The Second Coming [NGE]

[Muphrid]

Author's Notes: Character Focus - Eisheth

There is no greater evidence of how Rei-centric the underlying ideas of the piece are than how the main villain is Rei's foil and counterpart. That is true in First Ones, but in this piece, I strengthened this connection considerably. Now, Rei and Eisheth are not only "sisters" in some sense, but they were once close friends (a relationship dimension that I love, by the way—our closest friends are the most painful to face as adversaries), and you can see how their differing ideals, philosophies, and experiences lead to this conflict.

The duality between Rei and Eisheth is one of the primary impressions I wanted to get across. Early on, Rei and Eisheth often appear in pairs—when one reaches out to Shinji, the other is soon to follow, if not immediately after. That follows not just the impression I wanted to impart but the abstract "rules of the game" between them, which include a basic equality of actions allowed. Eisheth and Rei are in conflict, and they both have near-omnipotent power as a function of their status outside of time. The only way their conflict can be resolved is through mutual agreement, even if it is the agreement to disagree and to use their powers in a limited, sparing, and equal fashion throughout.

I went to great lengths to try to tighten up Eisheth's impression and image in this story. In First Ones, she came off too much of a cartoonish villain: she would go on rants and speeches about the futility of mankind without the fangs to back it up in real time. I tried to cut down on that significantly: she speaks only when she must, and her motivations are much less clear until the latter third of the story. That adds to an air of uncertainty and mystique about her, even once it's clear that the enemy is Eisheth. Part of that mystique includes her appearance: the "hooded stranger," as she is often referred by, is deliberately a bit inhuman. The hood obscures her eyes, and you might notice that her hands are never seen, either. The only bit of skin she shows is that around her mouth. That takes place of the ongoing motif I used in First Ones, where Eisheth would constantly appear with the number 5 involved: 5 buttons on a shirt to evoke 5 eyes, and so on. And unlike First Ones, the idea of the "Cult of Eisheth" is dropped. Lorenz is clearly aware of her (referring to "her" and the Zenunim multiple times), but the religious overtones of her arrival are removed. Eisheth cares not for being worshipped as a god (just as Rei doesn't care for it). Her goals are straightforward.

What we do get an impression of, outside of her usual appearances, is Eisheth's humanity. Her appearances in the guise of Hikari—part of Rei's visions of the past—help paint a picture of a sympathetic figure, someone who we should be on the same side with. Her reasons for undertaking this crusade should be understandable, and they should resonate with people who have felt despair and hopelessness. Eisheth is not a weak figure for that, and if anything, Shinji understands her very well by the end of the story.

Eisheth, like Rei, inhabits the Theater of Eternity like a prison. Condemned to immortality even in death, she looks on, ever watchful. It isn't until Shinji's plea for a reprieve that Eisheth dares to hope again—dares to make the Theater into a watchful, unyielding eye that looks upon the children of the FAR with love and hope. And so may it be, forever and ever on.

I chose the name Eisheth after one of four demons that are mentioned in Kabbalistic method: the others include Lilith, Agrat bat Mahlat, and Naamah, and these are the names that I used for the four Seeds of Life imbued with the Fruit of Knowledge. Adam and Samael are two of those with the Fruit of Life, but I don't recall the name I chose for the third of them (the one who appears in the guise of Toji).

Though I was heavily inspired by the mythology of the FAR, I created a lot of what goes on in this story to suit my own ends. It's known that the FAR succumbed to some cataclysm and had to shed their physical forms, but the reason why is not explained in background material. I imagined a gamma-ray burst, which would wreck their ecosystem and damage even the hardiest of creatures (which they must've been, to have both fruits as part of their biology).

At times, I played with different ideas for the roles Eisheth, Lilith, Adam, and the rest of the seven would play. In one draft, the seven are explicitly asked by their government to pursue the solution. In another storyboard, they go rogue when they believe that their people must be saved at all costs. Here, it's more of a mix, inspired by some of my background in academia. I felt that their government would've tasked them to find a solution, even if it weren't one they expected.

The role Eisheth plays in that group is that of a superior or mentor to Lilith, yet also a close friend. That dynamic was more subdued in earlier drafts, but here, it plays a major role. In the first draft, Eisheth didn't go with Shinji to follow Lilith from Terminal Dogma. That moment was Shinji's time to appreciate what Rei had gone through, but I realized that it could be used to make Rei and Eisheth's relationship more tragic.

While Eisheth's relationship with Rei is a major dynamical force in the story, it's only appropriate that Eisheth act as a foil not just to Rei but to Shinji. In many ways, Eisheth reflect what Shinji could've turned out like. Eisheth was never "loud" about her idealism, but it did drive her. Shinji start the story working quietly because of some perceived burden of responsibility for his actions. They both, at different times, feel that more overt idealism would be unproductive or damaging. They both have bouts of cynicism (though for Shinji that's more intermittent, for Eisheth, it's her default mode in the story). Of course, Shinji sees a little bit of himself in everyone: Misato's determination intoxicates him, Asuka's drive for greatness inspires him (and also makes him feel insecure), Nozomi's experiences piloting remind him of himself (even when they shouldn't), and Rei's willingness to put her own desires aside for the greater good tempts him until he sees that it's destructive. Eisheth, too, appeals to him in some way. That's why I found the passage during Second Instrumentality, where Shinji finds Rei frustrating and feels some pull toward Eisheth, despite the heinousness of what she'd done, really important to write.

In the end, we all share some of these doubts and worries. Eisheth is merely the embodiment of those doubts taken to their logical ends.

And yet, Eisheth too came to believe, in the end, that she should set them aside. So may we all.

 

[Muphrid]

40. To the Future

I'd expected the end of the war to be cleaner somehow.

With our mission over and Unit-14 deactivated, the day had been won, but our work was far from finished. The allied forces rounded up the remnants of Seele, shackled them, and loaded them onto the helicopters for transport back to the fleet.

The rest of us followed in waves, but I stayed behind for some time. Getting Unit-14 out of the Geofront would prove difficult—most easily done with it under its own power, but the creature was too worn out and damaged to do that right away. Instead, a team of German and American technicians flew in and force-extracted the entry plug. Nozomi was released into the care of MSDF medical staff. She was a mess: her hair was sticky and clumped, and there were pressure wounds around her wrists and ankles. It would be some time before she was 100% again, but even as the medics started pumping fluids into her, she had the presence of mind to speak to me.

"Thanks, Ikari," she said, smiling weakly. "Thanks for being here."

I crouched down beside her in the medical helicopter. It was getting close to noon local time, and the upper sections of the Geofront had begun casting shadows over the beachhead—the gash we'd managed to carve out from the Geofront's hull and the surrounding landing area. Even so, the beachhead was brighter than the rest of the interior, and that glow cast half of Nozomi's face in light. I smiled at her, and I said,

"I'm glad I was here. I'm glad I met you. I'm glad—so glad—that I could be here and see the moment you didn't have to be a pilot anymore."

"Me, too." She looked out the side of the helicopter, to the horizon, the open water, and the red sea. "I almost fucked it up, but I guess it turned out all right."

I laughed, and I patted her on the head—even though she tried to pull away from it.

"You serious right now?" she said, unable to run away from my touch. "I'll get you back for this."

"I know," I said, continuing to pat her head. "You'll get me back a thousand times worse than this, but you know what? I think it's worth it."

Nozomi sighed, and she stopped resisting, laying her head back on the stretcher. "I've taught you too well," she said.

"You have."

And we both laughed at that.

We carried on for a little while longer, but eventually, the medics wanted her to get some rest. They gave her a sedative, and we rode together back to the international fleet.

With the helicopter carrier Ise destroyed, the Japanese command had relocated to Makinami. It was a makeshift operation in every way: the ship was becoming crowded with rescued survivors. I didn't know the ship at all, so I would get lost at almost every turn, and while the MSDF members were polite enough to show me the way, it was still an unsettling experience.

The crew converted one of the mess halls into a triage center and temporary shelter. Despite the crowded conditions, spirits were high. As new survivors were sent our way, there were cheers and hearty yells all around. If alcohol had been allowed aboard ship, I'm sure the MSDF members would've gone through a few rounds by that point. The war had been won; the Angels had stood down. Seele were in irons.

All that was true, yet it didn't feel like a victory for me just yet. With all those people crammed into one place, lacking a view of the outside, it felt like we had just kept on going. The difference from before and after didn't really resonate in my bones.

Not until Misato walked into the mess hall.

"Brothers and sisters," she cried, "the Angels' attacks are over. The enemy have surrendered. The Earth is ours and ours alone once again. What do we say?"

"Banzai!" cried the survivors. "Banzai! Banzai!"

Misato pumped her fist with them, and the whole room hollered, cheered, and broke into applause.

For the first time that morning, I felt I could cheer with them.



The celebrations continued as we returned to Japan. There was a parade in port as we disembarked. Banners hung outside the airfield where we left for Tokyo-2. Farmers carved out victory messages in their fields.

But once that groundswell of relief ebbed away, we went back to work. There were still great challenges for humanity, for a world to rebuild after the Second Angel War. The Evangelion would have no place in a world without Angels to fight. It was quickly agreed, among the international community, that all three units would be sealed away, reserved only for use against threats to all mankind.

The Black Moon remained over the Indian Ocean while Eisheth's children, and the children of the other giants, repaired its superstructure. After a few months, it rose from its resting place over the ocean, disappearing to the stars. Eisheth would guide the Black Moon back to the worlds of the other giants. Humanity was not a failure; all of their children should be given a chance to succeed. She would see to it.

And in the meantime, a small number of her children would stay behind with us, help restore civilization, and build relations for the future.

Project Manoah's mission had been completed, and it soon came time for Misato's people to abandon the base. A mountain bunker was too valuable to keep for just office space. The government had other ideas. Still, it was strange to clean my stuff out of my office and quarters. Though it'd only been a few months, I'd spent a lifetime there—met people I wouldn't have had a chance to meet, found friends I would've lost, and more. I'd first set foot in the mountain as a very different person. To leave it meant leaving that person behind, too. It wasn't a bad thing, but it was a moment worth considering—worth remembering.

And I remember, that last night on Manoah Base, I ran into Misato as she was cleaning out her office, too. Misato had been assigned to an advisory council that would manage relations with Eisheth's children—the small group of them that the world had agreed could remain. I worried that would mean she would be bored—it was far from the thrill of managing an Eva program—but Misato didn't mind it one bit.

"I've had enough adventures and thrills for a lifetime, I think," she said to me as we carried boxes back to the train.

"No you haven't," I said.

"Hah!" she said, laughing. "No, I haven't. But maybe it'd be nice to have thrills and all that without the fate of the world riding on the line."

And she found that, in due time. Misato found a car enthusiast and racing club in town to join, and every so often, she would invite me to attend a meeting, to have a heart attack as I watched her go three cars wide through racetrack turns built for two, and to meet people. Despite her busy schedule, Misato always found time for her weekends with the club, and she took care to introduce me to the other members. Anytime someone new would come along, she'd take them aside with me and say, "Do you know my son?" And if they gave her a confused look, she would just repeat it until they understood.

With the project over, it was time to look ahead. Nozomi went back to school full-time, with most of her peers none the wiser that she'd been the Eva pilot. Asuka returned to her doctoral studies. Misato had her duties.

As for me, I'd spent two years in hiding, helping people in anonymity, but going back to that was impossible. The government wanted me involved more than ever—to serve as a liaison with Eisheth's children, say, or for public information campaigns about the aliens and the new order. Again and again I said no, though. They had their ideas about what I would do for them going forward—just as my father had done before them. It was high time, I felt, that I would be the one to choose my path. I'd see that people got along with one another, and with our newly discovered brothers and sisters, my own way.

After some thought, I decided the best way to do that was to go back to school, too.

Asuka had a tremendous amount of fun with this idea. Even if it was just a cram school to get me ready for high school entrance exams, the thought of sending me out with a school bag of notebooks, pencils, and other supplies delighted her to no end. I had to draw the line at her trying to foist a shiny red backpack upon me, though.

"You're not really embracing the spirit of being a student," she chided me. I assume it was a Western thing. The thought of going into a school setting so flashy—she tried to give me a rainbow-colored ruler—was unsettling to me, but Asuka had never been the type to fear the impression she made on people, so long as she was in full control over it.

"You mean I can't go there in a white shirt and black pants—you know, something that won't stand out?" I asked her.

"Not a chance. Everybody knows who you are. There's nothing that won't stand out about that, no matter what you wear. Everybody who lived through these past two years—they're going to remember you."

Asuka took the price tag off a binder and packed it away for me. Our living room was filling up with school supplies in various bags, boxes, and bins.

"They're going to remember you, too," I insisted.

She froze me with a knowing look. "They're not. They should, but they won't." She shrugged. "That's just how it is."

Maybe it bothered her a little, but I resolved to do everything I could to take those worries away. Asuka would be remembered, too. If nothing else, I would remember her. The world should remember her. Though Nozomi had piloted the Eva, I really feel that we won—that we averted Fourth Impact—because of people like Asuka. Asuka was an intense person. She hurt me sometimes, but she changed. She turned her intensity toward helping build things with people, toward improving herself. And she did that.

The world could use more people like Asuka—and I couldn't stand to be without her. That's why, as Asuka put her stamp of approval on my notebooks for cram school, I left a small, black felt box on the kitchen counter. It would only take her a couple hours to find it. As for her answer, well, she insisted on having me right then and there. For the future, we talked about some dates. We could wait until the first day we were both 18, or we could hold out for graduations—mine from high school, hers from graduate school—and celebrate coming into adulthood with each other. We didn't decide on that night, but we had options, and we would long enjoy talking about them.

The next day, I went to school again for the first time in two years. It was a strange sensation: most of the kids were younger than me. I'd never been particularly tall, but I was taller than a lot of them, and that made me stand out all the more. I hesitated outside the building, looking up at the place where I'd shape the course of my life, and a few of the students caught me there.

"Hey," one of them said, "aren't you that boy?"

I laughed, bowing my head for a moment, and I met the student's eye. "My name is Shinji Ikari. I'm going to cram school with you. I hope we'll get along."

The first student, a boy, seemed taken aback by my greeting, but one of his friends thought better of the situation.

"We hope so, too, Ikari," said the boy's friend. "My name's Kaizaki. This is Inumata and Emiya. Let us know if there's anything we can help you with, all right?"

I nodded in thanks. "Same to you: if there are any stories you want to hear, I might be able to spare a few minutes of my time."

The boys' faces lit up at that, and the second boy, Kaizaki, motioned for me to follow them inside. I looked back at the street, though, and I hesitated:

"Sorry," I said, "I'll catch up in a second."

The three headed in and upstairs, but I went back toward the street. Someone was there, watching me, and her red eyes compelled me to meet her. The ghost of Rei Ayanami stood on the sidewalk and smiled.

"Congratulations," she said. "They know your name now."

I laughed. "I guess they do."

We shared a smile at that, but for me, it was short-lived. The specter of Ayanami was clearly unreal: she was semi-transparent, exuding an unearthly glow. She could never really be there because she was nowhere at all.

And yet, thanks to some strange miracle, I was able to take her by the hand and feel that she was alive—even though she was not.

"Ayanami…" That was all I could manage to say.

"Don't worry about me, Ikari," she said. "I am here. I will always be here to watch over you."

"Always?" I said, and I shook my head.

"I look forward to it," she said, and she squeezed my hand tighter.

"And if she gets any funny ideas," said another voice, "we'll be here to keep her in line."

Eisheth—she was there, too. In the form of the hooded stranger, with sleeves long enough to hide her hands and a satin face covering that obscured her eyes, she watched from a few meters down the road, and she was not alone, either. Kaworu stood beside her, and the other four progenitors—dressed like Eisheth—watched from a little further down the road.

"I think I'll be the one keeping you in line," said Ayanami, smiling slightly.

Eisheth bowed her head at that, and she faced me. "Take care, Shinji. Lilith and I will be watching, but you should help yourself, too."

I nodded. "I know. And thank you."

A chime went off in the building. The time for cram school was near. I let Ayanami go at the front of the building, and she watched me—as she always had.

I pulled the cram school door open and stepped inside, and though the hours were hard and lectures difficult to get used to again, for the first day at least, I didn't mind it one bit.

The End​

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To those of you who read The Coming of the First Ones, I hope this conclusion brings some closure that was long overdue. To new readers, I hope that this memoir of Shinji Ikari inspires you go out there, be willing to change yourself, and approach the future without fear.

My profound thanks to readers and reviewers: @Ranma-sensei, @Strypgia, @Gryphon, @FourDreadWraiths, @Kitebroken, and @Dealer on Sufficient Velocity; @Susano on Sufficient Velocity for thought-provoking conversations about this piece and Eva canon; HaterOfNone and Malevolent Dark Reflection on FFN.

I don't know when, or if, I will write another Evangelion fanfiction. For now, I plan to write an original piece called The Parallel Murders. But plans change, and paths that once seemed divergent can cross again when you least expect them to. So for now, I can say only this:

Until next time.

-Muphrid

Written for the second draft as published on Sufficient Velocity. Written 2017 March 11, published March 16.

Be at peace, friends: Eisheth and Lilith are watching, and if humanity stumbles again, they will be there—to offer a hand, should we be resolute enough to take it.