Rai lunged at him again as he stood frozen in place.
Thud…! Boom!
Rai’s body slammed into the wall, scraping its surface. The repeated impacts were now accompanied by ominous, splintering sounds—crack, crack—fusing with the crash of each collision.
The barrier that had seemed unshakable was beginning to break.
Despite the blood dripping from his torn and flayed skin, Rai kept ramming into the wall. Watching him, Seo Suho realized he couldn’t afford to waste any more time. Clenching his fists tightly, he spun around.
It was too late to go upstairs and report the situation or call for help. Rai would break through the wall before that could happen. For some reason, it was imperative to subdue Rai’s rampaging consciousness and seal the passage immediately. He’d recently learned how to operate the control room’s equipment from his mother, so there was no reason to hesitate.
But just as he was about to rush toward the control room, his feet froze.
Ji Chanwoo stood in the passageway.
“Ajusshi…?”
“……”
Chanwoo, breathing erratically, held a gun in his pale hands.
Did he come down again after hearing Rai’s rampage, like before?
“…Suho.”
His voice was so small it was barely audible. From that distance, he probably couldn’t see the cracks spreading along the barrier and might not grasp the urgency. Suho quickly nodded and opened his mouth.
“Ajusshi, I have to get to the control—”
He didn’t even finish the sentence.
With trembling hands, Chanwoo raised the gun.
The angle—it looked like he was aiming straight at Suho.
“…!”
And then, multiple things happened at once.
Suho couldn’t even comprehend what was going on. All he registered was the sudden shattering of the wall behind him.
As the sound of the barrier exploding roared in his ears, a deafening gunshot rang out—BANG! The blast tore through the air like it would split his eardrums.
Pain exploded in his shoulder—something sharp had embedded near the blade.
Flung away by the impact, he slammed the back of his head against the corridor wall and rolled across the floor. His vision spun wildly before finally coming to a halt.
WEEEOOO! WEEEOOO!
The alarm blared like mad as the wall fully collapsed.
A massive figure darted past his vision, its speed so fast it left an afterimage.
“What the…!”
A horrified scream burst from Ji Chanwoo, who clearly hadn’t expected things to escalate like this.
Bang, bang bang!—Gunfire echoed in rapid succession.
Lifting his head with great effort, Suho saw Rai charging at Ji Chanwoo, letting out a roar.
They were too close. There was no way to stop the attack.
Yet Suho still muttered instinctively—
“No…”
“S-Someone… help—AARGH! GAHHH!”
“Stop—ngh, Rai…!”
He wanted to scream, but the searing pain gripping his entire body choked his voice.
He had never felt agony like this before.
The metallic stench of blood filled his nose and mouth, and every breath made his chest and abdomen feel like they were being torn to pieces.
For some reason—maybe it was Suho’s weak, rasping voice, or maybe something else—Rai suddenly stopped.
“Guh.”
Pinned against the wall, Ji Chanwoo coughed up bright red blood. His body had been pierced by Rai’s sharp claws, crushed as if flattened under a weight.
Damn it… it was too late.
Even so, Suho moved his lips again, calling Rai’s name, desperately hoping the beast wouldn’t lash out any further.
…Or did he?
Rai, his mane thick and wild, turned his head to look at Suho. That was the last thing Suho saw before everything went black.
***
A bubbly, almost cheerful sound effect bounced through the air.
It was a familiar noise.
“Ugh…”
As consciousness returned, so did the pain.
When he finally managed to pry open his eyelids, Rai came into view, crouched beside him with his belly on the floor.
The beast was gently nudging a cube around with his forepaw—the same forepaw that had likely been soaked in blood just moments ago.
He was oddly careful with it, as if fully aware that the small, fragile object could easily be crushed under his strength.
Suho stared blankly at Rai’s paw, trembling as if it was hard to control the pressure.
Then, like a jolt, the memory of Ji Chanwoo came rushing back.
He hadn’t meant to shoot him.
It hadn’t been Suho he was aiming at—it had to have been Rai.
It was only natural to instinctively raise a gun at the creature that looked about to smash through the wall.
…But Ji Chanwoo had been in no shape to aim properly today. His condition had clearly deteriorated. Maybe the sheer pressure from Rai had tensed every muscle in his body.
Letting out a shallow breath, Suho turned his gaze.
The first thing he saw was the shattered remains of a gun, crushed on the ground—likely trampled under Rai’s foot. And Ji Chanwoo…
“……”
He lay motionless in a pool of his own blood, unmoving. The wounds piercing through his body were far beyond saving.
Which meant Ji Chanwoo was already dead.
Suho’s heart sank like a stone. A cold flush swept through his veins. He shut his eyes tightly, trying to suppress the wave of nausea rising from his gut, then reopened them.
Think.
He had to think.
…How much time had passed?
The alarms had stopped, but the emergency systems must have activated. That meant the soldiers stationed in the residential sector—where his home was—had likely already surrounded the building. That force existed specifically to handle these kinds of emergencies.
It wasn’t hard to guess that a specialized unit would soon arrive, having been summoned to neutralize the beast.
Grhh.
Rai huffed through his nose, almost as if to say he knew Suho had awakened. The beast turned his attention from the cube to Suho.
The raging fury from earlier was gone—Rai appeared calm once more.
Rai must’ve been reacting to Ji Chanwoo. When Chanwoo entered the house, Rai had sensed him and focused his attention on the upper floors. Then, the moment Chanwoo started heading toward the lab, Rai had lost control.
Today’s outburst had been particularly violent, but at the end of the day, monsters were never friendly to humans. Rai had no reason not to see Ji Chanwoo—whom he’d only seen once or twice long ago—as a threat.
And if Rai had judged that this “threat” needed to be neutralized to protect something… all the more reason.
A hot lump swelled in Suho’s throat.
From the very beginning, Rai had been trying to protect him by ramming into the barrier.
Ironically, that act had made Ji Chanwoo think Rai was dangerous, pushing him to fire—almost at Suho. And the very same Rai who tried to protect him had also been the one to stop that threat.
Which meant, in the end… Rai had killed Ji Chanwoo to protect him.
His mind began to lock up again.
Unconsciously, he started to turn his head toward Chanwoo’s direction, but Rai’s tawny mane blocked his view.
Lowering his head, Rai gently nuzzled Suho’s cheek with his round, moist nose. The fluffy fur around it tickled against Suho’s skin.
The eyes staring back at him from that close distance carried no malice. They sparkled with warmth.
Rai was greeting him, happy that he was awake.
Without thinking, Suho raised his hand, scraped and battered as it was. The movement was feeble and shaky. He knew this wasn’t the time to be leisurely petting a monster, but even so, he slowly ran his hand along Rai’s head.
There was far more fur than he’d expected—coarse, thick, and warm like human skin beneath the touch.
Rai didn’t make a sound. He just quietly accepted the touch.
At such close range, the wounds covering his body were even more visible—patches of torn flesh, areas where skin had been flayed.
It was the first time they’d ever truly faced each other without any barrier between them.
But instead of feeling joy, Suho felt something closer to devastation.
“…Thank you, Rai.”
He whispered softly into the beast’s ear, who had protected him in his own way.
Rai blinked slowly, closing and opening his large eyes.
Then, reality began to sink in.
A monster that couldn’t be controlled had been set loose.
That meant everyone aboard this ship—everyone who lived in the area—was potentially in danger. It was obvious what kind of orders the incoming soldiers would be operating under.
Even if the decision to kill Rai was left to the field commander’s discretion, the sight of Ji Chanwoo’s brutally mangled body would give them no reason to hesitate.
A shaky breath escaped through Suho’s tightly clenched teeth.
–……
Rai, who had been silently watching Suho, slowly rose to his feet.
His thick, fluffy head lifted from Suho’s lap, and as the creature moved, light from a flickering, half-broken fixture spilled back onto Suho.
Rai’s massive body crawled over the debris of the shattered barrier, retreating into the space that had once been his own.
There, in his usual spot—where he always faced Suho—he stood tall and locked eyes with him.
Suho’s breath caught in his throat.
“…What are you doing?”
Grrrr…
“You don’t have to stay over there. Come here.”
If he wanted to convince the soldiers not to shoot, he needed to be physically close to Rai.
Even if they didn’t particularly care about Suho’s safety, the presence of a civilian near the monster might make them hesitate to attack. And that hesitation might be the only window to start a conversation.
“Rai.”
But Rai didn’t budge.
No matter how many times Suho coaxed him to come back, Rai stayed put.
Maybe he thought Suho was scared—afraid because he had escaped his cage. Maybe he sensed that, despite the gratitude, Suho hadn’t been able to welcome him with pure joy.
Letting out a low groan, Suho tried to muster strength.
If Rai wouldn’t come, then he’d go to him.
But the moment he pressed a hand to the ground to rise—
A searing, blinding pain exploded from his twisted leg, one bent far beyond a normal angle.
His vision went black.
“Ahgh…!”
His lips split open under the force of his instinctive bite, and warm blood trickled down his chin.
…There was no choice but to give up walking.
Bracing on his elbows and the knee of his uninjured leg, he began dragging himself across the floor, writhing and inching forward. Beads of sweat streamed down his cheeks, falling endlessly and soaking the path he left behind.
And then—
Crack.
A small but chilling sound stabbed through his ears. He stopped and looked up at the ceiling.
“…!”
Only now, with a clearer view, did he see it: the damage wasn’t limited to the lights. The floor, the ceiling, the walls, the pillars—everywhere he looked, fractures ran wild.
The shockwaves from the monster’s brief rampage—his movements, his weight—had overwhelmed the structure.
The cage had always been built to withstand Rai, but… the rest of the facility hadn’t.
Crackle… Crackle!
A flood of fissures spread all at once, spiderwebbing across every surface.
The ceiling sagged with a deep, groaning noise, and sections began to cave in like toppling dominoes. Sharp, jagged debris started to protrude from above.
Pipes that once ran straight across the ceiling were now bending at unnatural angles, on the verge of snapping.
“…Ah.”
He stiffened, his head tilted back—frozen like a statue.
GRRRR!
Suddenly, Rai lunged—legs outstretched, soaring through the air to cover him.
And in the next moment, everything in sight collapsed.
