Prologue:
Death and Rebirth

The pain was diminishing. From a ferocious agony to a martyrdom; from martyrdom to annoyance, and finally, a dull throb.

Everything was dark around her; she was so, so cold. She could hear bubbles with each breath. "This is bad...", she thought. "I´m sorry..."

She had done everything on her power to give a fighting chance to the kid who was almost a son to her. And the girl she had failed to, she had tried her best to protect her. She wondered if it had been enough. For any of them.

Far away, she heard screams and shots. She tried to get up. Her muscles did not respond. Even opening her eyes was like trying to push a car.

"Like my car... Shinji helped me to put it back on the ground... ...Shinji..." She was delirious.

She felt her head sliding down the wall, she was falling sideways.

Her last thought and her last emotion while the life abandoned her body were "It´s not FAIR!", and a terrible anger.

She awoke in a dark place. She felt like somebody was watching her. And she could hear several voices, whispering in the dark.

"No, she doesn´t deserve Hell." She heard.

"She doesn´t deserve Heaven either. Her soul is tainted." Added another voice.

"Her intentions were pure." A third voice.

She got on her feet, a little bit of light let her see that the floor was polished wood. The voices carried on with their debate.

"But her behavior was reckless."

She saw two long desks, one at each side. In each desk, five silhouettes; all of them had spiky hair, and... horns? Long ears?

There was another desk at the center, not as wide as the others, but much taller. ItTs occupant was immobile, silent.

Misato furrowed her brow, and stomped on the floor. "Shut up! I have to get back to NERV right now!"

The voices shut up. The silhouette on the central desk seemed to stare at her, and finally, he spoke. "Whatever happens now, it´s no longer your bussiness."

Misato exploded in anger. "Not my bussiness? It´s a blood bath! Unless I do something RIGHT NOW, they will kill my children! And you dare to say it´s not my bussiness!"

"It isn´t. Not anymore."

"I swore to myself that I would fight for them to my last breath! And I won´t abandon them now."

"You did. You fought to your last breath. Now, the only thing left is to decide what will happen to your soul."

"NO! I won´t let them die!" And tried to find a way out from that room.

A female silhouette whispered something on the ear of the one who had spoken. He nodded. "Your soul, Misato Katsuragi, is grey. Neither the white of purity nor the blackness of evil dominate on it. You lived from an extreme to the other."

Furious, Misato faced him. "That doesn´t help me at all." She answered coldly.

"You are as deserving of rewards as of punishments. The judges can´t decide on your fate. You will have to wait until they reach a verdict."

"Well, while they decide, I´m going back. Maybe I can still do something."

"No. You would be only a ghost, powerless."

Misato got even angrier. "IT´S NOT FAIR! They will kill them all!" Tears of fury and helplessness rolled down her cheeks. "Those bastards will kill my children!" She stomped towards the central desk, with each step, the wooden floor echoed.

The main judge paid attention to a new whisper from the female figure at his right. Watching Misato all the time.

"You are risking your chance, remote as it is, to enter Heaven."

"WHAT DO I CARE ABOUT HEAVEN NOW?" Misato hit the desk with her palm, with such strenght that she should have broken her hand. Instead, the desk cracked.

The female figure slid a box over the desk, and for the first time, spoke at her. "Are you willing to lose everything to save them? Would you embrace heaven´s wrath to save them? Will you take on your hands the revenge of the murdered dead?"

"Yes." Misato´s eyes burned with inner fire.

"Open the box, then. Tame the wrath inside. And you will have the power you need to save them, but you will stain your soul, forever."

The side desks emptied in an instant. Their occupants would not dare to stay in the room-

Misato opened the box. A monstruous skull came out, wrapped in green and white rags. Immediatly, the skull tried to bite Misato. She drew away one hand and punched the skull with the other. The skull backed away, surrounding her, like a shark. The rags floated behind it.

Misato turned around smoothly, keeping an eye on her opponent. The skull came close for a bite, Misato dodged it.

Too late, Misato realized that it was a trap, the rags wrapped around her, tightening painfully. A pull, and she fell to the floor. Mockingly, the skull hovered over her, enjoying its victory.

Misato still had a free hand, and took the chance. She grabbed the rags with all her strenght, and pulled rapidly. She grabbed the surprised skull, digging her fingers in the eye sockets. It was terribly cold inside, even colder than the Antarctic wind that haunted her nightmares.

She wouldn´t release her prey. The skull flew all around the room, dragging Misato behind. The Major´s body crashed against the desks, the walls, the floor, but held fast.

"Give up already, you bastard!"

Finall, long minutes later, the skull stopped, accepting its new mistress. The rags released Misato,who stood up, still holding the skull.

"You have won, Misato Katsuragi. You will go back to Earth, to face evil. Until you erradicate it or understand it. You are the Onryö. You are the wrath of the murdered dead, the revenge of the innocents. May all the gods pity you."

The rags wrapped around her once again, not like a net or a shroud, but as an elegant kimono, made of white silk, the brims and the sash were emerald green. Her purple hair became as black as a moonless night, there were even stars shining between her locks. The skull hovered in front of her face, and slowly, fused with her, becoming a porcelain mask, its right side was covered with cracks. A blood tear falling from her left eye was the only touch of color on her new face. The eyes were the deepest shadows imaginable.

The Onryö held up her hands, covered by the sleeves. Her porcelain mask twisted into a feral grin, and her clothes flared, moved by an unfelt gale. Her hands came out, completely fleshless. Just bone claws at the end of long skeletal fingers.

She threw her head back, and a bloodthirsty cackle filled the room.

Author Notes:

This story was inspired by the stories of the Spectre by Michael Fleischer and Jim Aparo in the 1970´s, and the amazing run John Ostrander and Tom Mandrake had on The Spectre title in the 1990´s.

A very intriguing aspect of Ostrander & Mandrake´s run was the appearance of several previous Spectres; men, and at least a woman, from different cultures, places and times, who took the cloak and hood of the divine wrath before Jim Corrigan did.

Sadly, the other Spectres were barely explored. I really wanted to see more of them.

I respectfully dedicate this humble story to Michael Fleischer, Jim Aparo, John Ostrander, and Tom Mandrake. Several scenes in later chapters draw from their work.