The Colour Purple Chapter 176: the Hunger for Greatness, 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

Once upon a time. Aru hi… Mukashi mukashi, aru tokoro ni… (86)

One evening, an old man came to a sandy beach, sickly, weak, bitter and tired. In this lonely place, by the whims of his petty folly, he knelt on both knees in the sand and collected, with great care as the sea brushed them to the shore, a dozen seashells in his calloused, dry and broken hands that bled at the fingertips.

As chance would have it, the King of the land, on his evening walk, held his stride and looked at the beggar who knelt by the shore just as the sun had set. He asked.

"What is it that you do?" The king asked.

"I am here to gather and search for treasures." The beggar shivered as his knees lay deep in the water that had slowly to grown cold when the warmth of the sun began to ebb.

"What nonsense!" The king replied with his troupe of soldiers following a few steps behind him.

Thrown away from distant golden lands – only to be washed ashore and lost…

The king, taking a slight interest in the peculiar man who knelt in the sand with torn, tattered clothes, the king took a step and two forward as he spoke. "Those things you gather…" As best as he could, the king could not hide a hint of mockery in the flavour of his voice.

The man, with great and utmost care, collected THEM in his hands even as the sand that passed through his fingers cut his flesh like small shards of glass.

"…are nothing but garbage." The king said sternly with a merciless, condescending tone, his face just inches from the beggar's ears, their faces side by side just next to each other.

A monstrous metal monster floated up high past the clouds, where men of old could only call 'heaven', because they did not understand. High above the sky, GOD watched over them to mete judgment – sometimes fairly but far too often, arbitrarily, and capriciously. For we all exist HERE, king and beggar alike, just to suffer!

1990. 01:00 AM. Underground Laboratory. Johannesburg, South Africa.

Clark SMASHED his left forearm above Heidern's elbow SNAPPING the monster's arm in half with all of his power and rendering it a perverted shape - in an unnatural reverse V shape.

Heidern swerved as he tumbled forward, and only by letting his left hand flail was he able to break free from Clark's grip. Heidern fell to the ground on all fours and when the beast instinctively put his right arm out to the ground to support himself, his elbow gave way to the weight and folded, slamming his face into the ground.

The look on Clark's face was sour and rancid. But it was not rancor that he felt, but instead it was pity. It was sadness. The only bit of animousity he harboured was the stinging hatred for the cruel will of destiny that forced them to fight each other this way. You may hate society. You may hate history. You may even hate GOD. What ever it takes, so you can look yourself in the mirror and tell yourself…

Under normal circumstances the fight would be over and Heidern would be unable to move his arm, but for a BEAST this was nothing. Gingerly Heidern put both arms out and slowly lifted himself up. Still determined to DESTROY everything. Once again the swirling darkness growing thicker, more pungent, enveloping the world in a pitch black void. HIS version of the DARKNESS. Consuming instead the REAL world into darkness.

But this DARKNESS meant NOTHING to Clark! Clark jerked his leg up, freeing it from the zombie that grabbed onto his ankles and smashed the undead scientist's face under his boot.

The BEAST turned around and without a moment's rest he dug in his heels. HEIDERN. Without a moment's rest he curled his legs down like compressed coils, then immediately LAUNCHED back at Clark like a savage ANIMAL.

Clark flexed his traps, twisted his shoulders repeatedly into a rolling figure eight. Taking a step back one and two steps. Finally letting his right elbow DAGGER diagonally backwards – with a bright glint, a horizontal flash as he drew the glowing blade back - and digging his right heel deep into the earth.

Because, these motions we went through did not just light our path forward, it also served to justify all the pain that came beforehand.

To survive was not enough. Even simple pleasure alone was inadequate to satisfy us. …and only through FIGHTING, can we see this through to the end. Conquest, revenge or justice. All held equal weight in our petty lives. It was VIOLENCE that brought us together, and it is through the same manner that we END this. It did not matter who with, we simply had to fight. For barbarians like us, our FISTS provided the same comfort that normal people would when exchanging sweet or intelligent words.

Did not the KING say so? YOU and I are GARBAGE are we not?!

…

BUT, IF YOU STAY WITH ME. I PROMISE YOU…

That I will make you STRONG.

We, we were forsaken by the cruel world. A system, a society, a politic that cared nothing for boys like us. Children that were thrown away like GARBAGE. By SOCIETY. By POLITICS. By FATE. For what kind of perverse pleasure do you derive from seeing us suffer, Wilhelm Heidern? Yet, yet I have come to understand and accept that I have no right to demand pity from you. Because. Your compassion was enough to keep me warm at night.

…and for that alone, I thank you.

If given clearly defined RULES, and an easy to understand PURPOSE, even a HUNGRY boy can sleep soundly at night. That much I know.

IN EXCHANGE, JUST PROMISE ME…

You were the ONLY person who gave GARBAGE a reason for living. Heidern.

The rules were quite simple. In order for GOD'S plan to exist, one of you had to become EVIL.

Almost like a polar opposite of Coprolalia - the more puzzling and stigmatizing manifestations of Tourette Syndrome. A trait, strange and awkward, Clark mouthed words silently – his lips puckering and contorting, his mouth moving to match his thoughts, yet no sound came out.

That you won't let the EVIL test me.

…

ONLY through the understanding of a reasonable probability of complete mutual destruction can we respect each other. Therefore, fighting is our COMMUNICATION.

"Thank you." Clark whispered. The bitter taste now replaced by a lingering sweet sensation. Understanding that the exact, precise moment when all debts are repaid, even from the clutches of darkness, we can bring even EVIL men back into the light. Thank you very much… Heidern.

This, at their base nature, must be like how intelligent people feel too.

Heidern launched forward and even his right arm reanimated by his demonic power, slashed down. Anchoring himself with his right heel, Clark slapped his left hand under Heidern's right elbow, a thunderclap, a sound of chainsaws gnashing teeth, meeting mid air in an instant with equal tension and ferocity, then, flowing in sync Clark's right palm grabbed Heidern's left wrist, pushing it up, ducking his head under it and threw Heidern's left claw upwards. The figure eight defense! Immediately, curling in mid air and reversing its path in an infinite loop, Clark swung the back of his right hand behind Heidern's left wrist and swatted the third attack wide. Redirecting and dissipating Heidern's wild double arm flails, Clark ran backwards matching Heidern's mad forward rush in perfect timing. It was now a running gun battle with Heidern rushing forward and in keeping pace, Clark ran backwards, defending. Heidern clawed his right hand upwards towards Clark's stomach. Clark had his left forearm upwards guarding the left side of his and with a circular motion, jammed the back of his RIGHT wrist over Heidern's and guided it, sweeping it past his midsection while sucking his breath and cocked his belly backwards to avoid the blow. Turning. Then his right hand, Clark swung opposite the motion with his same right hand slammed down on Heidern's left hand dagger clear off from his midsection – diverting Heidern's stab, Clark, twisting his body to the side, dodging, preventing it from center from disemboweling him all the while – Clark Steel – eventually, if we live long enough, we each have to play our role, as the EVIL man – a man demonstrating absolute control over his body - running backwards at full throttle.

Their hearts pumping, their minds racing – a HUNDRED MILES PER HOUR.

When subjected to terrible stress, lesser men crumble, topple and eventually die; but on some instances, if you saved one last dance and you understood it, it is possible for a man to experience a moment… where he has ABSOLUTE control over his body.

The rules are simple, when the alternative is the finality of death, you either die, or if you UNDERSTAND, and let is ALL go! You will likely DIE, but by chance you can become GREAT. All the same – both ways - REGRET finally loses all meaning.

AND THEN. We are set FREE!

…

Clark. Do not let the DARKNESS devour me.

…

{Remember me…}

Clark threw his left palm forward, SMASHING Heidern's nose.

Cocking back, Clark threw both palms forward and pushed Heidern's body backwards, breaking the beast's momentum.

The beast, stumbling back a third of a dozen steps to regain its bearing, it SNARLED!

Even they. Both of them. They were unable to resist the WHIMS of the rules.

A FORCED RESET!

Stumbling back, Heidern's RIGHT foot stabbed into the ground, steadying itself. In response, the blonde haired boy anchored his own right foot into the Earth. Clark's heel CRUSHING the concrete underneath him, digging deeper and deeper, the boy heaved the earth underneath his feet into a solid clump like wet mud, compressing it into a buttress. A 20 foot long pier drilling into the ground so to make it immovable.

It was but a GOD, who, by happenstance crossed our paths, and, I often wonder if this GOD came to save us from pain, or, if this was simply the inevitable course of destruction.

HHHRAAAGH! A phlegm laced voice lingered. A dark hand grasped up from the quagmire underneath.

Ghastly ghouls, dark phantom hands sprung from the ground and all those DISGUSTING fingers crept up Clark's ankles, one by one those fingernails dug into his flesh, calf, hungering, up to his knee, as if a drowning child desperately wanting to live, and to do it, it would reach up his leg wanting to drag Clark down to HELL!

Clark twisted his right knee LOCKING each joint one by one – from ankle, knee, pelvis waist, and committing itself in place in a vice grip, a swirling vortex – his entire body twisting into a taut coil about to explode – then at its apex it CRACKED and scattered broken glass shards, a reflective pixie dust into the air. Studding the darkness with a beautiful galaxy filled with STARS – and with innocent individual WISHES. Petrifying Clark's leg in place with concrete and iron chains!

Like the crude, rudimentary gears that continued to turn, cocking back that medieval catapult backwards inch by inch, given the luxury of time, minutes existed, translated into split seconds, coiling that red hot fiery RAGE backwards.

THE RULES.

Just as the world continues to rotate in its axis. They EXIST, for a reason.

The BEAST snarled, then ROARED.

…

The KING of KINGS.

What made HER a vicious force of nature, was not for a brute strength – far from it, but it was because of the easy to understand clockwork that, with great divinity, she had naturally discovered, as a gifted childrens, before even modern fighting was able to even begin to comprehend it. Back in the time when cavemen wailed at each other with cudgels in the 1970s, this y8irl: already had a clear understanding of its distinct biometric logic. SHE simply understood it before anyone else.

{I need your help. My friend.} Clark thought silently, gnashing his teeth, at first, gradually then tersely in anger, then, slowly… grinning… as the sweet madness gradually overcame his sanity.

If civilization was destined for conflict;

This was in an ordinary sleepy town, here, in 1977, in this country of New Hong Kong.

A human bred for greatness.

A human thus born solely for violent fighting, and for violent fighting alone.

SHE is the ULTIMATE FIGHTING MACHINE.

The y8irl: pulled the scissors from her wrist and sighed out loud, lethargically as she leaned backwards. The camera of the world, from the ceiling of that noisy bathroom carefully focused on her lips as they moved, narrating such a simple and elementary truth.

"IF your enemy is RIGHT handed." King said. "It is simply logical…" That.

…

1990.

The white, seething smoke pushed through the small spaces in between Clark's teeth, now the boy was overcome with rapture. {The DARKNESS inside of YOU.} THAT. "That," he said. "That is my ENEMY." He spoke out loud. Now the cavernous eyes of the Childrens slowly and then, immediately devoured Clark Steel whole in an instant. Taking the boy, with his consent, as its own!

Wilhelm Heidern.

THE darkness inside of you. {YOU are the enemy of the PROGENITOR.} The First Childrens' lips mouthed the words silently – its ghosted face superimposed on Clark's now. Plain and simple. Now. {YOU have become OUR enemy too!}

…

1987.

"I had to fight Heidern back then, boy." The Knight said into the beige telephone handset. "And I think you will have no choice but to fight him too."

"How? If he has lost his mind, then how can I reason with him?"

The Knight sighed, and defeated he could only reply plainly, "You can no longer reason with a BEAST, boy. You have to…"

1944.

I asked myself, then and there, 'to what lengths would adults go', and how would they rationalize in their hearts, how would they justify turning their children into MONSTERS.

"You have to be quiet, bruv." The boy that would one day be called the Knight hissed. And, just like that 43 years reversed in an instant, the youthful glow and breath sucked back into the old man's body. Truly youth is wasted on the young.

The 13 year old British boy SMASHED his left forearm above Heidern's elbow SNAPPING the monster's arm in half with all of his power and rendering it a perverted shape and in an unnatural angle in a reverse V shape.

I had to break both his arms!

The young Heidern tucked forward slithering his flaccid arms from the Knight's grip still snarling, cursing out loud – wishing for the death of the entire world.

The boy drove his right foot backwards and embedded it deep into the soil – his body cocking back and coiling itself, mimicking the same exact movement as Clark nearly 5 decades in the future.

Heidern sprung forward, even with both arms broken the ferocity was unmatched as if the beast was certain his power could reanimate both arms, and if not he was willing to tear the British boy's jugular with his teeth if need be.

Unless you all die, this war will NEVER stop.

"You are ALL WRONG! All your children have to die! GOTT MIT UNS!"

For a split fraction of a second Heidern tilted his head back and his eyes grew wild in slight confusion, as a small child appeared standing motionless behind the British boy, as if a declaration, or mayhaps an unfair mete of justice.

The Childrens grinned a wicked smile from ear to ear.

"Ich habe dich nicht gewählt, weil du großartig warst." The Childrens said.

The British boy exploded into motion throwing his right foot forward, landing hard onto Heidern's knee, predicting the attack just 22% into the action and repelled the run, driving his enemy's heel back into the ground deeper and deeper, until it could go no further – and now locked, the German's leg was petrified even though his entire body mass continued to move forward, powerless to defy inertia.

The product of a hundred years of curated eugenics, the British came upon the ANSWER a different way.

It was quite elementary once you understood it. But there was one thing the scientists could not predict.

In the middle of the town square in Pforzheim, was a single wooden chair. Amidst the screech and booms of dropping bombs. That one article looked so out of place, yet, that picture… a lone wooden chair in the middle of a cobblestone clearing was something that both of them could not erase from their minds.

That one thing, it was so beautiful. In this picture of death and destruction.

I simply had to break both Heidern's arms. Break both his legs. And in order for him to submit to REASON, I had to destroy his jaw, so he could stay QUIET for a moment. If he can take a seat, maybe Heidern could STOP. STOP. And THINK about what was happening.

…and mayhaps he could reflect on the exact moment, where both of us went wrong.

…

1990 again and again.

Heidern's ROAR exploded in a sonic boom that rushed through Clark's torso, its entire force transferred into Clark's right leg, the CHAINS absorbing the instantaneous shock, clicking taut, and as Clark wobbled backwards, then, forwards, it reversed the flow BACK!

The iron chains SHATTERING, Clark attacked with a heavy right leg push KICK with his right foot directly in front of him – a nuclear missile - targeting Heidern a half second after he exploded into motion.

She understood it before anyone else. And THAT, was what made her DANGEROUS!

It was really very simple to predict. Once you understood it.

1977.

"Under situations of extreme stress, he will be unable to convince himself otherwise, and, being right handed, Heidern will ALWAYS lead with his LEFT foot." She said. All things being equal – and unable to go against the rules of nature… He will be unable to defy this simple rule.

And, if you understand this easy to understand fact, the randomly rolled probability of destiny changes from 9% to 99%!

The first to understand this, will win!

1990.

"Ich habe dich gewählt, weil du hungriger warst." The first Childrens said quite frankly.

Clark drove his entire weight predictably into Heidern's LEFT knee – completely predicting the action and interrupted the launch at so very early, at just 22% of Heidern's motion.

Destiny chose you, because you were HUNGRIER for GREATNESS!

Remember me?

Clark was immediately able to predict the launch thus driving Heidern's left heel BACK into the ground, trapping it into the soil. With a SNAP, while it was still straight Clark's push kick dislocated Heidern's left leg at the knee before he could launch a counterattack.

REMEMBER… REMEMBER ME?!

Unable to defy inertia Heidern's entire bodyweight continued to barrel forward eventhough his leading left leg was frozen, effectively giving Clark's kick an immediate 50 times mechanical weight advantage to DESTROY Heidern's left leg.

"There was only one thing I could do back then, boy." Knight said. "In order to stop Heidern. I had to break his arm, break his legs!"

Heidern did not realize it then, but the ground, from darkness was now checkered in a chessboard of white squares and dark squares. Littering the world with logical steps as long as we harboured no regrets.

The King of Fighters was a 2 dimensional game. Motions in two axes – simple to understand and enough mental burden for its time in the 90s - vertical and forward, though half way through the decade, in 1995, on occasion there was a possibility by pressing A+B – to DODGE. Could this be an elementary representation of a 3rd dimension, quite revolutionary for its time?

Taking that to its next logical step, what would a 4th dimension look like?

With great precision and clear and concise purpose without a spec of remorse… As Heidern stumbled in place with a shattered left leg, Clark appeared on Heidern's RIGHT side. With the assistance of destiny, the lingering, sparkingly diamond like fairy dust floated down in his wake. Clark raised both arms up, his fists by his temples as the wound his leg back as far as it would go!

Would have this one last dance with me?

The BEAST did not even have its wits about him to look to the opposite side before Clark had already placed himself in the optimum position, cocking his right roundhouse kick like a revolver hammer…

With your right foot on the gas pedal as far as it would go, the gears whirled so very fast the slashing sound was deafening. WHRRRRR…RRR….. WHRRRRAGHHHH! Yet it floated up in place when the clutch under your left foot kept it up in place. Then. As the sawblades roared in hunger, you eased on your left foot from the clutch and the TEETH locked in place – ending the tormenting sound. A HARD padlock clicking in place.

"If he is right handed. He will lead with his left leg. And ofcourse, his RIGHT leg, to launch his body would be completely be overextended, locked and it would be elementary to…" King continued.

You may hate your parents. You may even hate the will of nature. Hate the world. HATE YOURSELF. What ever it takes, so you can look yourself in the mirror and tell yourself…

To SMASH Heidern's completely overextended right leg like a glass rod.

That, for barbarians like us, simply being stronger was enough for righteousness!

Would have this one last dance with me? Before I set you free.

C+D! Clark's right kick SHATTERED Heidern's right leg in place!

…

"Jung!"

"Clark ajussi can do it. He can do it!"

"Jung!"

Jung looked up from the monitor and the petrified look on his face locked in the horror.

…

Together…

Heidern, with both legs crushed stumbled again, finally on all fours – only his one good arm steadying himself. He snarled, unwilling to accept all of this. Just like he had near 5 decades ago, the inner RAGE in his heart REFUSED to accept defeat. Because.

Because THEY made him SEE it. The blood. The sorrow. And that, that rancid, bitter feeling of regret.

The flash hazed in red of a woman and small innocent girl who he now understood HATED him. That kept him alive and animated the seething burning fiery rancor in his heart.

…

Were you not satisfied? Was it not enough that you took my childhood away…

…

"If they make him SEE that." Knight said. "He will…"

FOREVER.

Is this not equitable justice? No matter what the cost, even if we have to bend pragmatisism. We were NOT wrong. You made us SUFFER so much, why? Why is it wrong to just DESTROY.

EVERYTHING.

He's still, still moving? What is WRONG with you?! "HEIDERN!"

Heidern with just one more BURST of anger launched up with both arms in an X cross attack with all 10 fingers.

Clark jumped back on instinct, eventhough his joints ached he knew, he understood that if he did not move, he would die. Pumping all the muscles in his body in unison he jumped back – it was impossible for a living human being to tense ALL muscles all at once. Since muscles operated in pairs in order to coordinate opposite movements, the boy did it without him thinking.

I can't. It wasn't enough, Clark's knees dislocated themselves from Clark's mind – his knees felt numb, and he knew that despite his objection, Heidern's attack would cut his jugular wide open!

Just like the brilliance from a star light years away, a soft whisper made itself known no matter how many decades it had to span to reach its destination… "Save him. Save HIM. I COMMAND YOU!" She said.

A small child with both of his small arms grabbed the back of Clark Steel's vest and PULLED him back. Those 10 fingers barely missing Clark's neck.

All debts must be repaid!

The sound only the two of them could hear, the crickle crack and pop of a hot pan filled with cooking oil. One arm, as if giving birth to ITSELF, ripped up, unearthing itself from the vagina of the ground, from a black hole as thorny sinews clung tightly around its forearm.

A Neanderthal of a monster materialized in front of Clark, the second boy's long arms dragged on the ground and in doing so its iron knuckles, bladed digits, ignited rapid blinding sparks, LAUNCHING UP!

The BEAST – part 36.

The 10 slashing afterimages, 10 crimson blades faded into the dark. And 10 others met them half way parrying the blows.

A SECOND CHILDRENS!? Both at once?

The First Childrens behind Clark and in front of him was the Second. In an instant 1944 and 1977 became ONE and the SAME. I remember 1990.

Chapter 176: the Hunger for Greatness.

1990 was the year that I lost my fear, and the word REGRET lost its meaning.