Chapter 1: Drei Neue Berliners. (Three new Germans)
"I found Rome a city of bricks and left it a city of marble" - Augustus Caesar.
The evening sky was bathed in a majestic hue of maroon as the sun set upon the majestic metropolis of granite that was the capital of the self proclaimed Holy Roman empire Germany. A cool breeze drifted through the still as lively as ever streets as the monotony of day gave way to the loud and bouncy nightlife. There was laughter in the air, a rarity in a chaotic planet that fate itself seemed to have forsaken.
A large group of uncountable number at that very moment were pushing and shoving as they almost stumbled over one another in their frenzied efforts to force their way into the recent food giant that had become the talk of the nation, having entered the country with a bang and taken the taste buds of its chosen location by storm. There was saliva dripping down the moistened faces of the eager customers as they fought like men possesed for entry into the modestly sized establishment clearly not built for such sheer volume of clientele.
Even the sign of the restaurant now packed to the brim bore no electronic lighting of any kind, opting instead for the homely simplicity that was a hand painted sign humbly marked in red paint upon a white backdrop of second-hand oak.
It read: Aincrad Cafe. And in far smaller letters underneath for those few far-sighted enthusiasts with the patience to regard the sign any longer than the fraction of a millisecond most gave it: "Eine Spitze Geschmack der wunder von der Japanese virtuelle Welt"
An amazing taste of the wonders of the Japanese virtual world. Whatever that meant.
It was a title that could not have been more plain and unembellished had a mindless robot been assigned the role of dreaming it up.
The dullness of its namesake was belied only by the rapidity at which its fifth and final possible star was granted upon it by the minister of the national organization of taste and oral health (NATO) himself upon his first and only visit. In which the riot of flavour in the sole order he made had brought the gruff old patriot to tears of pure joy.
There was no less chaos erupting from within the acclaimed establishment as mounting tension both those in the queue and already seated, threatened to erupt into a full blown dangerous brawl.
A grey elderly gentleman was already raising his silverware set of knife and fork as a blonde young woman in a top hat brandished a broken wine bottle. The pair stared each other daggers.
Grace and decorum only went so far when the rumbling of their tummies had long since taken from the starving duo any sense of reason.
Enough was enough.
It was only the sight of the restaurant's sole chef as she popped her head from a kitchen window that looked out into the packed dining area to give the both a disapproving frown.
A look that pacified both alongside the sea of impatient diners who returned the shockingly underaged prodigy with a frown of pure regret that bordered on tears. But all semblance of sadness quickly vanished as the shoulder length dark blonde dressed immaculately yet simply, gracefully ambled from the kitchen bearing a trolley of steaming dishes of various varieties. Meats, vegetables, fish and rolls but most common of all, the heated bowls of spicy noodle soup turned Ramen. Noodles that had been made so much more by the subtle yet skilful tinkering that only a diligent practitioner of Japanese cuisine could hope to divine.
Her long hair of shining chestnut billowed like a mighty cape as she gracefully set down the steaming dishes with a finesse even a temple dancer would have struggled to imitate.
Her fresh and innocent white face whose eyes perfectly matched her hair, was ageless.
She might have been thirteen, or twenty two.
There was a youthful innocence to her cheery expression that seemed in complete odds with the stern yet calming look of wisdom in the gleaming orbs she observed the world through.
"I apologize deeply for the long wait I must have forced upon you all. Yet I thank you, each and everyone of you for your patronage and continued patience." Her voice was best compared to that of a finely polished harp, for each syllable that trickled from her lips was like a musical note and it was a great wonder she did not outright burst into song midway during her address of her now quite at ease customers.
Yet despite all this, there was a bizarre quality in her accent which went ignored only because of the sheer joy the sight of a trayful of dishes inspired in her onlookers.
Her intonation was undisputedly that of a British, though it tried and failed through all manner of exertion to lend itself to the Japanese dialect typical of an Anime character.
All this to be done in passable though not great German, most of which had clearly been learned with the aid of a tutor for whom German could not possibly have been their first language. Many of the customers were evidently locked in a struggle with their inner lust that they simply could not win over through simply chastity, as they practically toppled forward in their chairs to grab an eyeful of the gourmet prodigy who would have looked far more at home on a fashion stage than in the humble diner she called her calling in life.
This in spite of the simplicity of her choice of attire in a red skirt, white blazer of which the zip was fully raised so as to come uncomfortably close to becoming a noose for her thin neck.
These two school-uniform like vestments worn clearly in a setting that came nowhere close to resembling the tight and strict regiment of a school, were topped off with a conservative set of grey tights that tried yet hopelessly failed in concealing the magic in her slender yet well built legs maintained by strenuous exercise which quite obviously took a great toll on an already overbooked chef who'd starred in over forty-two gourmet magazines across the country since quietly arriving from Japan hardly one month ago.
A plain white nametag was pasted conspicuously on her left chest.
It outlined through its scrupolously tidy handwriting of black biro, the young culninary prodigy's first and last name of "Asuna Yuuki".
The "Yuuki"(Translating in Japanese roughly as "Snow", which of course was a pleasant and cool substance that put out fires) in bold and underlined so as to emphasize the importance in its role of denoting "Asuna" as the polar opposite of a certain redheaded brute whose name would never be spoken of so long as she remained in Berlin with her handpicked selection of faithful companions worth more to her than her own worthless life that had been spent in uncaring silence till they showed her the error of her ways.
"Asuna" gave her chestnut tinted contact lenses a careful adjustement as she turned her back to the horde of madly salivating diners.
She was fortunate that at least they had done a good job of obscuring her ugly red eyes, just as the makeover and dye job given to her good companion Rei had artfully masked the sheer travesty of her scruffy brown hair.
Even hours and hours on end of binge watching Anime during every bit of her free time not spent in her Evangelion risking her mind and neck for the sake of a corporation of greedy monsters she considered as good as dead, failed hopelessly to completely remove the awful British accent she had loathed in herself since the day she first learned to speak.
She was simply relieved that those few NERV members who could connect the dots to see through her ruse were most likely a whole continent away.
"You were right, Shinji. Germany truly is wonderful this time of the year just as you predicted."
She inwardly whispered in her native English (which she also detested with every fibre of her being having seen the superior voices that gods among men such as Ash Ketchum, Naruto Uzumaki, Light Yagami and Jonothan Joestar sported from the blurry view of a cheap Telivision set that crackled every few seconds to resemble a minatures snowstorm)
She dropped a tear.
"I'm sorry you could not be alive to witness this magnificent metropolis with us, Yui. But rest assured that I am taking good care of your son Shinji and his love Rei. Your good friend Mari still honors your heroic sacrifice even if your unloving husband will not."
...
Berliner Philharmonie, the largest opera house in all the land of Germany was packed to the brim with madly eager spectators, who had robbed themselves to the tune of two-thousand Euros to be allowed the grand privelege of basking in the presence of the new and rising star now offering a modest bow on the gigantic stage before them.
He had also arrived from Japan at the identical moment of Food giant Aincrad cafe and had risen to stardom with identical breakneck pace.
A short boy who could be no older than fourteen, whose brown hair was arranged into a set of very edgy spikes that wholly juxtoposed his shy and demure demeanour.
He donned a navy suit complete with tie and a golden belt tying grey trousers. He knew that an outfit of any lower calibre would not only disgrace himself before the fans who had been so kind as to grace him with their presence, but bring life back to the late Shinji Ikari who wished only to join his loving mother in the afterlife.
"Shinji's dead." He insisted to himself over and over in his mind. "He died after Asriel ate him alive. After his father gunned him to death with a pistol."
He could not prevent a demented cackle escaping his lips, fortunately unnoticed by anyone but himself.
"Asuka cracked his skull open with her amazing punches" He groaned.
"Misato. His Major smashed a broken bottle into his eyes and the glasss shards cut him apart. He's dead. Shinji's dead. DEAD. DEAD. SHINE. MORTIS. EINE TOTES MAN."
His name was Klein. Klein Gottfried.
A "native German" who had gotten fed up with the corrupt and sleazy big wigs of Tokyo-3 who now wished to return to his home city to live out the rest of his days in the company of good and honest folk of his "homeland" who deserved every bit of his gratitude.
"Danke. Danke alles (thank you all)" He addressed his audience in perfect German.
He was almost grateful that the bane of his existence Asuka, had refused to so much as look at him until he learnt some of her language.
With a captive audience who now awaited his divine cello skills and angelic singing with bated breath, he commenced his sonatana that he'd spent all of yesterday night perfecting well into the small hours of the dawning.
"i deditacte this song to my beloved wife, Sinon and her battles with depression which she triumphed over with flying colours."
He briefly stated, invoking a flood of tears from a large part of the crowd.
He masterfully ran his bow through the ornately crafted cello provided to him as the first words of his heartfelt song erupted from his still trembling lips.
It took all his effort not to look down at the left sleeve of his navy showman suit, where he knew a large collection of bruises and crimson marks lay hidden from the public eye.
Each and every one of them, he accepted from Asuka as a token of her undying love and support for his cause.
Perhaps if he had not been in such a hurry to leave, she'd have been able to crush his skull alongside his left bicep.
He sang, kicking his listeners right in their hearts where it hurt the most.
The opera house store would have made an immense fortune on tissue sales alone by the end of the night.
And this is what he sang, his German ever flawless in every word:
White lips, pale face
Breathing in the snowflakes
Burnt lungs, sour taste
Light's gone, days end
Struggling to pay rent
Long nights, strange men
And they say
She's in the Class A Team
Stuck in her daydream
Been this way since 18
But lately, her face seems
Slowly sinking, wasting
Crumbling like pastries
And they scream
The worst things in life come free to us
'Cause we're just under the upper hand
And go mad for a couple grams
And she don't wanna go outside tonight
And in a pipe she flies to the motherland
Or sells love to another man
It's too cold outside
For angels to fly
Angels to fly
Ripped gloves, raincoat
Tried to swim, stay afloat
Dry house, wet clothes
Loose change, bank notes
Weary-eyed, dry throat
Call girl, no phone
And they say
She's in the Class A Team
Stuck in her daydream
Been this way since 18
But lately, her face seems
Slowly sinking, wasting
Crumbling like pastries
And they scream
The worst things in life come free to us
'Cause we're just under the upper hand
And go mad for a couple grams
But she don't wanna go outside tonight
And in a pipe she flies to the motherland
Sells love to another man
It's too cold outside
For angels to fly
An angel will die
Covered in white
Closed eyes and hopin' for a better life
This time, we'll fade out tonight
Straight down the line
And they say
She's in the Class A Team
Stuck in her daydream
Been this way since 18
But lately, her face seems
Slowly sinking, wasting
Crumbling like pastries
They scream
The worst things in life come free to us
And we're all under the upper hand
And go mad for a couple grams
And we don't wanna go outside tonight
And in the pipe, fly to the motherland
Or sell love to another man
It's too cold outside
For angels to fly
Angels to fly
Angels to die
He had not yet withdrawn his bow from his cello, before the entirety of the room erupted into a storm of full-blow depression.
The eager crowd had transformed in mere seconds into a violent mob.
The mob smashed chairs, tore at the carpeting and kicked at the walls.
Not one man, woman or child among them did not both their eyes choked with painful tears that stung and burned at their faces like corrosive acid.
Some even took to scratching at their own cheeks.
Yet again, Klein's cello accompanied songs of passion in its purest form had broken the hearts of those fortunate and unfortunate enough to hear them.
"Warum ist der welt so Klein?" One young preteen boy muttered with absolute confusion as his parents evacuated themselves and him from the room before the riot reached its devestating peak.
Klein allowed himself a tiny grin of satisfaction as he too had to sneak away from the carnage to avoid being swarmed by his overzealous fans.
This would never have happened had he remained in Tokyo-3 where the only audience to his musical talents would be a drunk purple-haired major who fell fast asleep during the first note he played.
"Solitude in E minor" He would announce as Major Misato, his favourite person next to Asuka on account of the ear-grating laughter she often erupted into upon witnessing Asuka's fist pounding into his bleeding nose and her feet slamming into his reeling shins.
"YEAH E MINOR. ALRIGHT, YEAH!" she would eagerly declare at the top of her lungs, in the most grandiose manner as her eyes clamped shut and she let off a deafening yawn, long before he could let off the first chord.
It brought him joy so great, that he expressed this joy by raising his cello to his own shocked face and bashing it with all his might so that soon, his crimson lifeblood stained the mahogany instrument that he'd poured every bit of his free time into perfecting.
"If only you and Asuka could be here to see me now. Misato. Myself and my darling Rei would be humbled by your presence. Please come to find me soon if you can." Klein said silently as he calmly strolled from the chaotic concert hall to meet with his associates, Sinon and Sachi who he knew to be at the simple yet comfortable abode they shared.
...
"But did you not die in a dungeon raid that was far overleveled for your low level guild, the Black cats?"
A young, thin reporter with prematurely grey hair asked the shyly blushing raven haired nurse whose attractive bob that reached all the way to her shoulders.
Her smile while certainly pleasant, did nothing to fool even the most lazy onlooker that she had been neglected to a gross degree by a wholly uncaring brother.
Sakura Suzuhara and her brother, fifth child and EVA pilot Toji Suzuhara had never been close. But since his recruitment into NERV following the discovery of his astounding synch rates that rivalled those of third child Shinji's, bad had become worse.
NERV created celebrities all right, but they destroyed relationships.
Sakura was forced to give a brief rub to her still stinging jaw, which hurt more mentally than physically. The unfortunate result of a particularly bad fight putting Toji in a beastly temper. It was not a night she liked to think about, let alone speak of. Least of all not now that she had made the crazed decision to flee her godforsaken homeland where everyone was quickly losing their head.
"Sachi? You okay?"
The reporter asked in genuine concern, rousing her back to her senses after taking several seconds to realize that this was the new name she went by now.
She did not know if NERV would send armed men to chase her down the way they would send their forces to recapture their all important EVA pilots were they to be discovered, but Shinji decided it was better safe than sorry and wisely had her change her identity also.
"Live for Toji. Sakura. He wanted you alive and happy as the amazing old brother I knew him to be when he was still around" She remembered Shinji begging her one dark night, when the sadness over losing her brother became too much for her to bear and she came close to leaping from the window of their seventh floor apartment.
"For your sake Shinji. I will." She was eventually able to bring herself to say.
"Yet once again, I am in your debt for saving my life. You truly were Toji's best friend and that is something I can never forget."
"Yes. Mr reporter. Sachi is fine." the so called "Sachi" gaily replied with a pained grin as she faced the camera once more.
"Details of my death were greatly exaggerated." She went on, choosing her words carefully.
"And as for the rumours that our guild was disbanded following that raid gone horribly wrong, let's just say that a more appropriate term would have been that it was under new management. Which is to say that I took leadership over the guild after our former leader Kirito left in a huff."
"Thank you greatly for your input, Sachi. This will certainly make a great headline."
The young reporter gratefully said as the cameraman continued with a now badly aching arm to uphold the heavy camera.
"One last question, young lady that I promise to be the final one."
"I am listening. Mr reporter. But please try to be quick. I have some final business at my hospital to attend to before meeting my friends for the night."
"Is it true. That you and Mr Kirito Kazuto were in a romantic affair prior to the sudden splitting of your guild."
Until now, Sachi had been perfectly calm and happy with her newfound fame and the opportunity to describe so much of herself to the big silver screen.
It was this final seemingly innocent question that truly shattered her.
Her face went crimson red, but not in the way of a lover.
Her teeth clenched so tightly as to almost crack.
She stamped the ground with enough force to shake the Earth, as her hands balled into fists and it took every bit of willpower she had within her to prevent them flying straight into the face of the now deathly frightened news crew whose faces had gone completely white at the sight of Sachi's out-of-left-field outburst.
"Slander like that is exactly why I've been hesitant to share my Sword art Online experiences till this moment" She managed to quietly reply, pure venom dripping in every syllable.
"Kirito's lies. His lies that he was the same level as us. That we could beat the dungeon with ease are the very reason we nearly died. Him not using the full extent of his skills to help us when we needed it the most is the final straw."
The reporter gasped.
"It would not be outlandish to compare the great and honorable Kirito Kazuto to the father of lies." Sachi finished as her fury slowly dissipated and the sun went down.
"I was glad to be rid of that liar. The one good thing I can say that he ever did for me, was to teach me that overconfidence was a slow and insidious killer."
She waved the flabbergasted news crew away.
"Now. If you will excuse me. I have plans. Thank you for the interview, but no more questions."
Then with the politest of bows, Sachi withdrew and walked out of the park without another word.
...
Steam billowed out of Asuka Langley Soryu's ears as a train whistle sounded.
More than a month and still no trace of her former roommate and personal slave Shinji Ikari, nor his stupid group of foolish friends.
The commander's personal suck up, a spoiled Brit who wouldn't know style if it hit her on the head, and Toji's younger sister that no one gave a damn about anyway.
It was valentine's day, and she had been seated alone in a bench in a fairground specifically prepared to celebrate this day of love.
How and why Tokyo-3 still bothered to muster up the funds for these superflous festivals, she would never know.
"Thank you for this box of chocolates." She heard one middle-aged woman say to her husband.
"No problem. Ryoko." Returned the man gaily.
Asuka's vision begun to blur.
"I'm really grateful for this amazing bike you've given me." a nearby teenage boy with blonde hair said to his pink haired companion.
"It's nothing. Makoto." She bashfully said, making the plumes of smoke erupting from Asuka's ears more violent than ever.
"Um excuse me, do you please have the time..." A final man inquired, giving the extremely angry Asuka a gently tap on the shoulder.
A mistake. A big, fat mistake.
For in the next second, the man was suplexed and tossed several feet into the air so as to land in a nearby river where unable to swim, he quickly drowned.
"DOOOOHHH! ASUKA NEEDS LOVE TOOO!" the Germanic redhead roared as she finally lost her final vestige of sanity.
She made headlong for a cart of balloons whereupon she snipped them all away with a nearby pair of scissors, before crushing the cart to wooden splinters with a single powerful punch.
Asuka screamed as she rushed for a crowd of eager guests admiring a small man dressed in the shape of a big, red heart with a smiling face. A radiant symbol of hope in the dark times the world plagued by Angels was going through.
"I DEFY YOU, HEARTMAN!"
Asuka cried furiously as she tore the innocent man's heart costume into two, to leave him weeping pitiously stark naked in the cold spring evening breeze in only his white underwear decorated in red hearts.
He merely sought to make the world a happier place and this was his grisly reward.
The sight of a nearby ferris wheel which naturally bore the emblem of yet another heart in its center, served only to agitate Asuka further.
She sprang towards it, wholly ignorant of a loudspeaker alert that there was a redheaded German girl on the loose.
"Heart on stick, must die." Asuka menacingly declared as she tried with all her strength to lift the wheel from its foundations in the ground with no success, even as the people in the carriages above trembled like reeds in the wind.
It was at this point that an even younger blue-haired girl came merrily stepping past Asuka licking a delicious heart-shaped lollipop.
Little did the poor dear know that this would be the last lollipop she would ever eat in her entire lifetime, and that the remainder of her life would be spent in a disgusting lunatic asylum from where she would never be discharged.
Asuka's anger, as potent as ever despite the exertions her failed attempt at uprooting the ferris wheel had placed on her knackered body, snatched the smaller girl's lollipop and snapped it in two with a deafening crack.
"Heart on stick. Must die!" Asuka emotionlessly remarked as the toddler fainted from sheer terror, her hand on her heart.
...
"WHY CAN'T I DO ANYTHING RIGHT!" Misato screeched as she chugged yet another large bottle of alcohol down, smashing the bottle into a thousand shards when she found it gave her no respite from her truly tragic failings.
"WHY DID YOU HAVE TO GO, SHINJI! WHY! WHY!?"
Unconsciously as she punched the messy table in her drunken rage, her finger landed upon a lone scrap of paper advertising the church she often attended when duty did not call.
A special church run by perhaps the lonely major's sole confidant, Shiemi Moriyama.
One of the few exorcists said to be able to banish any evil presence, both within and outside the frail vessel that each human soul was provided as its body.
The church walls were painted in entirely blue, both the brickwork outside and the fresco walls inside.
Even the holy cross staff Shiemi carried was blue, from the navy tip to the cyan cross.
For Shiemi was the exorcist. The blue exorcist.
It was as Misato continued to bawl in pathetic self pity, that the brief visage of a demonic serpent surfaced in her expression then left as quickly as it came.
It would have taken a sharp eyed observer to witness what was the first sign of corruption that if left unchecked, could only lead to the worst fates imaginable for its victims.
Misato did not have much time.