D-Animal
The sky felt heavy that day.
It wasn't raining, but the air carried enough moisture to cling to the skin, casting the world in a grayish tone, as if even the light had chosen to speak more softly. The cemetery stretched out in silence, rows of gravestones aligned among ancient trees whose leaves moved slowly in the cold morning wind. The scent of damp earth, cut grass, and fresh flowers blended into a bittersweet mixture — life and death sharing the same space.
Elara walked ahead.
At twenty-five, her presence was different from the teenager who once bled to protect others. She wore black clothing with an urban tactical aesthetic: fitted cargo pants with utility pockets, a reinforced belt with discreet chains, combat boots worn by real use — not style. A black top of firm fabric molded to her body with practicality, and over it, a light reinforced synthetic leather vest protected her torso without limiting movement. The long sleeves covering her forearms conveyed discipline, not vanity. Her blonde hair remained exactly as it always had — loose, straight, falling down her back like a silent reminder of who she was before all of this. Nothing had changed there. And that mattered.
Lucas walked just behind her, taller, broader in the shoulders, yet still carrying something of the boy who once held his sister's hand amid chaos. He dressed functionally: dark pants reinforced at the knees, simple combat boots, a fitted black tank top, and fingerless gloves. A discreet holster strapped to his thigh betrayed the path he had chosen. His face was serious, matured — not hardened. His eyes observed everything around them, alert, but it was Elara he focused on when he thought no one was watching.
Rafael came last.
Black articulated plate armor covered his body like a second skin, marked by subtle red lines that looked like permanent scars in the metal. The white mask with the red X rested under his arm — removed here out of respect. Without it, his face showed the weariness of someone who had seen too much and yet remained standing. The scars were visible. Some old, others never fully healed. The sword on his back stayed sheathed. Today was not a day for war. At least, not here.
They stopped before a simple grave.
Seung-Woo's name was engraved into the cold stone.
Elara felt her chest tighten in that familiar way — the pain that never disappeared, only learned how to exist. She crouched slowly, ignoring the cold rising from the ground, and placed the bouquet of flowers carefully before the headstone. The petals were still fresh, their soft fragrance contrasting with the scent of earth.
— "We did it…" — she murmured, her voice low, almost a secret. — "Just like I promised."
From the inner pocket of her belt, she withdrew the D-Armilla.
The metal gleamed quietly, clean, restored. Elara ran her index finger along its edge with near-reverent care, as if touching something alive.
— "Iron is free." — she continued, swallowing hard. — "It will never be used by the wrong hands again. I swear."
For a moment, it felt as though the wind had stopped.
Lucas stepped forward and placed his right hand on his sister's shoulder, firm, present. He said nothing. He didn't need to. Then he set his own bouquet beside hers.
— "We're going to make the world better." — he said at last, his voice low but certain. — "For you… and for everyone who never had a choice."
Rafael approached last. He placed his flowers without ceremony, but with absolute respect.
— "I didn't know you well." — he said, serious. — "But I knew who you protected. And that says enough."
A few meters behind them, Seung-Woo's parents watched in silence, holding each other. Their faces were marked by grief, but also by something rare: gratitude. When Elara stood and walked toward them, she extended the D-Armilla with both hands.
— "This belongs to the family." — she said, with a gentle, almost fragile smile. — "It always did."
Seung's mother took the object carefully, as if it were sacred. Her tear-filled eyes met Elara's.
— "Thank you…" — was all she managed to say.
They left the cemetery without looking back.
The world did not pause for prolonged mourning.
Elara's communicator vibrated the moment they crossed the iron gate. Catherine's voice came through clearly, though tense:
— "Three FIS agents are moving in the area. Encirclement pattern. Be careful."
Elara let out a slow breath, resting her left hand on her hip.
— "They never get tired, do they?" — she murmured.
Lucas shrugged, adjusting his gear strap.
— "They never learn."
Rafael raised an eyebrow, a crooked half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
— "Just like the old days…" — he muttered, clearly not finding it amusing.
Elara looked at the two of them.
At the brother who had grown up too fast.
At the broken man who had chosen to stay.
The wind picked up, carrying the distant scent of rain and steel.
— "Then let's go." — she said. — "There's still a lot to fix."
Elara laughed softly, a short, almost ironic sound, and murmured:
— "Just like the old days…"
Her left hand slid naturally into her pocket. From it, she withdrew a small triangular metal plate, cold to the touch, its side points elongated and angled downward like unfinished fangs. Elara brought it to her face, resting it between her eyes and the bridge of her nose.
A soft click echoed.
Then a low sound of awakening mechanisms rippled through the air, almost like a restrained mechanical growl. The plate opened in precise segments, expanding sideways and downward, locking perfectly around her face. The mask formed in seconds: a white metallic wolf, angular and aggressive in design, its smooth surfaces cut by technical grooves. A red X slashed across the front, irregular, like a scar painted by force, stretching from the forehead to the side of the face. The eye slits ignited with a cold, bluish glow — narrow, predatory. The lower half of the mask resembled a rigid snout, with vertical openings simulating compressed fangs, giving the impression that the wolf was always on the verge of snarling.
Elara stretched without any shame, cracking her neck and shoulders like someone preparing for routine — not an ambush.
Lucas watched from the corner of his eye and simply shrugged.
He was no longer the boy who trembled at explosions or hid behind his sister. At twenty-three, he carried the steady posture of an experienced field medic, someone who had held lives slipping through his fingers and learned not to break because of it. He didn't wear a mask. He never needed one. His weapon was different.
— "Do whatever you want." — he said, leaning casually against a broken streetlight pole, crossing his arms. — "If anyone's left alive, I'll patch them up."
Rafael let out a nasal half-laugh, already pulling his own white mask with the red X over his face, locking it in place with a sharp snap. The motion was automatic, almost ritualistic. His presence shifted instantly — the man gave way to the trained predator.
Both of them raised their wrists almost simultaneously.
The D-Armillas answered with a synchronized pulse of light.
The ground seemed to vibrate as Fenrir emerged first, materializing in a cascade of dark metallic particles. The black wolf shook its body, plates locking into place with precision, eyes glowing like ignited obsidian blades. Its presence swallowed the surrounding light, warping shadows, stretching them unnaturally.
Moments later, Kaiser formed with a heavier impact.
The hybrid liger appeared as a mass of reclaimed and brutally refined metal, irregular plates, visible scars across its body, the core in its chest pulsing deep red. It released a low, guttural roar that made the air vibrate and tore sparks from the asphalt beneath its claws. Kaine's spiders were already spreading across its back and limbs, sliding like living shadows, ready to interfere with any system that dared approach.
Lucas sighed, completely uninterested in the spectacle.
— "You two are excessive." — he commented, adjusting the communicator in his ear. — "Three FIS agents don't justify all this."
Elara slowly turned her head toward him. The blue lenses of the wolf mask glinted with amusement.
— "They do." — she replied. — "It's educational."
Rafael cracked his neck beneath the mask.
— "Besides…" — he added, resting his hand on the weapon's grip. — "They started it."
In the silence that followed, something moved in the distance.
Footsteps.
Thermal signatures emerging.
An artificial mental pulse attempting to expand through the area.
Fenrir growled low.
Kaiser drove its claws into the ground.
Elara tilted her head slightly, like a wolf assessing prey, and gave the order in a firm voice, distorted by the mask's modulator:
— "Imminent contact. No curious survivors."
Lucas simply closed his eyes for a second.
When he opened them again, he already knew:
that street would not be the same afterward.