The environment here was far harsher than anything inside the War God's Domain.
More than that—here, hunger existed.
In the Domain, hunger never came.
Now, survival meant more than just finding a place to hide. They needed water. They needed food.
Otherwise, even if they hadn't died in the Seven Days of Fire, they would still starve to death in this ruined world.
Hearing this, Ryōji Kaji closed his mouth without another word.
He knew how dire their circumstances were. But no matter how difficult it was, they had to find a way. If they didn't, everyone would die together.
Through endless barren hills and fields of rubble they pressed on, no one knowing how long they had traveled.
At last, a small hillside, shielded from the wind, appeared before their eyes.
It wasn't large, but there—a cave.
And because the Seven Days of Fire had not scorched this particular stretch as severely, a fragment of shelter had survived.
Seeing it, Ryōta Kitazawa let out a long, quiet breath. For now, at least, their crisis was over.
Just then, the power sources for both Units 02 and 03 finally gave out.
"Everyone, leave Unit-02. Rest here for now," Misato Katsuragi ordered firmly as she leapt down from the Eva's hand, then quickly turned to the others.
They stood among the rubble of a dead city—by its layout, this had once been Osaka. Its elevation had spared it from total destruction, making it barely suitable for temporary refuge.
But only temporarily.
The world outside was still drowning in windstorms and flame. Unless they could soon find a place to truly live, survival was impossible.
Once safety, however fleeting, was secured, the shelter filled with the sound of weeping. Quiet sobs rose here and there, swelling into a chorus.
Asuka Langley Soryu emerged from Unit-02. Her eyes were red, though she forced herself not to cry. She clenched her jaw, holding her tears in. A girl as proud as she could never allow herself to break down before the others.
Mari Illustrious Makinami, too, fought her emotions—but her irrepressible cheer masked it better.
Ryōta Kitazawa climbed down from Unit-02's hand as well. He stared in silence at the wasteland before him.
So it had happened after all.
The Third Impact… had come.
Just as they all feared—when Third Impact arrived, it was the end of humanity.
Second Impact alone had already killed vast populations, erased nations, and driven species to extinction. But Third Impact… the disaster was beyond imagining.
And as for his former enemies—Hattori Kojirō, Kishimoto Ishiki…
They were surely gone now. Consumed in the Seven Days of Fire.
Before nature's fury and time's endless march, every grudge seemed so pitifully small. Only when faced with true extinction could humanity cling together as one.
Above and below, it was the end of days.
The world was a sea of fire.
And though they were safe for the moment, an even more urgent problem loomed.
Water. Food. Above all—water.
In this scorched world, where could such things be found?
Misato understood this all too well. She raised her hand and quickly organized search parties, sending groups out to scour for supplies.
Osaka was ruins now, a field of rubble. But perhaps food or water remained… perhaps even survivors.
Sure enough, when the search teams—Ryōta's among them—set out, reports began to return. Some success: small caches of food, some precious water. And yes—survivors.
Some had been trapped beneath collapsed buildings. Others had hidden in underground water pockets. Not every lake had boiled away; a few remained. By clinging to those scraps of water, they had survived.
Food could be rationed, but water was life itself. Without it, no one could endure.
When supplies began trickling back into the makeshift camp, along with rescued survivors, the oppressive despair hanging over the group finally lightened, if only slightly.
With food and water came hope. And hope meant the will to live.
But the survivors they brought in were in terrible shape.
Many were gravely injured, wounds left untreated for days. Blood loss, festering infections—pus seeped from open flesh. High fevers raged. They were on the edge of death.
With no real medicine, no doctors, how could they be saved? Misato could only shake her head, her face pale with helplessness.
Within three days, several succumbed. Their infections worsened, their bodies failed. Even with all their efforts, only a handful of medical supplies had been found—far too little to save them all.
Misato bore it all in silence, her face dark with worry. Each day she looked more drawn, more hollow. Sometimes she stared off at the horizon, lost in thoughts no one could read.
Was it despair at the present? Or fear of the future? No one knew.
So the days passed. From the onset of Third Impact, seven days crawled by.
At last, the red haze choking the world began to fade.
The sun appeared again in the sky. The storms calmed slightly, though sand and ash still swept the air, the acrid sting of burning still heavy with every breath.
It was hard to even imagine what the world had looked like at the exact moment of Third Impact's arrival.
Only by being deep underground had Misato and the others survived at all.
And now, in hindsight, Ryōta wondered—when Gendō Ikari built the vast underground fortress of NERV Headquarters, had he foreseen this day all along?
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