I do not own Death Note... Or any of the characters... or anything at all, in fact. I now briefly bewail my poverty.

........

...I'm done now.

I know this prologue doesn't seem to be connected to Death Note in any way, shape or form, but it is, I promise!

Warning: graphic descriptions of carnage. If you can't handle blood/gore, you may want to consider skipping the prologue. I will provide a synopsis in bold at the bottom for the squeamish. However, if you're not, you might want to read the below; it's kind of important backgroundishness. Moving on.

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Prologue

On May 4th 1943, the world was at war. The Axis Powers –Germany, Italy, and Japan –still stood strong and confident against the Allies, and the War showed no signs of ending anytime soon. Everyone was busy with the problems of the times; they had no time to worry about the stench that wafted from the barren land just beyond the trees –that was the excuse many German citizens gave when asked how they could tolerate living just outside the most horrific of the Third Reich's sins: the concentration camps. However, on May 4th 1943, something happened that would affect the lives of millions. That day, in Dachau concentration camp, a 17-year-old girl died. While being forced to stand in one spot for over 36 hours with no rest, food, or water, –the torture augmented by the fact that she, like all other prisoners who had been there for any length of time, was so underfed and maltreated that she could barely stand or talk –she had been repeatedly told to renounce the cause of freedom for which her parents had already died. When she stalwartly refused even after this period, one of her torturers grew frustrated with her, beat her, and threw the heavy oak chair he had been sitting in at her. The force of his throw hurtled both the girl and the chair into the concrete wall behind her, and the heavy chair literally broke her fragile body in half, killing her.

She had not been materially important to the wardens, so no one should have noticed. Evil had so twisted the minds and hearts of these men that the death of an innocent child was not even worth mentioning. After all, several thousand others had gone before her, and those in charge fully intended that several thousand more would be cruelly and brutally slaughtered after she was gone.

There were two earthly things that made this girl different from the others that day, though. One: she had been offered the chance at leaving the prison camp, albeit after a thorough brainwashing and rehabilitation. Two: when she died, someone did care. Ironically, it was the very man who killed her.

His name was Ehrich Rauch, a 20-year-old product of the National Socialist party, born and bred to hate the Jews and all others who opposed the tyranny of the Third Reich. Perhaps it was because they were so close in age; perhaps it was divine intervention –it is up to you to decide –but as the chair he had hurled struck the girl, Ehrich Rauch felt, for the first time, a stab of guilt so sharp that he nearly vomited. His diary, which he bequeathed to the Holocaust museum shortly before his death, describes the experience:

"Today has changed me forever. Today, I looked at all of my accomplishments for the glorious Third Reich, and realized that I had in fact been committing the most ghastly crimes a man can, all the while being approved by my own dear mother country. I killed a girl today. I was to convince her to swear her allegiance to our celebrated Fuhrer by forcing her to stand while denying her food, drink, and sleep and commanding her over and over to give up and end her suffering; she knew that all she had to do was swear to serve the Fuhrer. My shift with her was from early morning until mid-afternoon, and she had already been standing there for about 30 hours, according to my comrades. After she repeatedly refused, though, I lost my temper and threw a chair at her. Her years in this camp had made her so brittle that the chair actually broke her.

As I realized what I had done, I felt a strange sensation overtake me. It was as if, for the first time, I realized that all the Jews and insurrectionists that I had brutalized, tortured, and done disgustingly inhumane things to in the past were, in fact, human beings who had done nothing wrong –in fact, they are more right than I have ever been. I know that these thoughts originate from what I have overheard from the prisoners themselves. I have found myself listening to their words more and more often; however, when I saw what I had done to this girl, I finally realized the truth of their words.

As her two halves and the chair slid to the floor, I felt bile rush up and clog my throat, but all that came out of me was the choked sounds of dry retching as my body reacted to the truth my mind had uncovered. Tears sprang unbidden to my eyes as they rose against my will to again consider the object of my rage.

Her blood covered the wall and the top of the chair back –it flowed freely from her separated body and parted lips. I never imagined that such an emaciated creature could hold so much blood… All this I saw through my blurred vision, but then I was distracted from her condition by the most amazing thing I have ever and, I am sure, will ever see. The girl was holding her hands out to me and beckoning me, pity written on her hunger- and pain-ravaged features. My unwilling body moved into her bloody embrace of its own accord and she wrapped her frail, bony arms around me. She was so thin that I could barely feel the weight of them. I sobbed into her pitiful shoulder, unable to speak. Then, she drew her head near my ear and whispered in a halting, cracked voice, "I forgive you," she paused, mustering her strength for her last words: "I forgive all of you…" she struggled another pointless breath into her shriveled body, and I pulled back to look into her enormous eyes.

The color of those eyes was indescribable. I do not know if there is even a word for the color they were –but it was the most beautiful color I have ever and will ever see. Although I know I have no right to hope I will ever be there, I believe heaven will have that color in it in abundance.

She met my gaze evenly and continued, "God will forgive you, too–"she coughed, and her mouth gushed out blood all over my uniform, but I didn't care. I hung on her every word. "There is hope… for you… God… be with… you…" she gasped, and after uttering these few words, she let out a long, shuddering breath, and her arms fell from me as her body went limp in my caress. I saw her spirit leave that miserable corpse. She died with her eyes open, and I saw the very moment that they ceased to be that indescribable color and faded into a dull, pale gray. I closed her eyes after laying her remains down in the pool of her own blood. In that moment, I made a decision. I will no longer stand by and watch this slaughter without attempting to save the innocents who suffer in it. I will save as many of the people in this camp as I am able. I cannot do it outright, for I am but one man against the might of the great Third Reich. But I will do what I can; I will steal out as many of these poor, defenseless souls as I am able. I am myself a warden; no one will suspect me. I know that such actions will not atone for the hideous acts I have already committed, but I can bear no longer the idea of sitting idly by as my countrymen butcher these people.

I smuggled her out of the camp and buried her in the private cemetery. I will commission a stonemason to carve her a proper gravestone when I have the time and means –at least one of those poor wretches shall have a proper grave. I do not know her name; I did not look at her number. Therefore, I shall call her the only way I know how: as she is to me. On her grave there shall be one word: ENGEL. (a/n: German word. Translation: "angel") And at it, I shall do remembrance to all the millions who have been killed in these camps by my people. That is all I can do.

I am a murderer. My sins are too great for me to bear. But my Angel has given me hope; I can only pray that God, in His infinite mercy, will grant me entrance into heaven that I may see her again."

Every year until his death, he made a pilgrimage to Dachau to mourn the girl. He found out only part of her name from one of her friends, who happened to be one of the lucky people that Rauch was able to rescue. His angel's first name was Maria. He named his first daughter Maria in her honor, and his family continued the tradition at his request.

Ehrich Rauch succeeded in rescuing and rehabilitating over 500 prisoners of Dachau before the War ended.

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OK, there you go: Prologue.

Now, for the faint of heart: On May 4th, 1943, a girl in Dachau, one of the largest German concentration camps, is brutally murdered when, in a fit of rage at her stalwart refusal to deny her parent's cause and swear allegiance to Hitler, her torturer, a man named Ehrich Rauch, throws a heavy oak chair at her. She is so emaciated and weak that the chair breaks pretty much everything it hits, and upon seeing this, her Nazi-bred killer feels, for the first time, guilt for what he has done to those in the camps. With her remaining strength, she forgives him and tells him that God will, too. He smuggles her body out of the camp and buries it in a local graveyard and, deciding that she was God's way of calling him back from darkness and not aware of her name, he resolves to call her "Engel", which is German for angel. He dedicates the rest of the war to secretly sneaking people out of Dachau and succeeded in rescuing about 500 before the war ended. He later found out hte first name of the girl he had killed, and he named his first daughter in her honor: Maria. At his request, his family continued this tradition which he established.

Feel free to review! In fact, reviews are appreciated. ;)

Over and out, Terence Waverly