D-Animal
The moon hung too high.
Large, pale, diffused behind thick clouds that looked as if they'd been torn by the sky itself. The silvery light barely reached the ground, reflecting unevenly off destroyed streets, twisted wreckage, bodies that no longer moved. It was as if the entire world were in silent mourning — or perhaps simply too indifferent to cry.
Elara let out a low breath.
Her body swayed slightly atop Fenrir, the steady rhythm of the run almost hypnotic. The black wolf advanced without hesitation, metallic paws touching cracked asphalt with flawless precision. Internal gears spun in a soft, controlled purr, like a beast that knew exactly how far it could go without breaking.
But Elara… did not.
Her back burned.
The bandages were soaked through, stuck to her skin by hot blood that had begun to flow again once the strain became too much. Each impact reverberated straight through injured muscle, dimming her vision for brief moments. Still, she didn't slow down. Didn't complain. Didn't ask for anything.
Later, she told herself.
Later I'll fall, if I have to.
The sound came before the sight.
A heavy, deep, metallic rumble that didn't belong to any D-Animal. The vibrations traveled through the ground, up Fenrir's legs, through Kaiser's plates, into living human bones.
— "Tank…" — Rafael murmured, low and hard.
Ahead of them, emerging from the haze of dust and smoke, a war tank rolled forward slowly, headlights sweeping the street in cones of white light. Armed soldiers surrounded it, spread in a defensive formation, weapons raised, sensors alert.
— "Contact!" — a voice echoed through the platoon's communicator. — "Four individuals. Two large D-Animals. Confirm threat."
The tank braked with a heavy grind of metal, its treads crushing debris beneath colossal weight. A man stepped forward several paces ahead of the military group, raising a hand in a clear signal to stop.
He was tall, broad, a body shaped by decades of military discipline. His face was carved with deep lines, short gray hair cut too practical for vanity. His gaze was sharp — not hostile, but assessing.
— "Cut the advance," — he ordered, voice firm. — "Slowly."
Elara made a short hand gesture.
Fenrir immediately reduced speed, the purr of his gears fading until it stopped completely. The wolf remained still, low, alert, shadows around him still vibrating like contained smoke.
Rafael did the same.
Kaiser slowed and stopped several meters behind, the ligre maintaining a naturally defensive posture. Kaine and the other spiders were spread across the D-Animal's body, unnaturally still — ready to vanish if necessary.
In the sky, Cain and Visio altered their flight paths almost simultaneously, silently moving out of the soldiers' line of sight. No wings cut the air. No glow betrayed their presence.
The general narrowed his eyes.
He looked first at the D-Animals.
Then… the people.
Two teenagers.
A very young girl mounted on a black combat wolf, her back clearly injured, blood visible even under the moon's weak light. A smaller boy clinging to a large man, his face partially hidden. And behind them, on an improvised board, an injured woman bound, breathing with difficulty.
It didn't match any common threat scenario.
— "Lower your weapons," — the general ordered, without taking his eyes off them. — "But stay alert."
Some soldiers hesitated. But they obeyed.
Elara swallowed hard.
She slid down from Fenrir carefully, cold ground receiving her trembling feet. The instant her weight left the wolf's back, the pain in her spine intensified, sharp and overwhelming. She nearly staggered — nearly.
Rafael noticed.
He huffed, irritated, a low sound escaping his chest.
— "You're too damn stubborn for your own good," — he muttered under his breath.
Elara ignored him. She straightened as best she could and took a few steps forward, keeping her hands visible, away from the D-Armilla.
Lucas shrank slightly atop Kaiser when he saw the dark blood staining his sister's bandages. His eyes widened, but he said nothing. He only gripped Rafael's jacket tighter.
The general stepped closer.
— "Identification," — he requested. It wasn't a threat. It was protocol.
Elara took a deep breath.
— "My name is Elara Pack," — she said, her voice clear despite exhaustion. — "Student at Exalia-Elite Institute."
A low murmur passed through some of the soldiers.
— "These are…" — she continued, gesturing briefly. — "My brother, Lucas Pack. Rafael Richter. And Catherine Wolfe."
She paused briefly.
— "We're fleeing an active combat zone."
The general frowned at the names, but it was the age that truly stopped him.
— "How old are you, girl?" — he asked, blunt.
— "Fifteen," — she answered without hesitation.
The silence that followed was heavy.
— "And the boy?"
— "Thirteen."
The general ran a hand over his face, breathing deeply through his nose, as if trying to contain something between anger and disbelief.
— "Who authorized children to be here?" — he asked, sharper now.
Elara held his gaze.
— "No one," — she replied. — "But the world didn't ask permission to fall apart."
Rafael clicked his tongue, silently approving.
The general looked next at Catherine.
— "She's injured."
— "Severe leg fracture," — Elara confirmed. — "We improvised transport."
— "And you?" — his gaze returned to Elara's bloodied back.
— "Still standing," — she said simply.
He didn't look satisfied with the answer.
— "You have active D-Animals," — he pointed out. — "And I see unregistered technology."
His eyes passed quickly over Kaiser, the spiders, Fenrir's contained form.
— "We're not looking for conflict," — Elara said. — "Just shelter."
The wind swept between them, carrying the distant smell of fire and burned metal.
For a few seconds, the general remained silent.
Then he sighed.
— "You're lucky to have found us," — he said at last. — "Or unlucky. Haven't decided yet."
He turned slightly to the soldiers.
— "Prep the rear. Take the injured woman for basic treatment. Bring a stretcher."
Lucas let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.
Rafael remained rigid, distrustful, but didn't interfere.
Elara felt something give way inside her chest — not full relief, but an opening.
— "Thank you, sir," — she said.
The general studied her for another moment.
— "This isn't over," — he replied. — "But no one's dying here. Not today."
Elara nodded.
And for the first time since the day had begun — back at five thirty in the morning — she felt that maybe… just maybe… that night wouldn't end with another body on the ground.
Elara took two unsteady steps.
It was something small, almost imperceptible — the kind of failure that only happens when the body finally understands it doesn't have to fight alone anymore. Her shoulders dropped, the rigid posture gave way, and for an instant there was silence inside her.
Then the pain came.
Not as stabbing.
Not as throbbing.
It came like liquid fire.
As if incandescent blades were being pressed against her back, ripping through already wounded skin, cutting through muscle and nerve at the same time. The air fled her lungs in a low, involuntary moan. Her vision darkened at the edges, sounds pulling away, too distant.
Elara tried to stay upright.
She couldn't.
Her body tipped forward, heavy, traitorous.
— "Elara—!"
Rafael reacted before any soldier took a step.
He leapt from Kaiser in a sharp movement, the impact of his feet on the ground barely registered by a mind focused on one thing alone. He ran, muscles responding on instinct, and caught her at the exact moment her knees began to give.
— "Shit…" — he muttered between clenched teeth, gripping her firmly.
Elara didn't fall.
Rafael slid one arm behind her neck and the other beneath her knees, adjusting her weight with surprising care for someone usually so rough. Her body was far too hot, trembling, breathing short and irregular.
Elara's eyes opened for a second.
— "Rafa…" — she murmured, her voice weak, barely audible.
— "Quiet," — he replied, low. — "Now you stay quiet."
Lucas climbed down from Kaiser more carefully than he ever had before. The ligre lowered his body slightly, obedient, allowing the boy to touch the ground without stumbling. The moment his feet hit the asphalt, Lucas ran.
— "Is she okay?" — he asked, his thin voice shaking, eyes wide with fear.
Rafael nodded, even without complete certainty.
— "She will be," — he said. — "Now go."
Lucas grabbed his sister's hand, squeezing hard, as if that alone could keep her there.
Elara didn't respond.
Consciousness slipped, in and out, like waves crashing against a distant shore. The smell of burned metal and improvised antiseptic began to replace the odor of blood and soot.
Around them, the soldiers were already moving.
Catherine was being carefully untied from the improvised board. Two soldiers worked together, cutting the knots cautiously, while she answered questions between short, controlled breaths.
— "I just… went to buy a few things," — she explained, her voice weak but steady. — "The building started shaking… the owner ran. Didn't even look back."
Two soldiers exchanged a look heavy with judgment.
— "Coward," — one muttered.
The stretcher was positioned, and Catherine was placed on it with professional care. Even amid chaos, those hands knew what to do.
Rafael turned with Elara in his arms when a firm voice called out:
— "This way."
The general approached, studying the unconscious girl with critical attention.
— "I'm General Argus Marthin," — he said. — "D-Animal Armed Forces."
Rafael merely inclined his head slightly.
— "She needs treatment now," — Argus continued as he walked. — "The bandages are saturated. If we delay, she'll go into shock."
— "I'm not letting her go," — Rafael replied, flat.
— "I didn't ask you to," — the general shot back. — "Just follow."
They moved toward an improvised infirmary tent, set up between two partially intact buildings. Artificial lights cast a cold white glow over the interior, the sharp smell of disinfectant mixed with fresh blood saturating the air.
— "Put her there," — Argus indicated one of the stretchers.
Rafael complied.
With unexpected care, he laid Elara down on the thin mattress, adjusting her position so her back wouldn't be further pressured. His fingers hesitated for a moment before pulling away, as if reluctant to let go.
Lucas immediately stepped closer, taking his sister's hand in both small hands.
— "I'm here," — he said, voice breaking. — "Can you hear me?"
Elara didn't answer.
But her fingers moved slightly — a nearly imperceptible reflex, squeezing Lucas's hand for a second before relaxing again.
Enough.
Rafael let out a slow breath, tense shoulders easing just a little. He stepped back, crossing his arms, gaze fixed on the medical team beginning their work.
General Argus watched the scene in silence for a moment.
Then he spoke, lower:
— "That girl…" — "She shouldn't be alive after what she went through."
Rafael didn't disagree.
He only replied, without looking at the general:
— "She's not done yet."
The field medic entered the tent at a quick pace, the canvas shifting behind him with a sharp snap. The smell of antiseptic came with him, mixing with old blood and smoke soaked into the air. At his side, almost silent, came the D-Animal: a small squirrel, bright-eyed, a luminous core pulsing in its metallic chest — Spiritual class, specialized in stabilization and healing.
The medic was twenty-eight, brown hair tied into a high ponytail with a few strands loose from haste, honey-brown eyes alert, expression weary from having seen too much that night. His dark skin glistened slightly with sweat under the artificial lighting.
Rafael stepped farther back, moving to a corner, arms crossed tight against his chest. His cold eyes never left Elara for a second. He trusted no one there. Not doctors. Not soldiers. Not generals.
Argus watched the activity with a closed expression.
— "I want to understand exactly how you ended up like this," — he said, firm but without unnecessary harshness. — "From the beginning."
Lucas swallowed hard.
Still holding Elara's hand, he began to speak, his voice shaky at first, but steady as the words piled up.
— "We… just went out to run," — he said. — "Five thirty in the morning. Me, her, and Seung-Woo."
Argus frowned.
— "Run?"
— "Yeah," — Lucas nodded. — "Routine. Nothing special."
And then he told it.
He told everything.
From the morning run, the training, the strange feeling in the air. He spoke of the first alert, the aggressive D-Animals, the escape. He told how Elara was always in front, always looking first, always deciding fast. How she threw herself over him and Seung when the building began to collapse, using her own body as a shield.
His voice faltered there.
— "She… she didn't let us see she was hurt."
Rafael clenched his teeth.
Lucas went on. He spoke of meeting Rafael, the collapsing building, the streets filled with bodies and broken metal. He told of the convenience store, of Catherine trapped beneath the ceiling, of the desperate attempt to save someone they didn't even know.
— "She didn't think twice," — he said. — "She just went in."
The medic paused for a moment, looking at Elara before resuming his preparation.
Lucas then reached the part no one in the tent wanted to hear again.
— "The cheetah… came out of nowhere," — his voice dropped. — "Seung fell… hit his head… and—"
He choked.
— "—and he died."
Silence fell, heavy.
Even the spiritual squirrel didn't move in that moment, as if even the machine respected the weight of what had been said.
Lucas took a deep breath, wiping his face with his dirty sleeve.
— "After that… we just ran. Until we found you."
Not even Rafael had expected that.
He looked away for a second, staring at the dirt floor of the tent, jaw locked. The boy told everything. Even the parts that had nothing to do with him. Even the parts that hurt.
The medic approached the stretcher.
— "I'm going to turn her," — he warned, without asking permission.
With care, but without excessive delicacy — because delicacy wasn't a luxury in that setting — he turned Elara onto her stomach. The soaked bandage clung to her skin before peeling away with a wet, unpleasant sound.
The smell hit hard.
Old blood. Infection starting. Open flesh that never had time to close.
The medic flinched.
And he was a field medic.
He had seen shrapnel embedded in abdomens, limbs torn off by explosions, bodies split in half. Even so, the sight of Elara's back made him draw in a sharp breath.
Irregular cuts crisscrossed pale skin, some still open, others red and swollen, edges darkened by the onset of infection. Small glass fragments had left deep tracks, as if pain had been dragged across the flesh.
— "How the hell…" — he murmured, unable to stop himself. Then louder: — "How the hell did this girl, a teenager, endure this until now? What the fuck…"
Lucas couldn't take it.
The sound was sharp, abrupt. He turned just in time to vomit in the corner of the tent, body shaking, stomach rebelling against what his eyes had seen.
Rafael moved instantly, gripping the boy's shoulders, firm, preventing him from collapsing.
— "Don't look," — he said, low and harsh. — "You don't need to."
The medic wasted no time.
He took saline solution and began irrigating the wounds. The clear liquid ran mixed with dark blood, dripping onto improvised cloths on the floor. Elara moaned unconsciously, her body reacting even while unconscious, fingers curling.
The spiritual squirrel approached, resting its small metallic paws on the side of the stretcher. A soft glow spread through the air, helping stabilize tissue, reducing shock, anchoring her body there.
— "She stayed active too long," — the medic murmured as he applied antiseptic. — "Adrenaline held her together… but now the price came due."
He spread the ointment carefully, covering each cut, each tear. The medicinal scent filled the tent, partially replacing the smell of blood.
New bandages were applied — firm, clean, pressing where needed without worsening the damage.
Argus watched everything in silence.
When the medic finished, he removed the improvised gloves and took a deep breath.
— "She'll live," — he said. — "But only because she's stubborn as hell."
Rafael let out a slow breath.
Lucas wiped his mouth, eyes red, and took his sister's hand again.
Elara was breathing.
And for now, that was all that mattered.