The Many Eyes of God

Chapter Eight

There is a notion in some scientific and philosophical circles called eternalism or block time. To the naÏve human mind, the universe is three-dimensional and changes with time, but special relativity tells us that isn't so. There is no absolute notion of time; people traveling relative to one another perceive the order of events differently, as if taking unique diameter cuts through a pie or a cake. The whole of the universe could be perceived this way. In this view, the universe is an eternal, unchanging thing, like a collection of all the frames in a film.

No human being could properly perceive such a thing with their eyes and ears. It would be beyond comprehension. To try to glimpse it would be like asking a stick figure to look out of its page.

What those philosophers and scientists who considered this idea never conceived of was the possibility that a being might become eternal, that it might stick its fingers into the celluloid of the universe and change a few frames, seeing the changes ripple across the film of history.

From the moment she brought Adam and Lilith's flesh together, Rei had wielded that power. From the moment she became one with Lilith again, what reached her was limited only by the speed of light. All the past was open to her. She saw everything. She could make her image appear anywhere. She saw Shinji on the streets of Tōkyō-3 as he fumbled over a public phone that wouldn't take his call. She saw Unit-01 absorb Ikari Yui, depriving a small boy of his mother and catalyzing her husband's sole mission throughout the rest of his life. She saw further and further back, to the arrival of the Black Moon on Earth after a journey of a billion years.

She touched the past. She touched the near future, too. To her, she wasn't changing an immutable history of the universe. She was a part of it, too, and her actions were consistent with what she saw and intended.

She knew, even before she took him, that Shinji would reject the peaceful and inert existence she offered him in the LCL sea. Did that make her actions pointless? Far from it. She gave him a choice, and he made it, and forever after he was a different person, a different man.

But though Rei could see the past in perfect detail, the future—beyond a certain point—was cloudy and obscured. Certainty gave way to probability, to endless quantum fluctuations and mere predictions, none of which told Rei anything.

Something else was opposing her.

Something else had a different vision of the future, and while they fought—while they disagreed—nothing was certain. Nothing could be agreed upon.

Thus, from the first moment she wielded that timeless power, Rei knew of Eisheth Zenunim. She knew Eisheth would come. She preserved human civilization while mankind slept in the sea so that, when Eisheth came, the tools to fight her off would still be intact. She visited human beings in the sea, not only to persuade them of the better, more fulfilling life they would have if they left, but to find manpower to repel Eisheth's assault. Shinji's choice was worth fighting for. It was her duty as Lilith to do so.

But the hardest thing to do for a being with near-limitless power was to exercise restraint. Rei knew that well. One of the first encounters between them was over the first Angel Eisheth would've sent to Earth to ferry her children through space. Though wary of snuffing out life lightly, Rei hardly hesitated. She wiped that Angel and its occupants from existence, disarming the threat.

And in return, Eisheth chose a Japanese naval ship and plucked it from the sea, sending it to an ontological oblivion. Eisheth herself pointed out the futility of such tit-for-tat tactics.

"Neither of us will be satisfied with the outcome if we trade such heavy blows."

That was Eisheth's reasoning, and had she not chosen to appear to Rei as none other than Ikari Yui herself, Rei might've listened sooner, but to take the image of that woman was nothing less than offensive. Yui's smile as used by Eisheth was little more than a knowing sneer of contempt. It suggested she found Rei foolish and incomplete, a fraction of what Yui had been and a fraction of what Eisheth was.

But the lesson was well-taken. Rei and Eisheth could obliterate each other's peoples with ease, and nothing would be accomplished.

So with the vision of an uncertain future all around them, Rei had chosen to listen, rather than be defiant. "What do you propose?"

"That we limit our powers and let our children fight instead," Eisheth had said. "Whatever powers we do use, we use only with the other's consent. The other may then use equal power at a time of her choosing unopposed."

That much Rei could accept. She had faith in human beings, in their ability to resist Eisheth's temptations.

And what else could Rei do to stop her?

Each time Rei and Eisheth came in conflict, that hope was put to the test. Since Eisheth's children had come to Earth en masse, human strength and determination were pitted against the Zenunim's mindless obedience to Eisheth and their ability to regenerate from wounds. They came and never retreated, and only explosives could appreciably slow them down. All over the world, they crawled from the sea to carry out Eisheth's vision for humanity: their total dissolution and return to Instrumentality.

There were many fronts for this war. With one Eva destroyed and another badly damaged, the world outside Japan was quickly becoming Eisheth's playground. South America offered little resistance, and only the vast, sparsely populated mountain areas gave humanity refuge from the fighting near the coasts. When the German Eva was annihilated, it opened up Europe to Eisheth's blitz. But for the one working Eva in Tōkyō-2, the world was wide open for Eisheth to concentrate her forces and slowly conquer through time and attrition.

Thus, it was puzzling to Rei that, rather than rampage across less well-defended territories, Eisheth chose to renew her attack on Japan instead. But that was what Rei's limited sight told her, for between the crystal-clear past and the murky future, there was the ever-changing present.

#

In that present, Rei glimpsed a damaged city among sheer rocky cliffs. Helicopters and fighter jets buzzed over it, in anticipation of an attack yet to come.

Rei was there, as much as she could be—as much as she could be anywhere.

It was the city of Sakai in Fukui, where weeks before, the Russians and the Chinese had invaded. The city had not fared well. Many of the residents had fled; some others had stood at the basalt cliffs and jumped to their deaths. The iconic Maruoka Castle, a testament to ancient Japanese architecture, stood damaged and in disrepair.

This was the legacy of Misato's doubts. Her overreaching quest to hunt down believers in Eisheth had fostered doubt within others in return. That was why the Russians and the Chinese had invaded. Had Rei done more to assuage Misato's doubts, the city of Sakai might've been left intact. Nor was it too late to undo the damage. She could've erased restored the broken city of Sakai, but only if she were prepared for Eisheth to mend something in return. What would she do with such power—bring dead Angels back to life? No, such a cost couldn't even be considered. The legacy of Misato's doubts was that Eisheth would strike at the weakened city, hoping to make it her foothold in Japan.

And Rei knew, as did the Japanese, that they wouldn't be able to hold the town. She watched the outskirts of the city as SDF prepared for the coming assault. Their briefings weren't concerned with defending the city—only with completing a civilian evacuation before the inevitable.

"If you can help it, we want to avoid alerting the Zenunim to our presence."

That was Hyūga, who instructed several platoon commanders for the upcoming operation. Using an old, abandoned school on the rural outskirts of the city, Hyūga briefed the junior officers in what had once been a teachers' lounge. An outdated calendar for school events and activities hung on the wall, just above a dusty coffee machine. Pictures from students had faded with time. Only Hyūga's red pen, which he used to mark a map of the city, brought vivid color to the room.

"Based on previous attacks, Eisheth won't bother concentrating her forces," said Hyūga. "She'll try to establish dominance over as much of the city as possible to make it too painful to root her out. What that means is that at any particular point, you can fight off the Zenunim for a short time, but they'll swarm to your position if you engage them for long. We've set up barricades and obstructions in the streets at these positions…." Hyūga circled several intersections. "Civilians will be brought in from safe locations for pickup. Get them out, and then get out."

"Captain," asked one officer, "what can you tell us about good tactics to use against these creatures? Our initial briefs didn't seem to say anything worked well against them."

"Your briefs are right. The Zenunim liquefy themselves to regenerate from wounds. Whole limbs are more difficult for them to repair, but each one is still as strong as a bear and can't be intimidated. They will punch and cut through armor without hesitation, and if we see any of the Agratin or the Naamahan today, this really won't be pretty. If they do show their faces, you shouldn't be shy about going on the offensive against them. It's harder for Agratin to reconstitute themselves once they fall out of the sky, and if you can blow up a Naamahan underground, the weight of the soil works to your advantage. Otherwise, they will wreak havoc with our air support and vehicles.

"Now, once each of your platoons has reached the rally point, the civilians will be shepherded to safety while the N2 weapon is deployed. After the detonation, the rest of us go on cleanup duty. We'll spread into two groups, sweeping north and south to clean up any remaining Zenunim not caught in the blast. You should all have detailed assignments for the mop-up in your folders. Any questions?"

Some nervous lieutenants glanced at Hyūga's scrawled markings, but the room was silent.

"Very good. Go to it, then."

The junior officers departed with their folders and maps, and Hyūga packed up his own to prepare for the coming assault. It was only then, as he gazed out the window to the city and the cliffs beyond, that he glimpsed the image of Rei standing there, watching him.

"How long have you been there?" he asked. "Not long, I hope."

"Long enough to hear your estimates of the casualties."

Hyūga sighed. "Right. There's no fooling you. I take it you don't approve of this idea?"

Rei said nothing.

"For what it's worth, I wish we had a better solution, but we don't. There's only one surefire way to stop the Zenunim, and it involves something very big going boom. I'm not happy about it. Nobody is. If we win this war, we won't have much left if we're reduced to destroying our own cities to contain them. But Mi-chan and I have thought long and hard about it. The best strategic minds in Japan, and around the world, have worked on it. In the end, we're not sure there's anything else we can do. Is there something we missed? Do you have some insight into the enemy that we lack?"

She didn't. Eisheth's children were numerous and weren't easily killed. But what troubled her more than the stark measures they were taking was the resigned attitude Hyūga expressed. Humanity was running out of options. Visions of the end were setting in. The mother of humanity had an obligation to inspire hope in her children, but Rei couldn't imagine how to do that.

Unlike the seven-eyed giant who had fostered life on Earth billion of years ago, she was still too much like the wounded girl whom medics wheeled out on a stretcher to try to save Tōkyō-3 because she'd been asked to do so. Rei was both of these things, yet she was also neither of these things. The sense of responsibility was there, but like Hyūga, she lacked the insight to deliver on it.

Hyūga nodded grimly at Rei's lack of response. "I suppose that's comforting. Well, keep an eye out for us, will you? I know you might not be able to do much more than that."

She could do that much. She watched as the SDF convoys barreled into the city from the mountain pass to the east, but the vehicles were few in number. The SDF members went to battle with their rifles strapped to their backs, but they carried little ammunition. Though grenades and mines were in high demand, there were precious few grenade launchers, and only a handful of remote detonators to speak of. The people of Japan went to war undermanned and poorly-armed, and yet they fought anyway.

And Rei would be there to watch them go to their deaths. Any action beyond being a watchful eye would give Eisheth an advantage. That was Rei's longstanding doctrine and belief. If she chose to use her power first, Eisheth would have the luxury to decide when and where to respond in kind. Rei had already given Eisheth much, and perhaps for the wrong reasons. It was an insidious, gnawing anxiety that gripped Rei as she waited for the other shoe to drop. She knew it was coming, but she couldn't know when.

So when the Zenunim began to coalesce from the LCL sea, Rei did nothing to stop them on her own. A wave came in, crashing on the volcanic rocks, and when it ebbed back out, a legion of those white, masked creatures stood at the base of the cliffs. The small suction cups that covered their bodies rippled as the creatures moved. Their five-fingered hands, equally spaced like starfish arms, grasped and clawed at the sheer face of the rock.

The Zenunim began the climb, and Rei did the only safe thing in her power to do: she provided the information for others to act on. She went to Hyūga, finding him at the command tent.

"They're here?" he said immediately.

"At the cliffs."

He grimaced. "That will be difficult. The best way to take care of that will be from the air."

"Planes and helicopters are vulnerable," warned Rei.

Hyūga shrugged. "Human beings are vulnerable."

So it was. With no options and no solutions, humanity committed itself to the best defense it could muster. Rei watched from the below the cliffs as the Zenunim climbed.

KA-PAM, PAM!

But a squad of SDF helicopters swooped in from above, lobbing missiles at the cliffs to bring them, and the Zenunim, down. Rock and fire and alien flesh rained back into the sea as rotors thumped in the sky. The creatures leapt vainly to catch the helicopters, but the pilots were savvy to this tactic. They stayed well back from the cliffs, and even when their missiles ran out, the bullets from their mounted guns were more than sufficient to cut down the children of Eisheth and send them back to the ocean below.

Alas, only the children of Eisheth were so vulnerable. After all, there were seven Seeds of Life, and five of them had aligned with Eisheth. Some of them had Angelic children, bearing the Fruit of Life, but Nozomi and the Eva had defeated eight of those ten messengers.

No, what came after the helicopters weren't Angels. Instead, they were the children of Agrat bat Mahlat, the third Seed of Life, ally of Eisheth and bringer of the Fruit of Knowledge. The children of Agrat differed in one crucial respect from their cousins, the Zenunim. The Zenunim, like humans, evolved to walk the ground. The Agratin, on the other hand, had grown thin, leathery wings to soar instead. These were the first parts of their bodies that formed from the LCL sea, and those wings carried the Agratin to the sky.

THUNK!

An Agratin landed on a helicopter's hood and dug its claws into the metal. It was massive, as big as a grown man when it reared up on its two legs, and its weight threw off the helicopter's balance.

"Get off, you goddamn beast!" cried the pilot, and he drew his sidearm, aiming through the windshield glass.

Pop-pop-pop!

The glass shattered, spraying shards through the cockpit, but the Agratin shrugged off the bullets. Holes in its thin wings ran with red fluid and healed quickly. It stared down the pilot and his partner, watching them with its three black eyes. It turned its large, narrow head toward them, and opened its mouth.

"Shoot it again!" cried the co-pilot. "Do something!"

"Do what? You got better bullets for this thing?"

The pilots looked at each other; they tried to unstrap themselves from their seats, but the Agratin caught them with a devastating scream.

KEE-KEE-KEE!

Each cry shot anti-AT fields out in rainbow hexagons; the pilot and co-pilot splattered about the cockpit, and their war machine soared unmanned into the sea.

As this helicopter was taken out, so too were others. The Agratin ripped and tore at metal with their powerful, beak-like maws.

And Rei watched the choppers fall. She could've helped the people inside. She could've shielded them from the Agratin and their dissolving screeches, but she hadn't. She was there to watch and observe, to inform Hyūga of the situation they faced. That was all. She had chosen to trust that mankind could prevail over Eisheth. To do otherwise would be to give up on that hope.

Even as that hope faded with each passing second.

Her inaction set in stone, Rei looked past the cliffside front of the battle to the city of Sakai once more. SDF parties combed the city for civilians to evacuate, bringing their payloads to the command post. At that abandoned school, helicopters came and went from a dirt soccer field. Armored vehicles idled in the parking lot to take on more ammunition, and rescued civilians were funneled into the main building like students attending orientation.

But they were only the ones SDF had picked up and vetted in the city. By the road that circled the campus, a small number of displaced souls crowded around, looking for salvation and finding none. The patrolling sentries watching them warily, forbidden to help.

"Please!" a woman called out from behind the fence. "Won't you help us? Won't you let us in?"

A passing SDF member offered her nothing. "Step back, please."

The woman glared at him, and she grabbed at the fence and shook it twice while holding his gaze. The SDF member tightened his grip on his rifle, but the woman moved on, setting her sights on another sentry who might be more sympathetic. Letting go of his rifle, the SDF member went for his radio.

"Hammerhead, South Alpha-Two. Just had another civvie approach the fence. She's heading west near the perimeter. Please advise."

Back in the command post, what once had been a gymnasium had been converted into a command-and-control center, with maps and computers mounted on collapsible tables. The defenders' leadership listened intently to the reports of civilians on the perimeter with growing dismay.

"We've got to do something," said the colonel in charge. "Can you imagine the stain it would leave if we refused refugees on our own doorstep?"

"If they're refugees at all, Colonel," said Hyūga, who stood over a map of the campus and surrounding areas. "Colonel Katsuragi is very suspicious of Cult of Eisheth activity meant to subvert our efforts. I think we should be wary of any interactions with civilians near this base."

"I refuse to leave innocents to die out there simply because we are too afraid of Eisheth to help them."

"With respect, have you considered that we already have an N2 weapon targeted at the city center at this very moment?"

"After making a good-faith effort to evacuate as many as we can. That doesn't stop at the fence out there just because we're concerned about our safety. Draw up a sound plan to begin extracting those civilians, Captain. Do it without sacrificing the security of this base. Do you understand me?"

Hyūga understood, but any entrance of civilians off the street would compromise the campus's security in some way, big or small. They didn't know these refugees. They couldn't know them. And anyone could be touched by Eisheth, influenced to serve her will.

So Hyūga did his best to minimize the danger. He sent out a dozen men to secure the gate to the school, and he had civilians brought in one at a time. This operation he supervised himself.

"Search them thoroughly," he advised the men. "Strip them down if you have to. I don't want to see even a pair of nail clippers here."

Was his caution warranted? Rei couldn't say. She had, on occasion, glanced into the minds of men to determine truth from falsehood, but that too was a restricted action, one Eisheth had to be granted freedom to use if Rei used it. Most of the Zenunim were mindless from eons in the LCL sea; they lacked individuality, and there was little value in visiting them. But if Rei used that power, and then Eisheth had the freedom to peer into Misato's mind? The damage to their cause could be extreme. Rei didn't dare risk it.

But she watched closely, and she let Hyūga see her there. Yet when all the refugees were searched, all they found were some harmless pocket knives. If Eisheth had sent followers to the base, it wasn't apparent to Rei. Not yet.

Once the refugees had been processed, Hyūga had the lot of them marched to the dirt soccer field to await evacuation. Standing elbow-to-elbow, the whole group took up almost a fourth of the pitch. Some were young; some were old. Some were well-dressed; others barely wore rags. The whole gamut of humanity was there, but really, it was only all those who could reach that abandoned school in the rural eastern part of town. How many more were in other sections that SDF wouldn't reach? How many people would be turned back from the SDF caravans that ventured downtown, simply because there was no room to save them?

Was it really worth risking lives when Eisheth, in large part, wished to preserve life, too?

No, no. Rei couldn't let herself think that way. Eisheth may not have wished indiscriminate murder on humanity, but she deliberately fostered terror and paranoia among humans. She had a cynical view of the lives of separate individuals, and she did everything in her power to reinforce that notion for mankind.

And with a large cluster of defenseless civilians waiting for evacuation, she would do something there to instill fear and panic. Rei was sure of it. She appeared before Hyūga, stopping him in his tracks.

"Something wrong?" he asked, resuming stride on his path around the soccer field.

"Eisheth won't be satisfied with letting so many people escape her," said Rei.

"So you think she'll make a move?" Hyūga squinted, scanning the fenceline. "I think you're right. But we already have people watching the road. The civilians have all been searched. I'm not sure what else we can do but be vigilant and ready."

There it was again—that helplessness, that resignation to what power and capabilities they had left. Hyūga didn't have a choice, of course. He couldn't make more SDF sentries and guards appear out of thin air. Rei had a choice; she just knew it would be unwise to act beyond the narrow boundaries she'd set for herself.

So they waited, in anticipation and resignation, for some act to break this tenuous status quo. It would take two trips of a cargo helicopter to spirit the refugees to safety. The first of those behemoths lumbered toward the abandoned school with its dual rotors pounding the air. Dirt kicked up from the grassless field, and the closest civilians shielded their eyes from the spray.

"All right!" Hyūga stepped out, between the chopper and its would-be payload. "We'll count off as many as we can to go in the first flight. We'll try to keep families together as much as possible. Please be patient."

"Patient?" cried a man. "You want us to be patient? The world is ending outside that fence. How long do we have to wait?"

"Until another helicopter can get in place to evacuate the rest of you. I'm sorry, but that's the reality of the situation right now. We're doing everything we can to get everyone out."

"You're not doing enough!" shouted a woman. "The five-eyed demon is coming for us, and you want us to wait here for her to have her way!"

Some of the SDF guards stepped closer, encircling the refugees, but Hyūga held off his men with a gesture to wait. "All of you will leave before a single SDF member has the chance to do so, except for the pilot who will escort you out. You have my word on that. Now please, if there are volunteers to stay behind until the second helicopter arrives—"

"You're too late!" A man stormed through the crowd to face Hyūga. "Eisheth is here!"

"Where?"

"Right here." The man closed his eyes, and before the whole crowd of refugees, he dissolved into LCL, leaving his clothes behind.

The crowd yelped and gasped; it scattered around the puddle like oil fleeing from water.

"Stay back!" cried Hyūga, his rifle at the ready. "I doubt this guy just wanted to give us a little show!"

Sure enough, the puddle of LCL began to froth and foam. Against gravity it reshaped itself back into human-like form, but what came from that LCL wasn't fully human either. Like the children of Eisheth, it was pallid and bore suction cups on stalks all over its body. It was hairless, and where its face would've been was a mask instead, with two slits for eyes above three decorative, drawn-in ones, mimicking the appearance of Eisheth herself.

The creature wiggled its fingers, and like its Zenunim cousins, its fingertips shined with anti-AT fields meant to dissolve whatever it came in contact with.

Pop-pop-pop! Hyūga fired a burst of three rounds into the creature's body, causing it to stagger.

"That's terribly unimaginative," he said. "When I had the ability to remake myself, I at least considered wings."

But the follower of Eisheth, remade into her children's image, ejected the spent bullets from his body, his wounds healing and becoming invisible.

"Coordinate fire!" cried Hyūga.

POP-POP! POP-POP! POP-POP! Rifle shots peppered the follower of Eisheth, blasting pure LCL from his body. When he was too weak to stand, he dissolved again.

"Go now!" Hyūga pointed to the front of the refugee crowd. "To the chopper, go!"

The civilians rushed to Chinook helicopter, some of them running right over the puddle of LCL where the follower of Eisheth had been. Hyūga kept his rifle trained on that spot, and when the bull rush cleared, he fired six more rounds into the ground, dispersing the seeping LCL.

"You two!" He gestured to a pair of SDF members. "You keep firing on this spot, you hear me? Don't let that man reform."

"Yes, Captain!"

"Captain!" A voice came in, fraught with static, over the radio. "Captain Hyūga, we can't lift off! No one will get clear!"

Hyūga tightened a strap on his ballistic goggles and started wading through the crowd. "Everyone, please! Please, the helicopter won't be able to take off with all of you trying to board!"

Tchew! The ground rumbled, and a plume of smoke rose over the fence. With raised hills surrounding the soccer field bowl, no one by the helicopter could see below the tops of the trees on the far side of the road, but the pop-pop-pop of gunfire and the occasional tchew of a grenade shaking the earth told them all they needed to know.

"Hostile contacts!" said a voice on the radio. "Not Zulu, but white and pasty and just as damned difficult to kill as them! Counting fifteen—one-five—hostile contacts at the southwest fenceline!"

But neither Hyūga, nor the rest of the personnel in the soccer field bowl, were in any position to help their comrades at street level. The frantic motions of the refugee crowd into the helicopter, along with the powerful wind from the rotor blades, kicked up unholy amounts of dust, blanketing the area in a brown fog. Over shouting and engine noise, the site of the helicopter's landing was a cacophonous din, and the distant explosions and gunfire didn't help matters. Even the shots from the two SDF members Hyūga had assigned to keep the follower of Eisheth at bay hardly disturbed anyone.

Two close-range shots from the helicopter's side window, however, sent a few civilians running.

"Step back!" cried the co-pilot, and he shoved his sidearm through the window again, pointing it to the sky.

POP-POP!

"Step back, I say! You're going to get all of us liquefied!"

Hyūga muscled and fought his way through the crowd, like a small fish trying desperately to swim against the incoming tide.

"What the hell are you doing?" he shouted at the co-pilot. "Put that thing away! We aren't here to threaten civilians!"

"They're the ones threatening us!"

The helicopter lurched and shook, and the co-pilot grabbed onto his seat to stay steady.

"See what they're doing?" he said. "We need to get loaded and take off before they start hanging from the wheel wells trying to hitch a ride. This is no time to let the perfect be the enemy of the good, sir. We can save a lot of people here, but we may not be able to save anyone if we can't get this helicopter off the ground!"

"Does that tally include yourself, Lieutenant?"

The co-pilot grimaced. "I'll step out of this chopper and hand over the controls to whoever you like if those are your orders."

Hyūga sighed. They both knew there was no chance he'd ask anyone to do that.

But the world was coming to an end around them. Grenade explosions rattled and shook the earth. Followers of Eisheth ran into the fences and passed through them like water through a strainer.

"They're coming from up the hill!"

A barrage of gunfire sliced through the followers at the fence, halting them in their tracks, but from such a distance, they could only be kept in place, not even wounded enough to have to dissolve into LCL to repair the damage.

"Captain Hyūga, report," came the colonel's voice on the radio. "What's the situation out there?"

"Insurgent followers of Eisheth have attacked the base. We've been unable to evacuate the refugees. They're swarming the helicopter and can't be separated."

"How long can you hold off the insurgents?"

Tchew! A grenade explosion forced Hyūga to sway on his feet.

"Estimate overrun in five minutes," he replied. "I advise full evacuation of all personnel and civilian staff."

"With what? A helicopter landing pad that won't be cleared? With ground vehicles that can't outrun the enemy? General Matsuzaka has been apprised of the situation. Hold out as long as you can."

Hyūga frowned. "Hold out for what?" he muttered. "Rei?"

She appeared at his side.

"What do you see?"

She saw SDF caravans in the city being swarmed by the Zenunim, some of them helpless to fight through mountains of monsters. She saw tanks laid low by unseen foes that burrowed from the ground and pierced even the heaviest armor.

And she saw SDF members on a distant hillside, pointing a truck-mounted missile launcher at the city beneath them. The members sat by their radios, waiting for word to launch, and the officer in charge lifted the safety cover on the firing switch, his thumb hovering over the button.

Back at the abandoned school, Rei met Hyūga's gaze. Her look was calm, but her disappointment with what she saw left her anything but.

"Your generals have lost confidence that the evacuation can proceed," she told him. "They intend to detonate the N2 weapon to contain the threat."

Hyūga scoffed. "No, it can't—" But he looked away bitterly and clenched his radio in his fist. There was nothing he could do. He was a lowly captain. Even with Misato's pull, a few panicked brass would do whatever they thought might assuage their own fears. And they were afraid. The generals who signed off on this launch were every bit as afraid as the civilians who rushed the Chinook helicopter, damning each and every one of them to die in the coming blast.

And when that realization set in for Hyūga, he looked to Rei with a resigned, exhausted expression.

"Well then," he said, "is there anything you can do?"

There was a lot Rei could do, but how much would she do? No small number of people had already died in wars between men, and then between Eisheth and Lilith's children. Why should Rei choose these people to live instead? What right did she have, as mother of all life on earth, to pick her favorites to carry on while she let others die?

"If nothing else," Hyūga went on, "you could tell Mi-chan I'm sorry I didn't come back. I'm sorry another man had to barge into her life just to abandon her again. Maybe the next one can do better about not getting into a jam like this."

"Is that all?" asked Rei.

"What else is there to say? I love her. She knows that. Even when she doubted her fellow man, I hoped she would see her mistake and correct it, and she did. You can't ask for anything more from a person, and there's nothing more I can say now to tell her how much I enjoyed our time together, short though it was."

A second section of fenceline collapsed, and with it came more of the hideous, transformed humans who called themselves followers of Eisheth. Hyūga took hold of his rifle, and he trotted out by the helicopter to use its body for cover.

"Excuse me," he said to Rei. "Seems there's more I have to do for a little while."

So calm he was, even in the face of death. Humans had long come to grips with the notion that they might fail; they could die or worse in this fight, and if Rei could save them, they certainly couldn't rely on such divine favor. They had to make their own fate.

All because Rei had shown so much inaction.

No, it wasn't fair to consider acting then, when she'd left so many others to suffer. Hyūga was important to Misato. Misato, despite their differences in approaches, was a friend. Hyūga was a friend, though a more distant one. There could be no denying those connections, those bonds, influenced Rei. But Hyūga's influence on her went far beyond those personal ties. Rei had seen much of human fear and panic; it was apparent in the refugees rush on the helicopter and the SDF's imminent launch of the N2 weapon. Through Hyūga, however, Rei had seen a different side of mankind: a side that was prepared for the worst, that saw the end coming and no longer had any inkling of what could stave it off.

Hope was waning for humanity, even for its most ardent defenders. And with that waning hope, Rei felt a little of her own resolve start to wither and die.

No more, she decided. Even if it cost her much, humanity needed a win.

So from the chaos of the battle—of helicopter pilots trying to clear the ramp so they could take off, of SDF sentries pelting their foes with chunks of lead and hoping they might do enough damage to buy time, or of a bright light that zipped overhead to portend doom—Rei created hope.

It came in a flash, from which a mushroom cloud grew. The sound came later.

WHOOOM!

Dust and debris shot through the campus grounds. The pressure wave obliterated the Zenunim and their allies, but Self-Defense Forces in the area stood unharmed. Wind and shrapnel bent around them, leaving the Japanese forces untouched. The helicopter and the school stood their ground paradoxically, even as trees snapped and were ripped apart. Followers of Eisheth disintegrated as the gray cloud of dust, dirt, gravel, and ash ripped through the city. Stalled convoys found themselves freed, even as the roads they rode on peeled up and became rutted.

Mystified, Hyūga extended a single finger toward the debris cloud that surrounded him.

"Don't," said Rei.

He pulled back like a child recoiling from a hot iron. "Sorry," he said. "But this—are you doing this?"

Rei nodded.

"Is that wise?" He wiped his hands clean, but still he stared at the rolling cloud of ash that surrounded them all yet touched none of them. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm grateful, but there's a price to pay for this, isn't there?"

There was, and Rei knew that cost would have to be paid soon. She'd incurred some heavy debts of late.

And to punctuate the point, someone else appeared in the ruins of the soccer bowl, another spectator to the battle and the war. She took the image of Ikari Yui, but her expression was blank. It was just a stare. It should've said nothing, but Rei saw much in that false image's expression:

Anticipation. Glee. Certainty.

Eisheth, like Rei, had been watching. She'd taken notice of Rei's use of power. She'd allowed it. She would remember and file away that debt for the right time and place.

And Rei no longer cared. This war had to end, and soon. If not, there would be no more hope left in the hearts of men.

All she could do to try to keep that fire alive was to stoke it with her power. And if the war against Eisheth ended before the devil herself could collect on those debts, then maybe, just maybe, humanity would have a chance.

#

"I must say, you never struck me as the type to be rash."

It was morning, a morning far removed from the battlefield of Sakai. The place was a French café on a downtown street corner, with wrought iron railings and chairs. Rei's companion there enjoyed a bowl of café au lait with a croissant, which he tore in pieces and dipped in the coffee to enjoy at his leisure.

It was that simple act of eating breakfast at his own pace that seemed to suit her companion best. All throughout, the young man's face seemed locked in a knowing smile, and his red eyes went between her and the passers-by on the street without even a hint of worry or malice.

"The Second Child, yes," Kaworu went on, "but you? No, no. I never would've expected that."

The two of them sat outside, under an awning, with only a low railing separating them from the sidewalk. And endless rush of people went by them. They were commuters on their way to work, children late for school, or tourists who'd come from far and wide to see a marvelous city.

Indeed, Rei spotted a young couple on the far side of the intersection. The two of them eagerly took photographs at the base of a skyscraper, posing next to the logo imprinted on the side.

God's in His Heaven. All is Right with the World.

All the retractable buildings were branded with Nerv's logo in this way. There was, and had been, only one city in existence to bear the mark of Nerv so openly.

Tōkyō-3. The limitations of power between Rei and Eisheth pertained to the present time, to the region of their mutual influence. That encompassed the future, which both Eisheth and Rei saw and disagreed on what they should see. It also included much of the past, on the scale of geologic time. As Rei could see the starfish-like progenitors of the Zenunim, Eisheth glimpsed the dinosaurs and early primates that preceded mankind. But between these realms of dual-sovereignty, there was a narrow region of space and time that was Rei's and Rei's alone. No matter how Eisheth looked to the future or the distant past, she would never see into it. A merged Seed of Life transcended time, but the speed of light still bounded what one saw of the universe, just as the borders of a window bound what a man can see outside his own home.

But Rei wasn't alone there, in that safe haven from the eyes of Eisheth. She had a partner in this affair: the Seed of Life Adam, who like her had been forced into a human shape once.

Thus, Rei and Kaworu met in the past from time to time, finding solace from the horrors of war. This French café in downtown Tōkyō-3 was Kaworu's favorite spot. Though the two of them had tried many restaurants across many decades, from Tierra del Fuego to Svalbard, they always returned to that ethereal capital, the one that no longer existed. Mostly, these excursions fed Kaworu's appetite for experiences with humanity. Always the connoisseur of human culture he was; he appreciated the whole of mankind and all it had done, though they weren't his own children.

And for that equal-opportunity love of humanity that Kaworu held in his heart, Rei envied him a little. Sure, they were both fond of Shinji, but Kaworu found it in himself to appreciate humanity on a wider scale. That was something Rei wasn't sure she could do. The sense of responsibility toward them was there, inside her, but perhaps she's spent too long thinking herself human—or something like a human—to treat them with the same curiosity that Kaworu did.

"It's not true, you know."

Rei looked back at him, puzzled.

"God may be in His heaven, but all is not right with the world." Kaworu jerked his head subtly toward the tourists across the intersection. "We have a problem, Lilith. Surely you think so too, or else you wouldn't have drawn upon such great power to save such a small number of people."

"I'm aware."

"That's what mystifies me. I know you're aware. If you were as cool as you like to present yourself, I would say this was an act of deliberate aggression. But, dear sister, I know you better than that. If humans are lacking in hope, it's because their guardian is growing desperate, too. How can the cubs be expected to stay calm when their mother is increasingly rash and defensive? You have a responsibility to them, you know."

Rei averted her gaze, staring across the street. "I did not ask for this."

"Pardon?"

She said nothing.

"Oh no, you can't ignore me now," said Kaworu. "Let me see here: how can I dissect that statement of yours to understand your enigmatic heart? Perhaps it means you didn't seek out the responsibility of caring for humanity? I would point out that you did. It may have been six or seven billion years ago, but you did ask. I was there. Now, that said, I won't blame you if you've had a change of heart. No one should feel bound by their decisions in the past.

"Or is it something else? Perhaps you mean you didn't ask for eternal life. I admit, you likely didn't know that would happen once you took me into yourself and reunited your soul with your body. But there's not much to be done now, is there? The eternal part isn't really negotiable, unless you wish yourself into nothingness."

He went quiet and started stirring the coffee in his bowl. "Hm. I think I understand now. You may not have asked for either of these things, but you were the one who decided to take point with Eisheth. You have seen to it all and let me dither around in the past. Whether you wanted it or not, you've taken your responsibilities seriously and done what you could to deal with the consequences of the very peculiar life we live."

"And?" said Rei.

"I think I see why you've become so desperate."

"I shouldn't be desperate?" she shot back. "The oceans are Eisheth's domain now. The soil runs red with the LCL of dissolved people."

"All quite true, and I know those affect you, but that's been happening for some time. Who is the one losing hope out there? Is it humanity? Or is it you?"

"I am not finished yet."

"But you want to be."

Rei's eyes went wide.

"Isn't that so?" asked Kaworu.

How could she answer that? What did it even mean? Of course she wanted that ordeal to end. It was stressful for everyone involved. For her, for human beings. The sooner the war with Eisheth was over, if victory could somehow be achieved, the better it would be for everyone.

Then what would happen to her?

That was an uncomfortable subject for Rei, for the question had no good answer. She would still exist, and if Eisheth were defeated, Rei's sight would open up again to the whole of the future. She would know the fate of all mankind, of every last human being to draw breath. They would not grow before her eyes. They would simply be.

And she would watch them as an ever-unchanging observer, unable to grow with them or to appreciate how they'd changed.

So, was there any point in her haste? Her duty toward humanity wouldn't change, even in victory. And if she had become so weary of that burden, it could easily have affected her judgment.

Rei had been the mother of mankind for eons already. It was her appointed duty, a role she had been given, even if she had chosen it at one point in time. In that sense, it was no different than being asked to play a living doll, to be a reminder of someone long dead, and to be a part of a sad man's wish fulfillment.

But that man was long gone. He couldn't be to blame for the state Rei was in. Who else was left to blame? Eisheth?

Or was it Rei herself, for taking on responsibility she wasn't prepared for?

"Mm." Kaworu cleared his throat. "Pardon me. I didn't mean to throw you so deep in thought over such a simple conversation. If it helps, forget what I said. One can be only so selfish to think about oneself in this time, after all."

"No," said Rei. "You may be right."

"Ah, is that so? Well then, what do you intend to do about it?"

"End this. As quickly as possible, without undue risk."

"You say that like we haven't been trying to do that since the first time Eisheth made herself known to us." Kaworu sat back, drumming his fingers on the table. "Well, I will say this: you certainly gave a lot of Lilin a reprieve. Perhaps that can be used to inspire them. All I have seen so far is a civilization disorganized and ill-equipped to deal with the threat of the Zenunim and our brothers' and sisters' other children. You want to give them hope? Use that hope to get them to band together, so you don't feel tempted to use broad displays of power so readily."

"You think that can be done?"

"I think it must be done, or there will will be nothing left to save."

#

Kaworu was right, but humanity hadn't failed to mount a concerted effort against Eisheth merely for lack of trying. International cooperation is seldom simple, after all. But those failures would never deter the human spirit from trying. Even former enemies and people and war could sit down at the negotiating table—or at least would try—if talk were in their interest.

And Rei watched them with hopes of her own.

The forefront of that effort took place in a diplomatic conference room of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Part of the National Square complex, the view from the highest floors was much less peaceful and scenic than it once had been. The fountain in the center had cracked and broken thanks to casual defacement from the invading Chinese and Russian forces.

In the conference room was a horde of diplomatic officers who sifted through treaties and agreements between a host of nations, but they were merely support for the theater that took place there.

"The People's Republic of China is gravely concerned over the lack of explicit support in this agreement for the city of Lüshunkou."

These words came from a television screen that hung on the far wall of the conference room. The Chinese diplomat was a thin, bony-cheeked man, gray in the hair but solid in tone and conviction.

"This city is at the forefront of Eisheth's attacks on the People's Republic in Liaoning Province."

"So go inland," offered another diplomat, this one speaking from a screen on the left side of the conference room. "Go where the aliens can't reach you. At least you Chinese have that luxury. Those of us left on the Korean Peninsula have nowhere to go."

"Perhaps the Russian Federation can offer refugees from the Republic of Korea—or the Democratic People's Republic, of course—a place of sanctuary in Siberia in exchange for certain territorial or economic concessions after the end of this war," said a third diplomat.

" 'Territorial concessions'? You would hold our lives hostage in exchange for land?"

One of the Japanese diplomats rose amid the furor that had overtaken the call. "Please, please, everyone," she said. "Perhaps we've been at this too long and a break is in order, so we can recover from any irritability these prolonged negotiations have caused."

"If anyone's irritable," muttered someone by the front wall, "it's not because these negotiations made them so."

The Japanese diplomat glanced toward the speaker: Misato, dressed in full formal uniform. But she wasn't alone.

"Misato-san, please!" implored Shinji, aghast.

"You know it's true."

"Yes, definitely time for a break," said the Japanese diplomat, "before Colonel Katsuragi causes any other international incidents. Ten minutes?"

The various representatives of Japan's neighbors agreed, and the doors to the conference room were opened, letting in a current of cool air. With all those people in such a small space, the room must have grown quite stuffy and unpleasant, and sure enough, Shinji rose from his seat.

"Is it all right if I step outside?" he asked the lead diplomat.

"Of course."

That was Shinji all right. He was seldom one to give offense if he could avoid it. That much hadn't changed about him.

But much about Shinji had changed over the course of the war. From the aimless, uncertain boy who had gone searching for Rei all around Japan, there was a new person growing: a person who recorded speeches and released them on the Internet for all the world to see. They weren't the presumptuous pronouncements of politicians trying to appeal to their constituents, either. What was clear in those recordings was that Shinji had a firm belief in the need for humans to band together. Where leaders and diplomats squabbled, fighting over national interests, Shinji had spoken to the people to give them comfort and hope.

That was the reason Shinji had been invited to that conference, but he hadn't seemed comfortable on this very different stage. So often through the first hours of the negotiations, Shinji had flipped through pages upon pages of briefs, trying to follow the minutiae of the multi-party talks. There were long-running disputes between all of the involved nations. For instance, the Chinese government fought valiantly over a few tiny islands that were little more than small rocks sticking up from the ocean floor.

There was more than that, too. Military agreements, bases to station forces—those matters were why Misato had been invited—and all Shinji could do was circle unfamiliar jargon with his pen to mark for later. With all of the morning spent on these established treaties and informal agreements, Shinji had been but a spectator. He was a boy in an older, more confident man's suit, and he didn't look too comfortable in it.

All this Rei had seen in the totality of the present. The negotiations were stalled, but there was an opportunity to smooth over international relations and make real progress in having mankind come together to turn Eisheth back.

So Rei appeared there, in the hallway outside the conference room. She made herself manifest as an illusion of light and sound.

But Shinji didn't notice her.

"Come on…" he muttered in frustration. "Why can't I get this right?"

He squinted his eyes and brought his tie to the wide, sweeping windows that lined the exterior wall of the building. It was a gloomy, overcast day outside, so Shinji could see his reflection rather easily. He held the knot of his tie with two hands, and with his fingers, he tried desperately to smooth over a dimple, to no avail.

That, too, was very much like Shinji. He felt he had an obligation to do as well as he could at something, even when he had no obligation at all.

So Rei tried to relieve him of that obligation.

"Don't," she said. "It's fine."

He jumped in surprise. "Ayanami?"

That was her name. He was one of the few who called her that. To Misato and Hyūga, she was Rei. To many others in the world, she was Lilith, mother of life on Earth. To the naÏve observer, there was distance in how she and Shinji referred to one another—Ayanami on one side, Ikari-kun on the other—but Rei didn't feel that way. It was how they'd always addressed one another, and she saw no need for that to change.

Coming off his initial surprise, Shinji studied her from head to toe. The illusion she presented was the same as always—the image of her as a schoolgirl, in the same uniform she'd worn when she, Shinji, and Asuka had all been schoolmates together—but still, Shinji took it in. What he was looking for there Rei couldn't say. Perhaps he just wanted to know she was real.

He would be looking for a long time if that were the case.

"What—" He frowned, and he shook off that question. "What are you doing here?"

"I have watched the negotiations. I've come to help."

"Is that all?"

At that, Rei allowed herself to show a slight smile. "No."

And Shinji smiled with her. "I'm glad for that. Things are tough right now, but knowing you're here, and that you're doing more for people now, it makes me think we can really get through this. Misato-san told me what you did for Makoto-san in Sakai. She's very thankful."

"I know."

"What made you change your mind? About trying to help us so openly?"

"Humanity needs my help. I've watched people suffer. I don't want to watch them suffer any longer. If I haven't stopped that, then I haven't done enough."

A ray of sunlight poked through the gloomy haze, and Shinji shielded his eyes with his hand to block the glare. "You're a good person, Ayanami. I know whatever you did or didn't do, you made a choice with good intentions. That counts for something, so remember that."

He made it sound so simple. Defending Rei's inaction over the course of months, even years, could never be so black-and-white. But Shinji knew that. He must've known that. His encouragement was just to give Rei solace and comfort, to give her a brief opportunity to forget the weight on her shoulders before she tried to walk through space and time with it again.

"But," Shinji went on, "I'm glad you're doing more now." He glanced over his shoulder, at the conference room. "Everyone in there is so preoccupied. They're selfish and afraid, and I don't know what to say to change that. They won't give up even a little of themselves to save the rest, to save the world."

"Humans have competing interests. The representatives are chosen to speak for their people's goals and wants, and they should be listened to. I have to listen to them. I stand for all humanity."

"Why?"

That was unexpected. Rei stared at him.

"Why do you stand for all humanity? You've said that before, but you never explained it."

There wasn't much to explain. She'd arrived at Earth billions of years before that moment. She'd carried the souls of the First Ones in her Black Moon. She'd deposited LCL into the primordial sea so life could spawn from it. And for all that time, she'd waited. She'd waited to see her children grow and take shape. They were all her children under the sun. She wasn't allowed choose favorites. They were all hers.

Until she was caged and stolen from her own body. Until she walked among humans as one of them, she had had no contact with them. But all along, it had been her responsibility, since the day the First Ones sent her into the cosmos, to create life and shepherd it through the eons.

"It is my purpose," Rei said at last. "It's the reason I'm here."

"And you've held to that as long as you've been here?"

Rei nodded.

"Amazing," said Shinji. "I don't know if I could ever do that—if I could put everything I ever wanted aside because I felt it was my duty. I've always admired that about you, how focused you are, but…"

But?

"Is it possible you've given up too much, Ayanami?"

That presumed Rei had a choice in the matter. She didn't. Eisheth had come to Earth. She had designs on all the souls of men. Only Rei's power opposed her.

And even if she hadn't taken it upon herself to defend all of mankind, what would she do? What had she given up to pursue that role?

"Think about it," said Shinji, seeing her confusion. "Every time I've seen you, you've looked so sad somehow. If you're unhappy about something, you should talk to someone about it."

"I am."

At that, Shinji brightened. "Good! I hope that means you can find me and talk to me if you need to."

"I'll have no trouble finding you."

He laughed. "I guess not!"

For that, Rei felt tempted to do more than just show a slight smile. Shinji was right about one thing: she had made sacrifices, but not for the reasons he believed.

"Shinji-kun?" Misato peered out from the conference room. "Ah, I see we have company. Good morning, Rei."

Rei gave a slight nod. "Colonel Katsuragi."

"Sorry to interrupt." Misato handed Shinji a satellite phone. "Your girlfriend is calling. She seems restless."

That was a fair description for Asuka at most times of the day and night.

"It's Asuka?" Shinji took the bulky, blocky device and held it to his ear. "Sorry, Ayanami. Can you give me a second?"

She had all the time in the world. The image of Rei stepped back, giving an illusion of privacy, but Rei didn't want to intrude on Shinji and Asuka's conversation anyway.

"No, it's not going well. I don't think I'll be back at the base for lunch. Or even dinner. We'll have to see."

She caught bits and pieces nonetheless. These were the subtle ways someone like Rei could observe the universe but not be a part of it. She did not need to eat. She didn't sleep. Shinji couldn't spend a day away from her, for she could always see him, and the gap from one moment with him to the next was insignificant compared to the stretch of time she would live.

Rei had sacrificed her own personal pleasure and enjoyment, yes. That much was true, but it was only partly out of duty. Rather, it all became crystal clear to her as she watched Shinji and Asuka talk on the phone. The little ways his smile widened as he listened, the casual gestures he made despite not being able to see or interact with her in person.

Rei had so much power, but interactions like that were impossible for her. That was why she'd denied herself, wasn't it? That was why she'd watched over Shinji but shied away from appearing before him. To speak with him and talk with him was to be reminded of those limitations, of the fundamental barriers that separated them as people.

And Rei wasn't the only one who knew this. As Shinji spoke on the satellite phone, Misato headed down the hall to stretch her legs. It was only then, as Shinji and Rei were alone again, that a voice spoke to Rei and Rei alone.

"You enjoy this moment, don't you? It is strange that you are so eager to see our conflict end."

The voice was like Rei's, but richer in tone and timbre. Yet at the same time, the speaker herself was flat and without emotion—at least, without any emotions recognizable to a human being.

It was Eisheth, in the form of Ikari Yui, and that illusion was little more than an insulting sneer, even as the face of "Yui" was blank.

Rei stepped away from Shinji, finding privacy around a corner of the hall to confront Eisheth alone. "My feelings for Ikari-kun do not drive me to draw out this conflict. The sooner it ends, the better it is for mankind."

"Is it?" asked Eisheth. "What if we fought for eternity? You would have all the time in the universe to be with Shinji then."

"Until he dies."

"Let him join the LCL sea. He would never die there. You could know his heart and soul there, forever."

"The sea of LCL is a place without real feeling or consequence. There is no meaning to what people do or think there."

"There is no meaning in what any of us do," said Eisheth. "There is only what we choose to do. You have an obligation, Lilith. I have an obligation. You have chosen to pursue yours in a misguided way. I will correct that mistake."

"How? By bringing your own children from the seas of their world? How is that consistent with your idea of fulfilling your obligations?"

"A necessary sacrifice. I speak to them continuously; they are never alone, unlike your children."

"You speak to them so they cannot think for themselves. You alone dominate their thoughts."

"Not true. We are all here."

Behind Eisheth, four hooded figures took shape. Their silhouettes were human, but their features were entirely cloaked. Two wore white hoods, and two wore black.

"They do not speak," observed Rei.

Five voices sounded in unison. "We all speak," they said, with Eisheth in the lead.

"They don't move."

Eisheth's illusion stepped forward, and so too did the other four figures. "We are never truly alone," said the five. "We hear each other always. This is the only way to be above suffering, beyond aggression, and without fear. The universe will teem with the descendants of the First Ones. The galaxies they live in will be perfect, and they will be devoid of pride or anguish. When all are united, these irregularities and weaknesses are erased. Only the creative, intelligent mind remains."

"A mind that does nothing because you speak for it." Rei looked between the five of them. "Your perfection doesn't exist. My children will not be a part of your attempt to capture it."

The four hooded figures stood still, but Eisheth herself stepped closer to Rei. "Then you will never be with them truly," she said. "You will never be like them. You will never be with him. We will be together while you and Adam will be alone for eternity. That cannot be what you want, Lilith. What do you want?"

Rei stared back at Eisheth, unwilling to give her the pleasure of a response. Few creatures in the universe knew what they wanted truly anyway, and whatever Rei said in answer, Eisheth would find some way to twist it into an advantage.

"Ayanami?"

Shinji's hand went through the image of Rei's arm, for Rei wasn't really there, and what appeared to be her was just an ephemeral trick anyway. It was better that way, too. If Rei could touch him, so could Eisheth, and she wouldn't hesitate to put a hand through Shinji's heart.

Still, it made the simple act of touching Rei impossible, as gentle as the gesture might've been. And Shinji gawked at the point where his hand had gone through her body in surprise.

"What is it?" Rei asked him.

"Ah, um, it looks like the conference is starting again," he stammered. "Sorry."

Rei looked back down the hallway, where Eisheth and the other Seeds of Life had mocked and taunted her, but the halls were empty.

But Eisheth was watching. Rei had no doubt of that.

#

On the heels of that short recess, the negotiations reconvened. Shinji took his seat next to the door, with Misato.

"Still here?" asked the colonel, with a look to Rei. "I thought this might've been just a personal call."

"No," said Rei. "I'm interested in these negotiations. I've left these matters to people alone too long."

"Taking a hands-on approach now? Well, I'm not complaining. Let me see if I can get you some time to say something. Deputy Minister!"

Misato's boisterous call caused a bit of a stir, but the deputy foreign minister separated herself from her staff just long enough to see to Misato. Carrying a bundle of file folders, she worked her way around the long table to Misato, Shinji, and Rei.

"I assume this has something to do with your shouting, Colonel?" the deputy minister said, nodding to Rei.

"You assume right. Rei wants the opportunity to address the conference."

The deputy minister looked to Rei. "With respect, do you really need my permission?"

"I don't want to undermine your efforts if you think it would be unwise."

" 'Unwise'? Not at all. At this point, I'll take anything to break through the thick heads of my counterparts. Let me know when you wish to speak, and I'll cede the floor to you. Now, if that's all, please excuse me. There are a couple more matter I hoped to resolve before we come back."

Rei nodded, and the deputy minister went back to burying her head in file folders once more as she made for some of her staff on the other side of the room.

"Ayanami," Shinji began, "what do you plan to say?"

"What must be said at the time."

In silence, the three of them waited for the negotiations to resume. One by one, the other diplomats came back on their widescreen monitors, and the deputy foreign minister pinned a microphone to her lapel. With a couple taps on the microphone to ensure it worked, the deputy minister signalled that the outer doors be closed, and the discussion began anew.

"Welcome back, everyone," she said. "If it's agreeable to the room, I'd like to refocus our discussions on Eva Unit-15. I think settling this matter is critical to the future strategic plans of the region. Major, would you explain the American position?"

From the side of the room rose the American liaison officer, Major Freeman. Unlike the first time Shinji and Misato had met him, Freeman was dressed in solid US Army green that day, not dissimilar to Misato's own uniform. Having dispensed with the hideous digital camouflage, Freeman looked considerably more dignified and impressive, and he made sure to put that image to use as he spoke before the conference.

At the conference room table was a pair of mounted microphones. Freeman sat at one and began.

"Good morning," he said. "We've already been at this for several hours, so I will be brief: the United States' official position is that the return of Eva Unit-15 to mainland America is a top priority. While we were pleased to help JSDF protect Unit-14 after it was critically damaged, we have given as much aid as we can spare. The two remaining Angels are rampaging across the Eastern Seaboard unchecked. New York City is overrun. The President and Congress have been evacuated from DC. To this point, JSDF has consistently refused to provide necessary resources to airlift Unit-15 back to the States. The United States strongly urges Japan to end these delays, in the name of friendship and cooperation. Thank you."

"Thank you, Major," said the deputy minister. "Colonel Katsuragi, can you explain SDF's position?"

Silently, Misato took the other mounted microphone, right next to Freeman.

"SDF's position is simple," said Misato. "Unit-14 is still a week away from solid combat preparedness. We feel that it has the best chance of being able to contribute to further efforts against the Angels if it is protected for the remainder of this critical repair period."

"This isn't about your Eva being useful," Freeman pointed out. "We must get at least one Eva back to America to deter further Angel attacks."

"Or to give those Angels a single target they can pounce upon."

"Need I remind you that Unit-15 killed two Angels at once over Tōkyō-2? And with a dummy plug pilot, not a crazy little girl?"

"That 'little girl' provided all the intel your people needed to be able to defeat those Angels in the first place." Misato looked to the Japanese diplomat. "Deputy Minister?"

"Please let the colonel speak, Major."

Freeman nodded in deference and folded his arms while Misato continued.

"What also concerns me," Misato went on, "is the recent invasion of Zenunim through Sakai. As our Russian and Chinese friends know well, Sakai is a natural invasion point for making a march on Tōkyō-2. I believe this choice of targets is deliberate, and it's not just to strike quickly at the civilian government of Japan or its remaining military assets. With Unit-14 still disabled, there is little except for conventional warfare to try to stop the Zenunim on their way here, and to the Eva."

"You're suggesting Eisheth is after Unit-14, hoping to destroy it while it can't defend itself?" said Freeman.

"Why else would she stage an orchestrated invasion of the Japanese home islands now? She has the opportunity, that's why."

One of the foreign diplomats, the Russian, began to laugh. "You should count yourselves lucky that Eisheth has chosen to avoid you until now! Only the Japanese would bemoan their good fortune throughout this whole affair. You see?" The Russian pointed at Rei. "They even have their guardian angel to watch over them."

"I assure you," said the deputy minister, "Lilith is here to try to find an agreement that is beneficial for all sides."

"Please," said the Chinese diplomat. "Don't patronize us, Deputy Minister. We are all aware of the miracle Lilith performed at Sakai, which was only a sequel to her defense of Japanese forces at Hachibuse Mountain. When is the last time Lilith deigned to use her powers for the rest of humanity? We are all waiting for her to lift a finger to help us, but we know that won't happen. That will never come."

At that, Rei stepped forward from the wall, entering the view of conference members.

"Do you need a microphone?" asked the deputy minister.

Rei waved a hand, declining. She looked directly at the Chinese diplomat and spoke.

"You demand a demonstration?" she asked.

"Yes. I believe we are owed a portion of your power, just as much as the Japanese have benefited from. They are no more worthy of aid than us."

"And in return?"

"If you can protect us from Eisheth, fewer Chinese forces will be needed to defend our own land and people. They can be used elsewhere…" The Chinese diplomat paused, choosing his words carefully. "They can be sent abroad in a spirit of cooperation," he decided. "That is what you and the Japanese want, isn't it?"

If that was the price of cooperation, Rei was happy to pay it. She cast her gaze away from the monitor and looked elsewhere through the infinite band of the present time. China was a vast and extensive country. There were assuredly many places in it where the Zenunim were attacking. It did not take her much effort to find one.

In the end, all such places were similar anyway. The details could be different—there could be skyscrapers and trains, or merely huts and dirt roads—but the core of the conflict never differed. Nations sent their militaries to fight difficult, even unwinnable battles against foes who could hardly be injured.

Rei picked the largest and greatest of these locales to make her demonstration. Her choice was Shanghai. After the ice melt that had followed Second Impact, the city had lost a great deal, but it was still a preeminent economic powerhouse of China, and recognizable icons of the city stood strong. The Oriental Pearl Tower in particular, with two bulbous spheres along its length, was a striking symbol of the city.

And in the spheres' shadows, the PLA fought in the streets with the children of Eisheth Zenunim.

The soldiers were exposed; the base of the tower was a wide-open area, with only a few short buildings around it where visitors would've approached and been amazed by the sight above. Instead, it gave the Zenunim clear sight of the tower grounds. What had made Shanghai influential—its well-positioned port—also made it vulnerable to the Zenunim. They crawled out of the ocean and swarmed the streets. They dismantled tanks with their bare hands (if those appendages could be called that) and hurled the metal aside like scraps from a rabid dog's dinner.

Where the Zenunim went, mayhem and panic followed. Rei could give humanity a fighting chance. Where individual souls went, separated from one another, she could feel them. She knew them. And compared to a cosmic scale of time, it hadn't been so long ago that she'd touched billions of people, scoured their minds and hearts for who mattered most to them in life, and showed those persons to them to break their AT fields down.

It wasn't difficult, even when it came to the Zenunim. Overwhelmingly, they wanted to be LCL again. Rei just gave them the chance.

She liquefied them.

"Get up!" Eisheth cried in her children's minds. "Get up and bring them into us!"

But Rei held them all down. "Stay," she spoke to them. "Stay as liquid and be at peace."

And so they did, for a time. She spoke to all the Zenunim in Shanghai, and they heard her.

In the diplomatic conference room in Tōkyō-2, word of Rei's actions began to reach the delegations.

"Are you sure?" the Chinese diplomatic asked his aide. "This cannot be right. Check again!"

"It is so," said Rei, her image having never left. "I have disabled the Zenunim in Shanghai for now. You should use this time to complete evacuations. Eisheth speaks to her children; I will not hold them back indefinitely." She looked to the other monitors, where the Russian, South Korean, and North Korean diplomats watched. "Demonstrations for you are in progress. You should be hearing about them as well."

"To what end?" asked the North Korean diplomat. "To see that you are worshipped as a god?"

"To help you feel that you can be protected."

"And in exchange, you demand that we spare forces for mutual defense," said the Russian diplomat. "I suspect we would only be draining our resources to help Japan. You are surrounded on all sides by water. You have no ability to flee inland or stretch the Zenunim out across land. Japan is in an untenable defensive position; the same could be said of the ROK and DPRK. What incentive can you give to the Russian people, aside from the promise of your 'protection'?"

Rei glared daggers at the Russian. It was true that to convince these countries to come to an accord, she needed to persuade them and appeal to their interests, but the Russian's remarks were a bald-faced show of self-interest. If he had no consideration whatsoever for his common man, how could she convince him?

"Um, if I may?"

From the front wall, Shinji stepped forward, looking for approval from the deputy minister. Misato quickly vacated her seat by one of the mounted microphones, motioning to Shinji to take her place.

"Ladies and gentlemen," said the minister, "Shinji Ikari will speak."

"Spoken to by a child," mused the South Korean diplomat. "This should be entertaining."

"Only if you find entertainment in being snide, sir," said Shinji, taking his seat beside Freeman.

There was a pause as all eyes went to the South Korean monitor, but the diplomat there went for a glass of water, only watching Shinji throughout.

"Thank you, Deputy Minister," Shinji said to the Japanese diplomat. "I know this is unusual. This feels unusual to me; I can only imagine how strange it is for all of you. To tell the truth, when Colonel Katsuragi asked me to come today, I didn't know what I would say. It took me a long time to decide that I wouldn't come with a speech in mind. I'd see what happened here and try to be helpful, that's all. I try, as a rule, not to make up my mind ahead of time that way."

Deferential and thoughtful. That was Shinji all right, and he was turning those qualities toward the betterment of mankind. Watching him speak before those people, hardly hesitating, gave Rei a sense of pride in him.

But Shinji had much more to say.

"Our friend the Russian ambassador here," said Shinji, gesturing to the Russian's monitor, "just suggested that we forget about Japan, and perhaps other countries too, because they're hard to defend from Eisheth. At first, I thought to myself he had to be wrong, that even if it's hard to keep Eisheth out of Japan, we had to try because it's our home. Nobody wants to give up their home.

"But the Russian is right, too. It is hard to defend Japan, and if it weren't for the Eva, there might not be a reason for any of the rest of you to consider it in the best interests of your countries.

"That's when I realized it: does anybody here value human lives and souls outside of their own people's?"

"What are you insinuating?" cried the North Korean representative. "The DPRK will not stand for innuendo and insults, even from the first boy who stepped out of the sea!"

"If I'm insulting you for what you've chosen to do, you deserve it!" Shinji shot back. "If you choose to sacrifice other people to try to put yourself in better position for a short little while, you absolutely deserve it! And if you're so stubborn to stay short-sighted and selfish, then Eisheth is right, and we shouldn't stay as separate individuals because we can never work together and overcome differences to fight a common enemy!"

Shinji pounded his fist on the table, shaking it with a surprising sound. He winced from the blow, and Misato went to tend to him, but he shook his head and kept her back. Fighting back tears, he bowed his head and continued.

"You see," he said quietly, "Eisheth was never the real enemy we had to fight. I saw that. I saw it the first time she sent her children here. I was on a train, coming back from nowhere. The lights went out, the train stopped, and people climbed over each other trying to run away from those monsters. Eisheth isn't the enemy. She only uses what we really have to fight against."

He rose, trembling, and pointed at one of the monitors.

"You," he said. "And you, and you, and you…"

He pointed to each of the diplomats in turn, including the deputy foreign minister in the room with him.

And lastly, he touched his hand to his own chest.

"And me, too," he said. "We are our own worst enemy. The worst parts of our nature are what we have to fight against to beat Eisheth. If we don't do that, none of what we talk about here matters."

With that, he sat down again, and he let out a deep breath in relief.

The room sat still, with all members of the conference too stunned to respond to Shinji's speech. Were they lost in self-reflection, left to question their motives and words? Or were they defiant against Shinji's accusations, unwilling to believe themselves so tarnished and impure?

"Well spoken, young man," said the Russian representative. "But this is no time to be chained down by morals and ideals. They may have brought us back from the sea, but only a fool would cling to them now. This is about efficacy and pragmatism, about adult decisions made by adults. You know nothing about such consequences, boy. Don't pretend that you do."

"Ah, ah, excuse me!" Misato rushed back to the conference table and leaned over the microphone at Shinji's seat. "Don't you think you're being awfully dismissive?" she asked the Russian. "I think we heard a good and sincere speech just a moment ago. Are you telling me you aren't moved at all to reconsider your country's position?"

"Not in the least."

"How do you think your countrymen would feel about that? The boy who led us from the sea is asking you for help, and you're turning a deaf ear to him. How do you think the world will feel when they hear about it?"

"How would my countrymen hear about it?" asked the Russian. "Surely you're not thinking of leaking the contents of these proceedings. We would never deal with the Japanese Foreign Ministry again if that were to happen."

"Leaking? Oh no, I would never do that. All I have to say is that Shinji Ikari came to the Foreign Affairs Ministry while multinational negotiations were in progress. Shinji Ikari is popular; he speaks regularly on the Internet, and people listen to him. There have been continuous talks with our neighbors to try to coordinate defense efforts in the region. I can't comment on whether there's been an agreement. How do you think the media will take that?"

"No one will take it seriously," said the North Korean representative. "They'll see it for the stunt that it is."

Misato smirked. "Are you willing to take that chance?"

#

Between Shinji's rebuke, Rei's demonstration of power, and Misato's manipulation, the parties at the talks grudgingly came to an accord. The Six Nation Pact, as it was dubbed, inspired other regional talks all over the world, and where necessary, Rei intervened to offer emergency protection for participating nations, so they could feel safer diverting their own forces to their neighbors. Rei hoped to use her powers as little as possible, but even just the promise of aid in a pinch could grease a few diplomatic wheels.

"Four other regional defense pacts negotiated overnight?"

That was Misato, who kicked her feet up on her desk while reading a report on the diplomatic moves of the day.

"Not a bad tally," she mused. "For the first time, it feels like we finally have some solidarity against Eisheth. Maybe we can go toe-to-toe with her monolithic hordes for a change."

And that solidarity was sorely needed. Eisheth's assault on humanity continued unabated. To minimize the advantage Eisheth gained from the sea, Japan and the other Pact countries ordered evacuations of all low-lying areas within twenty kilometers of the coast. This buffer zone, it was hoped, would expose Eisheth's forces to bombardment and artillery fire, depriving them of safety within the sea.

To an extent, it worked. The further back allied forces stayed, the safer they were from the advancing onslaught of the Zenunim, and as the enemy congregated, they could be bombed to kingdom come with ease.

But the Zenunim were an unusual, unconventional enemy. They didn't need to travel in groups. One or two could leak through the buffer zone and overtake an entire village, and the areas behind the nominal edge of the buffer zone were reduced to ghost towns, unable to provide support to local friendly forces. Combined with resistance from followers of Eisheth, who masqueraded as gentle civilians, humanity stood on the precipice of falling with no other options left to them. Japan, in particular, was vulnerable.

For this reason, the Americans insisted on retrieving their loaned Eva, Unit-15, as soon as possible. Removal of Unit-15 at the Americans' discretion was also part of the Six Nation Pact, and their representative, Major Freeman, wasn't shy about invoking that clause.

"Lilith herself said that it's better to be efficient with our resources," Freeman argued. "She'll have to work a lot more miracles in the States without an Eva to hold off those Angels. I know you can appreciate that, Colonel."

Misato did, undoubtedly, but still she hesitated to give Freeman the green light. "I don't think you appreciate the risks here. Flying an Eva back across the Pacific demands a good deal of protective air power. If Eisheth gets wind of when and where we're taking off, we could be easily undone."

"Leave the air power to us. We'll handle that, no problem."

Given few choices in the matter, Misato had to comply, but Freeman was a stubborn, cocky American, and like his superiors, he wouldn't take no for an answer. Misato had done much to stall and delay to try to protect Unit-14 while it was still under repair. Here, she had to pass the baton to someone else.

"Rei," she said as the major left, "keep an eye on that Eva, won't you?"

Rei kept an eye everywhere, but she could focus her attentions more or less on one particular area in her sight. Misato was being cautious; Rei couldn't blame her for that. But the Americans brought no shortage of firepower to protect their prize: from a half-dozen mounted guns on their cargo plane to a swarm of nimble fighters that, they hoped, could hold off the children of Agrat Bat Mahlat if they should emerge from the water and strike. If these combined forces could not keep the enemy at bay, nothing would.

Still, Rei expected some kind of attack. That they had been able to smuggle Unit-15 out of North America to begin with was fortunate, but they'd had the element of surprise then. Eisheth knew they had the Eva in Japan, and she knew that with her Angels running amok over America, they would try to get the Eva out.

Instead, the technicians on the ground tethered up the Eva without incident, and the lumbering cargo plane took off, headed eastward across the red ocean, with not an enemy in sight.

"She won't attack while we're near land," said Freeman, who watched through the cockpit glass as the last bit of Japan slipped beneath them. "She'll make her move when we're over open water, far away from all reinforcements and hope." Freeman glanced back, at the ever-watchful avatar of Rei. "But we'll be ready, right?"

Rei nodded, and Freeman and his pilots returned the gesture with confident, if wary, smiles. That was Rei's role in this war: to give hope and comfort to those who followed her, even those she knew little or not at all. To her, a man like Major Freeman was a rank and a name, a cropped haircut and closely-shaven stubble. She could see a wife back in Oklahoma who waited for him, but seeing these facts in real time was a far cry from knowing the man.

There were many like Freeman—many men and women who fought yet Rei knew little or nothing about them—but as long as Rei continued to use her influence and power to give them hope, perhaps then she would have time to meet them and learn about them and give them their just due for their sacrifices.

"Agh!"

There was a cry from the cockpit, and a puddle of LCL seeped under the pilots' door.

Freeman left his seat and barged in. "What the hell happened?" he asked the co-pilot. "Was it Eisheth? Or did it do it himself? We need to know if he was a plant."

"I don't know, sir!" cried the co-pilot. "One minute he was just there, talking to me about Cuban cigars, and then—"

Splat! The co-pilot exploded into LCL, splashing droplets of goo on the control panels and switches. Two empty flight suits lay in the pilots' chairs, and Freeman brushed one aside to take the controls.

"What do you think she's doing?" Freeman asked Rei. "Trying to take control of the plane? Can you do something?"

"She can't do anything."

Eisheth. She was there, in the cockpit with them, wearing that face that taunted Rei. It was Yui's face, and she used it to remind Rei of the humanity she lacked.

Freeman gawked at the demon before him. "Elaine?"

"Lilith can't do anything," Eisheth reiterated, talking to Freeman but staring at Rei. "She's used too much power. Now she must pay for what's owed to me. That is part of our agreement, isn't it, Lilith?"

So it was. Use power, and allow Eisheth to use power in return. That was their accord, and Rei was bound by that accord not to undo what Eisheth had done.

Freeman went white and pale. He shook his head and fumbled with the controls of the craft. "This can't be. Not again. This isn't real; this isn't—"

"Shh," said Eisheth. "Be quiet. Be at peace."

She touched Freeman's hand, and like a balloon, he popped, spilling his LCL all over the cockpit once more.

"You see, Lilith? There is only one hope: the hope that separated souls can be relieved of their continual disappointments. You try to give them confidence. You try to instill faith. You not only deceive them. You deceive yourself."

Rei didn't answer her, much as she wanted to. There was nothing to say. Either her efforts to bring humanity together would work, and the cost she had paid in use of power wasn't too great, or…

Or she'd given Eisheth too much already.

As the cargo plane carrying the Eva began to lose its course and sputter, its fighter escorts also succumbed to a lack of control. They coasted away from their assignments, for they had only puddles of LCL to guide them. A few dozen people to dissolve was easy compared to what Rei had done.

The plane went into the sea, taking the Eva along with it, but the ocean was more than just a wet red graveyard. The children of Eisheth materialized from the goo, and they held up the sinking Eva to keep it from the depths of the sea. The Zenunim severed the tethering cables, saving the Eva, for that was their goal. Eisheth wasn't so foolish as to see the Eva merely destroyed.

She would take it.

She would use it.

The Zenunim peeled and ripped at the Eva's armor. Panels of blue, orange, and silver metal were carried away like a procession of ants would lug the crust of a piece of toast. They focused on the Eva's neck to get at the entry plug, and with it, they would reach the nerve center of the Eva as a whole.

"All thanks to you."

Eisheth and Rei watched this spectacle together, their avatars hovering just inches above the restless ocean.

"Thanks to you, Lilith, the Evangelion can be activated at any time and any place. There are no safeguards against the unintended using it. You allowed your children to use them even against each other and whenever they pleased. Now, my children will use them instead."

Not if Rei had anything to say about it. When one of those tentacled monsters climbed atop the entry plug expulsion mechanism, Rei reduced the creature to LCL then and there. But for each one she beat back in this way, another climbed over its brethren to take its place.

No, Rei needed more than she could muster herself. She went to Misato, who was already well aware of the situation.

"We saw the plane go down on radar," said Misato, who gathered with her staff in the war room of Hachibuse Mountain. "The Americans have a destroyer on the way. Hopefully they can get there in time to fight off Eisheth."

Rei went to that destroyer; the commander would need information on Eisheth's capabilities and the situation at hand.

All she found there were unmanned stations, empty uniforms, and stains of LCL on the forward-looking glass of the destroyer's bridge.

"Even that," Eisheth taunted her, "is not enough to repay what you owe, Lilith."

But there had to be a way. If Unit-15 were lost, the remaining Angels would have free reign over planet Earth. If instead Eisheth took the last Eva and turned it to her ends, it would be like another Angel had landed to demolish all human resistance.

And how could Rei beat her sister then? What options did she have? Her hopes were waning, just as Eisheth said they would, but she had to act. She wouldn't let herself be paralyzed with indecision.

She went back to Misato. The war room's doors were sealed; intelligence was just beginning to come up on the monitors, but Rei's information was more timely and more pressing.

"Colonel Katsuragi!"

"What is it?" Misato took her seat at the head of the table.

"The American destroyer has been disabled. I can't undo it. Eisheth's children surround Eva Unit-15. They are many."

"Then if the Americans can't do the job, we'll have to do it for them. Corporal, call in for the N2 drop. I'd rather drop a bomb on that Eva than risk letting Eisheth get it."

A bomb was a risky thing. Eisheth could do any number of things to subvert it. She could lash out at any plane that dropped it. She could strike terror into the minds of fire control officers who manned the launcher. Rei was prepared for all of these possibilities, but Eisheth knew better than to perform a new action when Rei had incurred too much debt to her already. She could turn something Rei had done around to haunt her, and it would come at no cost at all.

The N2 weapon dropped from the sky in a ball of light. It lit up the oceans all the way to the horizon. It evaporated the seas; it scarred and scored the inactive Eva, but the Zenunim held it there. They were unharmed by the blast. Fire and steam whipped around them harmlessly, for just as Rei had protected the people who served her at Sakai, Eisheth had protected her children here.

Stalemate after stalemate. That was all they could ever hope for. That was all Rei could do to help humanity win; she could ensure parity between her and Eisheth, nothing more. And the moment she had reached out for advantage in desperation, Eisheth had rudely reasserted herself and the fair balance of their accord.

In the war room beneath Hachibuse Mountain, Misato saw with her own eyes what Rei already knew. The Zenunim were still intact. They crawled over the Eva and tried to burrow into its machinery and flesh. Rei kept liquefying creatures who got too close to the entry plug, but it was a vain and pathetic gesture. Misato could recognize that. That's why she picked up the phone and made a call.

"Yes, this is Katsuragi. General, I have to inform you that your Eva is surrounded and in danger of imminent capture by the enemy. Yes, I've consulted with Lilith. We feel there are no other options." A pause. "I'm sorry, too, sir."

With that, Misato hung up the phone, folded her arms, and scowled. If nothing else, Eisheth would not be permitted the full pleasure of a victory that day, but that was hard to consider a win.

A red glow emanated from the core of the Eva. The Zenunim surrounding the inactive and inert body fled and liquefied, but the light was piercing and undeniable in its power.

It shattered the Eva.

It sent the lifeless limbs to the winds.

It blew a crater into the water that only slowly filled in, and the explosion was ten times as catastrophic as the N2 weapon that had detonated just minutes before.

The self-destruct of Unit-15 was utterly complete. No child of Eisheth would get to control the Eva, and no human would pilot it any longer, either.

And with the disintegration of the Eva's faceplate went Rei's hope, too.

#

"So all our efforts were for naught," mused Kaworu. "I did find it curious that Eisheth waited for so long to cash in on all the demonstrations you gave her. I see she was trying to save them for a grand finale. She nearly succeeded."

In the past once more, Rei and Kaworu convened by a mountain road that overlooked the old Tōkyō-3. In times of safety, the buildings that had retracted into the Geofront would return to the surface, and this vantage point was particularly good to view the spectacle.

How appropriate it was, then, that Rei and Kaworu discussed the state of the war to the sounds of sirens. Kaworu's talent for understatement hadn't done much for Rei's mood, either.

"Eisheth will win," she concluded. "Earth will be a graveyard. Eisheth's home is a graveyard. Evidence of our failure will last for ten thousand years."

Kaworu scoffed. "Give or take a millennium."

That was well beyond the point.

"This war isn't over," he went on. "Eva Unit-14 can still be repaired. One Eva can take down two Angels with a skilled pilot at the controls, and Nozomi-san is more than capable."

"Eisheth will never move the Angels to Japan until the rest of the world is LCL," Rei countered. "Alliances are breaking apart as quickly as they were made. Soon, no one will have the capability to move an Eva across an ocean, and even those that do no longer have the confidence to try."

Kaworu sighed, and he leaned on a guard railing to watch the last few buildings emerge from their safe positions inside the Geofront. What a marvel it was, but after the first few times, it lost some appeal.

"What else could we have expected?" he said finally. "You and Eisheth agreed this should be a fair fight, that there had to be rules. Rules between equal participants enforce equality. And you weren't wrong to fear an escalation of power. The one thing I can admire our wayward sister for is her devotion to her children. She takes that responsibility seriously. She would never consider abandoning them, even if that could be in their best interest. She sees herself as essential to their guidance and survival."

"And?" said Rei.

"And that, perhaps, is how you can beat her. Eisheth has no confidence in her children to do what is right if she isn't around to whisper into their ears. As troubled as the Lilin have proven to be, they have an undeniable will of their own. Count on it to guide them to victory, if you're willing to let that strength alone be the only weapon against the mindless hordes."

Rei narrowed her eyes. The setting sun softened the contrast between those red irises and their white skin, but not by much. Kaworu looked upon her with curiosity, as if he were testing her, teasing her, asking her if she really understood what he'd suggested.

"You would spend an eternity with her?" asked Rei. "Fighting her, holding her back?"

"It's not high on my list of travel destinations. I had much hoped to visit 19th century Germany. I'm very fond of classical music, you see. But, at this point, I see few options left. We've done all we can to help humanity from the sidelines and with one hand tied behind our backs. You and Eisheth are a pair of queens, dominating all that stands around you. The game may open up once both of you are taken off the board."

"This isn't a game," said Rei.

"Of course not, but one must be willing to see things from a different perspective. And besides, even if we have to spend a few billion years with Eisheth, what's that to beings like us?"

"Misery," Rei said coldly. "You're fortunate there was only one of you they had to use."

Kaworu chuckled to himself. "Perhaps what you need to do, Lilith, is look around. Do you see Ikari here? Do you see him birthing you from a tank again when you thought you'd found the solace and comfort of death? That cannot happen anymore. If you wish to wink out of existence, that's between you, your desires, and the laws of physics. You have a choice now. We can hold Eisheth back and give your children a chance, or we can build castles in this sandbox of the past forevermore.

"To tell the truth, that prospect doesn't bother me, either. All things must eventually end—even you and I—and the past, to me, is just as rich and exciting as any future. No one's making you do anything. There's only what you choose to do—or what you choose not to do. You find the responsibility you've taken up oppressive, right? I can't say I blame you. But it is something you chose. You have the freedom to change your mind, to pursue other goals. That is your right. But if you feel that responsibility important, if you choose to embrace it, then I think what needs to be done is clear. Isn't it?"

As the last set of warning lights in the distance went dark, the city of Tōkyō-3 was calm, and so was Rei's heart. Kaworu was right: she had the choice here. And as terrifying as the thought of spending eons—even eternity—with Eisheth seemed to her, the decision was quite easy.

Following through with it was the hard part.

#

In her last moments of watching over humanity, Rei focused on one room most of all. In it, a young man tended to a stack of dirty dishes, washing them by hand in a steel basin. He was alone in the common area of those spartan military quarters. Only a small television by the dinner table kept him company as he washed.

"Flooding from the detonation of the American Eva continues to render roadways impassable even beyond the 20-kilometer no man's land established by SDF," said a reporter. "As expected, Eisheth has used these inroads of LCL seawater to launch attacks even further inland, resulting in the fall of—"

A sudden burst of water from the tap drowned out the rest of the report, and Shinji left it running as he stared blankly at the screen. With a sigh, he picked up a new plate and put it under the water.

"Ikari-kun."

He yelped, and the plate clanked on the bottom of the dish basin.

"I apologize," said Rei, who appeared behind him.

He shut off the tap and winced at a chip in the plate he'd dropped, but he left the bits of broken porcelain at the bottom of the sink. "Don't apologize," he said. "Knock first next time, and I'll be happy to see you."

Rei frowned, and she held out her hands—her illusory, ephemeral hands—for both of them to see.

"Never mind," said Shinji. "You're here, and that's what's important, right? Twice in two days. That's good."

How happy he sounded just to see her there. Rei stared back at him like a duck before a hunter's rifle, clueless as to what would come next.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Rei looked away. "We may not see each other again. That's what I came to tell you."

"What? Why not?"

"It is the only way I know to make a difference that can't be turned against us."

Shinji shook his head over and over. He grabbed at the remote and pressed the mute button, silencing those awful reports of mayhem and chaos. "No," he said sternly. "Absolutely not. I won't allow it. You shouldn't do this. We just talked about it, right? You've given up more than anyone ever would've asked you."

"No one's asking me now. I don't see any other way. I'm prepared for this. Before, I wanted to die. Commander Ikari would bring me back whenever he pleased, and that's why I wanted to die—to be free of what he asked of me. This isn't like that. I took on obligations. I was unhappy about them, but this is different." Rei paused, and her gaze flickered away from him. "I don't know how this is different, but it is. You will have a chance to live. That's enough for me."

But Shinji kept shaking his head. He paced across the tile of the kitchen area; he pursed his lips bitterly. "You sound like you've already made up your mind," he said. "So why come to me? Why tell me anything? Why not just do it so I didn't have to know?"

"To say goodbye."

He stopped dead in his tracks. Those words were like a lightning bolt going through him. He stared at her, lost and surprised. But as the truth sank in, the energy went out of Shinji's body. He put a hand back and caught the counter. He let out a stunned sigh and started talking to himself.

" 'Goodbye,' huh?"

The words came out with a shuddering hesitation, and Shinji touched a hand to his eye to contain himself.

"Are you…going to die, Ayanami?"

"I already died. All you see now is a shadow that extends to the future and the past. You just won't see me anymore."

He scoffed. "For a shadow, you seem real to me. But you're making it sound like we'll never see each other again, which is about the same as dying, and I just—" He raised a hand awkwardly, but a guilty, frustrated look came over him, and he pulled it back. "Sorry. I know that's impossible. I just don't know what else to say."

If this was the only time Rei would have to say goodbye to him, she wasn't about to let what was wise or possible stop her.

In two steps she crossed the distance between them and caught him in an embrace.

Shinji gasped. "I thought you couldn't?"

"If I can touch you, she can touch you, too. But that won't matter soon, and I've never hugged anyone before."

At that, Shinji relaxed, returning the embrace. "It's nice, isn't it?"

"It is."

Were it not for the inevitable passage of time, Rei would've held that embrace with him as long the universe could last, but she had little choice in the matter. This, too, was a debt Rei owed.

And Eisheth had come to collect.

She stood behind Shinji, past the counter and the sink. Her face—Yui's face—was expressionless, but the five buttons on her labcoat radiated smugness and sinister intent.

"You shouldn't incur debts you're unprepared to pay for," she said.

At that, Rei let Shinji go. She made herself incorporeal and walked straight through the sink and counter to confront Eisheth face-to-face.

"I know what I've done," she said, "and what I'm doing."

Eisheth narrowed her eyes ever-so-slightly. "That is your plan? You bluff. You are not willing to lose communication with your children." She looked to Shinji. "Some of them least of all."

"I won't like it, but this is what I choose," said Rei. "I trust in humans to defeat your children and everything you stand for, as long as you aren't there to fight back."

For the first time, Eisheth's false face showed emotion—was it panic? Confusion? Surprise?

It was all of these things, for at long last, Eisheth felt she no longer had the upper hand. That fear and dread emboldened Rei, and she moved to close the gap between them.

"You cannot trust in them!" Eisheth warned. "They may panic and lose their nerve. What would you do then?"

Rei shook her head. "I will have done all I can. What will your children do without you?"

Eisheth glared.

"Leave Earth and its people," Rei offered, "and there will be no need for this."

The fifth Seed of Life looked to Shinji, then back at Rei. "And let this abomination of flesh and blood life continue? No. I will not allow that."

"Then this," said Rei, "is the sacrifice I make of my own free will."

#

There should've been a sound, Shinji felt.

There should've been a flash of light, or some other definitive indication of what had happened.

Instead, Rei and Eisheth had simply gone. He'd seen that many times before, from both of them. There was no objective way to know that they were gone for good.

But he knew.

Rei was, if nothing else, a creature of her word. There would be no momentous sign for closure. All she'd left him—all the two of them had left him—was the emptiness of that room.

It would've been better if the world had drained of color, if a lightning bolt had come down to take the both of them. Something, anything!

But no. It just happened. Just like that.

He plopped down on a cushion, and it deflated the same way he had. He stared at the television, his eyes unfocused and unable to follow the complex motions of light and dark on the screen. The word MUTE cast a spell of silence on the room.

And only a few barefoot steps broke that silence.

From the bedroom came Asuka, dressed in gym shorts and an extra-large shirt that hid her figure. Her hair was down and free of its usual decorations. She brought a cushion from across the table next to Shinji and sat down, draping an arm around him.

"I heard," she explained. "From in there."

Shinji stared at the screen. "I'm glad. I think, if I had to explain it, I wouldn't know how."

"She's a fool, you know."

He looked at her from the corner of his eye and gaped.

"She's a goddamned heroic fool," said Asuka. "Take it from me: if you put everything of yourself into what you do all the time, you'll just burn yourself out. Thinking you have to sacrifice yourself just to give others a chance is no different. First isn't like us. Damn geists don't die. Long after we're gone, she'll still be around to make that mistake again and again."

"What are you saying?"

"That we'll just have to get her back, of course. If we don't, she'll never learn her lesson."

Shinji turned back toward the television with a bittersweet smile. "You know, when I thought she died before, I didn't cry at all." He dabbed at his eye again. "Guess I'm making up for something."

"That's you, Shinji. Always trying to make up for something, even for things that aren't your fault."

He nodded. "I'll have to remember that."

"About making up for things that aren't your fault?"

"No, I mean about Ayanami. When this is all over, we have to get her back."

Asuka pulled him closer, saying nothing.

#

With the loss of Rei, humanity had lost its brightest star in the long night of this war. To some, this was an occasion for mourning, a time to reconsider positions and reflect on what was lost. But in the end, humanity had no choice but to battle on.

After all, some stars fade away only when dawn is close.


Next: The forces for individuality gather against Eisheth's children for one final battle. Coming soon: "Collage"

For notes and commentary on this chapter and others, visit my blog at westofarcturus dot blogspot dot com

My thanks to shelter and JonBob for their assistance in preparing this chapter.