The Colour Purple Chapter 161: Childrens of Heidern, a king of fighters fanfic

The Colour Purple... The King of Fighters '95

This (chapter) fanfiction was originally written circa: [XX.96] (Thank you)

"Which Character are you?"

Note to self: Legacy chapter numbering (32- - -), does not match.

ORIGINAL CHAPTER

A zero sum game. You cannot simply choose winners and losers arbitrarily, you fool. Despite your noble intentions to change how the way this world revolves, your posturing virtue, is laid waste by your delusions; Because reality has a peculiar way of reasserting itself into the REAL WORLD. In all games, there can only be one winner, and THEREFORE the other, must lose.

…and now, you will die.

…

"Do you know why chess is so wonderful, Clark?" Director W. asked. "It's because…"

1990, (22) A.D. (22 minutes After. Destruction.) 12:22 AM, Johannesburg, South Africa. Rooftop helicopter pad. Brahms secret laboratory.

"Du hast…" W., she said, so matter of factly.

In 1977, a Freedom of Information Act request uncovered a cache of 20,000 documents relating to project MK-Ultra, which led to Senate hearings later that year.

"…Fur das, was du meinem Freund angetan hast…"

…

Munich, Germany, 1979.

Wilhelm Heidern closed the door behind him and walked into a dark, cold room. By anyone else's standards this place was a palace, a grand castle – kept spic and span by undoubtedly numerous servants. It would have been a pleasure for anyone to walk in such a place, but to Heidern, it was unfamiliar territory, and somewhat wretched to be in when you understood it all.

Heidern looked forward, back straight and hands behind his back – his uniform perfect.

In that cold, dark room it was silent, save for the dim hue of the moonlight that seeped through the room. After seconds that eventually became minutes of silence, she could not bear it any more.

"Are you Heidern?!" The small girl asked, sternly, obviously audibly annoyed.

Heidern said nothing, still standing straight up.

"What?" The teenage girl repeated, somewhat angered. "Are you Heidern?"

Breathing in and then, out, Heidern finally relaxed, unfurling his hands and took a step forward. "I come all this way, and you can't even stand up to greet me, girl?"

"Why do I have to greet you?" The girl, likely 11 years old hemmed and hawed, leaning back into her chair. She twirled her finger around her long brunette hair that grew past her shoulders and over her biceps. A coy, yet somewhat nervous twitch that served to occupy her between bouts of silence. "My father asked you to teach me how to fight, that is all."

Wilhelm Heidern looked down at the small girl in front of him, her locks had a crimson hue amongst her brunette hair. "That is true." Heidern sighed. "Nothing more and nothing less."

Heidern calmly walked to one of the many stain glass windows on the side of the room and opened it. Looking down it was a clear vertical drop four stories high – and with the tall ceilings easily 6 stories high by any urban building's standards.

"What are you doing?!" The girl scoffed.

Heidern looked outside, then looked back at her. "Jump." Heidern said.

…

1990.

"Guten abend." The crimson haired brunette soldier greeted in front of Mature.

…

1979.

"What's the use?" She said, immediately dejected. "I do NOT have any power."

"You are correct. But. It does not matter." Heidern replied. "Your father asked me to teach you how to fight. And. I will do that." …and if you follow me. "And, if you follow me, girl," Heidern said. Heidern arranged the white pieces in front of him.

"What are you doing?" The girl asked, visibly annoyed, as the man certainly was not listening to her.

"Do not speak unless you are spoken to." Heidern cut in tersely. "Sit down." The girl suddenly taken aback stammered, but eventually gave in and did as she was told, sitting in front of the small chess table on the side of the room and watched Heidern arrange the white pieces at his side. While Heidern arranged his white pieces, his eyes rolled up to look at the girl. "Do the same for the black pieces on your side, girl."

The girl did as she was instructed and mirrored his movement. Putting the cylindrical castle figures on each corner, the pointy-headed piece, then the horses in between, then neatly lining up the small soldiers lining the front with their round heads on the front.

The girl could not hide the curious look in her eyes – since, other than the pawns, all the pieces were in opposing quadra logical pairs except two pieces. She was about to speak, but a sudden psychological STING ran through her cheeks, so she stayed silent.

"What is it, girl?"

"They're not the same." She said.

"That's the queen and the king." Heidern said.

"King… and queen?"

When she finished setting her last piece Heidern leaned forward with his right hand, but before he could reach the king, the girl reached forward and switched the king and queen pieces, as if on instinct, on her own switching their places opposite places instead of mirroring Heidern's arrangement.

Heidern let out a terse humph. He rolled his shoulders back, stopped half way and leaned back, saying nothing and instead nodded in approval.

The girl put both curled fists in front of her, just behind the chessboard and looked up, waiting for a sign of approval. However, when none came, she slumped backwards and put her hands on her lap.

"Why did you do that?" Heidern asked.

"I don't know… just…" She said instinctively. Not sure why. "Maybe I want my King to look at your Queen, and, I want your Queen to look at my King." Heidern looked large, menacing, towering over her and she did not know what was going on.

LET'S PLAY A GAME, LITTLE GIRL.

"Hei…" She said but stopped in thought.

"What? Go ahead." Heidern replied.

"Even if I don't have any powers, will you teach me how to fight?"

"I will. I promise you." Heidern answered so matter of factly.

AND ONE DAY, MAY YOU FIGHT. FOR SOMETHING, AND SOMEONE DEAR TO YOU.

The girl leaned forward to touch one of the pieces but Heidern's hand stopped her, wrapping his hand over her knuckles. "Girl." Heidern said. "The white pieces always go first… and…"

BEFORE WE [FIGHT]. "Before we fight," Heidern said, "Always greet your enemy."

"Eh?" She said.

"Guten abend, mein Madchen."

…

Once you've made your righteous decision. FOR whenever you fight, you have to maintain the CONVICTION, that you will NEVER be able to talk to your ENEMY alive ever again. FIGHT, without hesitation, and, KILL WITHOUT REMORSE.

If you desperately want to live… Just as WE did, back then. This, precedes ALL the RULES.

…

Good evening, my girl.

The lady, now grown but no less bitter, tasted the foul flavour in her mouth and grit her teeth. Through her contorted face reflected a complex miasma of emotions – anger, regret, longing, and maybe, even a melancholy that hoped to hide… a sweet and important memory.

A memory so very precious, it was the only thing that kept her sane. All these years.

'Always greet your enemy.'

For a moment, the woman only named as [W.] flashed a smile before her face slowly returned to a dark murderous scowl when she realized what she had to do.

1990.

"Guten abend." The crimson haired brunette soldier greeted in front of Mature.

"Who are you?!" Mature responded.

Someone called out for help. Within a silent darkness – a man pleaded to be saved…

[I am here, to help a friend. That is all – nothing more – nothing less.]

In the end…?

'Director W.?! Are you OK? Please state your condition?' The static in her ear said.

…in the end, what else can we do, isn't this all we were placed in this world for?

"I'm OK, Carl." W. responded.

She took three steps forward – one foot in front of the past.

"The first lesson…" Heidern once said. "To think two or three steps ahead…" Wilhelm extended one finger then, slowly.

"You hurt my friend, and now I am going to PUNISH all of you!"Director W. said in a droning voice very plainly."Rugal Bernstein."

Mature removed Rugal's arm from her shoulder and stood up straight. Rugal in turn stood on his own without much fanfare. Known only to Mature and Vice, Rugal did well to hide his current physical condition.

"Are you deaf?!" Mature shouted muffled by the helicopter behind her.

The lady stood up and began to walk towards them, each step bolstered by the echoing deep beat of the helicopter blade making a slow revolution. Clothed in loose fitting olive drab green military fatigues she continued to walk slowly towards her enemies without an ounce of fear.

"I am here for HIS body. And you will give IT to me." She commanded. "Rugal Bernstein. Where is Wilhelm Heidern's body!?"

Huh? Mature's face was twisted in confusion. She looked at Vice to her left, then back at the lady. Then, she began to laugh at the irony and the idiocy of it all. Vice chuckled to herself too in her own simple, demented way, staring at far off points in the horizon with bloodshot eyes and crooked lips.

"What's SO FUNNY?!" W. cut Mature's train of thought.

Something… something was NOT right. Here.

Mature, suddenly caught aback, stunted her laugh but returned a confused glare, then smiled coyly. "It's just… what is WRONG with you people?" She said. "It's just that… 10 years ago…" 10 years ago, a dirty old man, and a crass ninja; the sound of helicopter blades muffling the words in between. "…asked us the same thing." She laughed.

Vice looked at their enemy from across the rooftop, still unsure if they should engage, or simply, and plainly, laugh and walk away. Mature returned the look and silently, they both came to the same conclusion. That woman was a plain blood. She has NO power.

"What do you want with Wilhelm? What did you DO to him?"

"Walk away, little girl." Mature said as a friendly suggestion. "If you believe… If so, Heidern is God now."

Strangely, the woman took a step back and put her hand over her heart. She let out a sigh – digging deep, going back to that one precious thing, a beacon of light, then, as if on demand, the darkness in a deep well turned the gleaming water black with a rancid rage, replacing white with dark. He was ALIVE, that much was true, but at what cost?

"Director W.?" The static voice in her ear.

"You do not understand," The brunette lady said. "You don't understand [it] yet do you? You stupid people…"

The beat of the helicopter blades left a hard booming THUMP in their ears in rapid succession in that rooftop. When a small lady pointed a menacing finger to the two women and a beaten old blonde haired man.

You stupid, stupid people. Shaking her head. You God Damned STUPID PEOPLE.

Can you speak – with - dead?

"…it is not, G_O_D, you found." W. said as she came to a horrid realization of what had truly transpired these years. And with pangs of regret, she had been so WEAK to allow it to happen.

WAS it through noble intentions, or did it warp into a perverted desire for power?

…or maybe, because we just did not want to be forgotten, when we died?

Rugal Bernstein – you did not find God…

"Du hast entfesselt das TEUFEL."

You did not find GOD. Instead… in your ignorant, MISGUIDED VANITY…

This was another story… of [a Master and a Servant].

Just as THEY did, back in the war.

"You can see… [It.]" They MADE you – no, they FORCED you to see [it]. Too…

…you unleashed, THE DEVIL.

Chapter 161: Childrens of Heidern.

"Guten abend." To destroy. Without remorse. "Mein Madchen." She GNASHED her teeth under her twisted lips. A bubbling RAGE that was slowly overcoming her entire body. "I am going to kill, ALL, of you, now."

"FUCK YOU!" Vice roared at the top of her lungs her body trembling erratically, beyond her control she had lost all rational thought, when she could no longer hold herself back.

{VICE!} Mature screamed voiceless in her mind. In the invisible second between the bleats of helicopter blades.

…

Oswald… Oswald? "Oswald!" Director W. finally gave in and shouted out loud.

"Mistress?" A silver haired gentleman, now a degree much older than he was when he first served her mistress, walked in from the shadows. His voice calm and collected, slightly perplexed, as if he had been in that dark room all this time.

"Oswald." She said, slowly unpacking a large package wrapped in plain manila paper. For something so grandiose, it looked no more special than a loaf of fresh bread. "Will this even work?"

"Mistress…" Oswald smiled in reply. "One cannot simply ASK if an artifact will 'work' as intended… I know, and you know this much…"

…

{VICE!} Mature screamed voiceless in her mind. In the invisible second between the bleats of helicopter blades.

Director W's pupils immediately darted to the right side, when dark wisps, ebony streaks of steam floated upwards, and as they did – a low, morbid groan echoed in the back of her head. She was not completely sure what was happening. Black nodules slowly protruded from the ground, small nubs like black sea anemone floated in space – on each stub were white circular eyes and a wailing mouth. Paranormal specters wailing in PAIN as they were forced to breathe in the air of the real world.

Perplexed, Mature did not understand why her enemy did not move from her spot. Something's wrong. Wait… things were happening too fast, and Mature had not given thought to the possibility, that perhaps…

Vice's body instantaneously disappeared when long black tendrils enveloped her body in a spiral as it tore her existence from this reality. And then… she was gone.

VICE! A steady beat of steps ran down the concrete rooftop directly towards their enemy. Appearing then disappearing at random moments, Vice rushed forward to her enemy. Leaving a trail of short black tendrils behind her, the gray ground slowly turned into a blinding white light. Floating, teetering in place, like black sea anemone in an ocean of white.

{Vice… WAIT!} Mature, almost believing she could somehow freeze time, drowned in a sea of confusion and conflicting thoughts. Suddenly she was forced to arrange a sequence of events spanned an endless winter, into the limited span of just half a second.

An unreasonable amount of stress, and even with all the training and the GIFTS her master, Rugal had carefully and lovingly bestowed unto her, even then, Mature had to put her ENTIRE conscious strength to this half second. But, her master was great, and he had, with great care, and great love nurtured her….

…something is wrong…

{THIS WOMAN.} Mature thought. She came alone, here. She has NO power. She is plain blood. Surely. Surely, she does not know, she cannot know our physical conditions. This is, by face value, a battle of 3 versus 1. This is impossible.

{This is impossible.} Mature reassured herself... over and over again. Logically, it is an impossible gamble. But. {But, why?} Mature could not make that prickly, stinging sensation in the back of her spine go away. WHY?

Vice in a zig-zagging path of attack disappeared and reappeared when thorny black vines leapt from the ground to tear her mortal body into hundreds of pieces in mid flight.

WHY IS SHE?

She let her guard down, just, for an instant. The crimsoned haired brunette lady, Mature's enemy smiled. Hands relaxed at her sides, Director W. arched her spine backwards.

{Why is she smiling?}

…but she was too slow, and simply one-half step behind greatness.

…

1979.

The little girl picked up a black pawn and put it two squares forward.

"Why did you do that?" Heidern asked.

"I don't know. I just did." She answered.

"No." Heidern reached forward and picked up the pawn and put it back to its original place two squares back. "No." Heidern repeated.

Every action must have MEANING. Every action you take must have a purpose, a purpose one, two and maybe even three steps ahead. "THIS GAME…" Heidern reminded.

This game is a chase to God. And we, we have no luxury to waste moves when we fight.

"EVERY STEP. Must have Purpose."

…

1990.

The woman did NOT move. She stood completely still, waiting, waiting patiently, even as the entire world turned into a halogen bright blinding light, she refused to look away.

"Shi-ne!" DIE! Vice appeared 10 feet in front of her enemy, Vice's right claw poised over her shoulder. In an instant the tens of hundreds of thousands of black nodules ran around her body, studding the ground – two large masses of black ghosts erupted into two swarms in wide arcs around Vice's body and raced forward to ATTACK. A million black nubs darted forward to their enemy.

No…. Oh no… NO. NO! NO NO NO!

STOP.

The. {The.} Mature held her thoughts when she finally realized it. The FIFTH LESSON?

Realized it a fraction of a second TOO late. Just a half step.

Perhaps, when Mature realized, perhaps in her arrogance, that she was NOT the only little girl who was taught the rules of this game.

…

1979.

"The FIFTH lesson…" Heidern said, slowly, so his pupil could understand.

If you are unable to come up with a solution when put against very incredible odds, simply open yourself to their strongest attack and just respond to their arrogance, with the simplest retaliation, but keep dear in mind…

You must!

…

1990. The Childrens of Heidern.

A familiar feeling, just like when first learning to ride a bicycle, the elation of greatness, a knot in your heart, suddenly erupting in joyous rapture – though she did not understand it at first - like a little girl falling in love for the first time. Let this feeling FREE, and destroy everything in its path.

YOU MUST…

Wait! "VICE! VICE! STOP!" Mature screamed leaping forward in fright and obvious panic. In slow motion, in mid flight, Mature looked at Vice, then turned her gaze, with each creaking gear in slow motion towards HER.

The brunette enemy, at the LAST second when the dark nodules was about to meet her toes, her eyes darted WIDE open, she twisted her body and with her left hand reached around her belly, to under the flap on her back, THEN, swung outwards! With a loud and screaming THRASH! VIOLENTLY!

360. 720! 1080! 1440! FOUR times around her body, a taught leather

[WHIP]

LASHED OUTWARDS with the rage of a hundred million screaming souls. Yet, amongst all that, only one voice pierced the dark veil.

…

"It is the [artifact] you asked for, mistress." The white haired gentleman said, nodding slightly.

"Will this work? Is it even real?" She asked. "The whip that subjugated Jesus?"

"Perhaps, miss." He said, "Everything abides by LESSONS and RULES after all."

"Thank you, Oswald." W. replied in thanks.

"This jewel suits you the best, Mistress Whip." Her butler, Oswald smiled reassuringly.

…

1990.

Time rewinds in an instant. Wait! "VICE! VICE! STOP!" Mature screamed leaping forward in fright and obvious panic. In slow motion, in mid flight, Mature looked at Vice, then turned her gaze, with each creaking gear in slow motion towards HER.

{How does it feel?} How does it feel, the woman named Whip replied silently to Mature. {How does it feel… to FINALLY understand.}

…that despite the constant warm reassurance you repeated to yourself, THAT, you are NOT special. THAT SOMEONE ELSE, stands here to DEFY you. This is the real WORLD!

…and while entrapped in bright blinding light, Mature slowly began to realize and understand – finally realizing this feeling, was FEAR and was DREAD.

{To understand, that you were NOT the only ONE.} To meet a man, who opened your eyes to the lessons of the WORLD!

The brunette enemy, at the LAST second when the dark nodules was about to meet her toes, she twisted her body and with her left hand reached around her belly, to her back, THEN, swung outwards!

360. 720! 1080! 1440! FOUR times around her body, a taught leather [WHIP] LASHED OUTWARDS with the rage of a hundred million screaming souls.

"YOU MUST …be prepared to respond with a MASSIVE ATTACK!

WHIP!

Muchiko's weapon tore through Vice's black spirits in an instant, making them disintegrate, dissolving with a shriek into the blinding light background. Screaming in pain and regret at the pettiness of their fleeting existence.

…or maybe, because we just did not want to be forgotten, when we died?

Vice stumbled forward her attack limp and EMPTY as the talons disappeared. All that was left was a face of confusion and an impending dread. Vice's empty claw swung in mid air a clear foot away from Whip's smug face. Instantaneously rendered powerless.

The woman named Whip simply looked back aloofly, and without a care when her leather whip turned round and round her body as a shield, until it slowed laying itself out in larger and larger circles around both of the women, to stop in place on the ground.

A spiral, a cycle of irony enveloped both of them.

A leather spiral coiled around two enemies, in that shit hole country, in a horrible time, in a wretched war – and a GAME – that kept us all alive. Looking down at that concrete rooftop.

"…and now…" as the RULES decree… you…

The BEAST – part 21.

"You hurt my friend." Muchiko, the Whip whispered softly. "My name is Muchiko."

Du HAST meinen Freund verletzt.

In a twinkling flash as Vice stumbled forward for a split second robbed of her powers.

{I suppose, this artifact works. After all…}

Thank you, Oswald.

"…Fur das, was du meinem Freund angetan hast…"

In Whip's right hand was a 4.5 pound Desert Eagle pistol, chambered in .50 action express. A barrel ready to DRIVE a half inch hole in a human's head stared back at Vice.

…and now…

"Und jetzt, wirst du STERBEN!"