Rafael finished removing the last shard and dropped the tweezers onto the table with a dry click.
He grabbed the cotton.
Soaked it in alcohol.
The sharp smell flooded the room.
"This is going to burn," he warned—too late.
The cotton touched the wounds.
Elara shuddered violently.
A low sound escaped her throat, somewhere between a sigh and a stifled moan. Her eyes squeezed shut, brow furrowing as pain spread like liquid fire across her back.
She was breathing too fast.
Too shallow.
As if the air itself were running out.
Rafael cleaned the wounds without any gentleness—but also without hesitation. Every motion was firm, precise, like someone far more used to treating injuries than avoiding causing them.
When he finished, he grabbed the bandage.
He wrapped it tightly around Elara's back, pulling hard enough to keep everything in place, taping it almost roughly. The dressing was firm, functional—ugly, but effective.
Only then did he step back.
"Done," he said. "If it opens again, that's not my problem."
Elara drew a deep breath.
Slowly.
She opened her eyes.
The pain was still there—but now something was holding the chaos together.
She turned carefully, bracing her hands on the floor to lift herself a little and look at Rafael. His face was closed off, hard, marked by scars: one through the left eyebrow, two near the left eye. His pale blue eyes looked too cold for someone so young, the thin red ring around the iris almost unnoticeable at first glance.
"Thank you," she said simply.
Rafael waved it off.
"Rafael S. Richter," he said at last. "This place is mine. Or was."
He gestured briefly.
The metallic spiders reorganized, Kaine moving slightly forward like a living shadow. The black falcon Cain beat its wings once overhead. Kaiser, the hybrid ligre, remained seated, but his red eyes never stopped watching.
"They're mine," Rafael continued. "Kaine. Cain. Kaiser."
Elara nodded slowly.
Then she raised her wrist, the D-Armilla still smeared with dust and blood.
"I'm Elara Pack," she said. "And… these are mine."
She made a small gesture.
Visio, still outside, tilted her head on the leaning post, violet eyes glowing in the dim light spilling through the broken window.
"She's Visio," Elara continued. "Surveillance class."
She didn't mention the others.
Not yet.
She took a breath and hooked her thumb backward.
"This is Lucas," she said, gently pulling her brother closer. "My little brother."
Lucas swallowed, then lifted his hand in a timid wave.
"And he…" Elara glanced at Seung-Woo, a corner of her mouth lifting in a tired smile. "That's Seung-Woo. A friend."
She paused briefly.
"And… my fake fiancé," she added lightly.
Seung-Woo rolled his eyes, but didn't object.
Rafael raised an eyebrow.
"Interesting group," he muttered.
Silence spread through the apartment again.
Outside, the world continued to collapse.
But inside, among dried blood, fresh pain, and broken histories, four people—and their D-Animals—shared the same space.
None of them truly safe.
But for the first time since it all began… not completely alone.
The silence that followed wasn't comfortable.
It was the kind that watched, that weighed every breath as if deciding whether it was worth continuing to exist. The apartment creaked around them—small pops from the walls, the ceiling, old pipes still full of stagnant water. The smell of freshly used alcohol mixed with dust and dried blood, creating something almost nauseating.
Elara stayed seated for a few seconds after the bandaging, feeling her body try to reorganize itself around the pain. Her back burned under the pressure of the wrap, as if the fire had been forcibly contained rather than extinguished. Still, she kept her chin lifted.
Lucas was the first to break the silence.
"…Are you really okay?" he asked softly, his voice trembling, eyes fixed on her with a child's concern trying to be grown-up.
Elara turned to him and smiled—a small, tired, but real smile.
"I've been worse," she said. "I promise."
It wasn't exactly a lie. It just wasn't the whole truth.
Rafael watched the scene leaning against the table, strong arms crossed, the tattoo running from his hand up his right forearm partially visible beneath the torn fabric of his shirt. His cold eyes tracked every gesture, every microexpression. He didn't look relaxed—he looked restrained, like an animal that had decided not to attack… for now.
"How long are you staying?" he asked bluntly.
Seung-Woo answered before Elara could.
"Until it's safe enough to move," he said. "We don't want trouble."
Rafael let out a short, dry laugh.
"Trouble showed up ten years ago," he replied. "Just changed faces."
He stepped away from the table and moved to the broken window, peering outside cautiously. Cain adjusted his position above, syncing sensors with him. The metallic spiders continued their nearly invisible movement through cracks and crevices, like bad thoughts that never went away.
"This building," Rafael went on without looking back, "survived the first waves. After that, no one came back. The ones who stayed… died."
Something tightened in Elara's chest.
"And you?" she asked.
He hesitated for half a second—barely noticeable.
"I learned not to leave," he answered.
Seung-Woo narrowed his eyes slightly, but didn't comment.
Outside, Visio shifted on the leaning post, wings opening briefly before settling again. A pulse of information passed through the bond—soft, discreet.
Nothing approaching. For now.
Elara drew a steady breath.
"Rafael," she called.
He turned his head slowly.
"You said this place survived," she continued. "So you know how to hide. You know when to move. You know when to fight."
"And?" he replied defensively.
"Then you know no one survives alone," she said—not accusing. Just stating fact.
His gaze hardened.
"Careful what you're about to say," he murmured.
She didn't back down.
"I'm not asking for anything," she said. "Not trust. Not help."
She paused.
"Just time."
Rafael studied her for several long seconds. Silence thickened again. Lucas held his breath without realizing it. Seung-Woo stayed still, alert, ready to intervene if needed.
Finally, Rafael looked away.
"You can stay until nightfall," he said. "After that… the city changes."
Elara nodded.
"That's all we need," she replied.
He pulled a dented bottle of water from a fallen cabinet and tossed it to her. Elara caught it on reflex.
"Drink," he said. "You're shaking."
Only then did she realize she was.
She took a few gulps, the water running too cold, too good.
Lucas sat beside her, leaning his shoulder carefully against hers, as if afraid she might break. Elara wrapped an arm around him automatically.
Seung-Woo remained standing, leaning against the wall, but now with his arms uncrossed, posture slightly less rigid. Still alert—he always would be—but less tense.
Rafael returned to the door and sat on the floor with his back to the wall, a position that allowed him to see everyone at once. Kaiser lay down beside him, massive, silent—intimidating and protective at the same time.
"When this is over," Lucas murmured suddenly, almost to himself, "the cities will come back, right?"
No one answered right away.
Elara closed her eyes for a moment.
"Maybe not the same way," she said at last. "But something always grows where something falls."
Rafael made a sound that could've been a laugh—or a tired sigh.
"You talk like someone who still believes," he commented.
Elara opened her eyes and looked at him.
"I talk like someone who's still alive."
The silence that followed was different.
Still heavy. Still tense.
But now… shared.
Outside, the sky slowly darkened, stained with smoke and ash. Inside the abandoned apartment, four wounded people—inside and out—shared the same shelter, the same fear, the same fragile pause between one attack and the next.
And for a few stolen hours from the chaos, that would have to be enough.