The Colour Purple Chapter 39: Roman D'Amour, 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

"You nitwit!" Takuma scolded. "You finally figure it out? My own son who's dumber than you, dumb as a rock figured it out in no time!"

Ryousuke slowly turned to his master, though wordless the glared menacingly at his father in a way that his thoughts were easy to understand. Takuma could at least have the decency wait until his own son left the room if he was going to badmouth him in public.

Robert forced himself to calm down, steady his breathing, he reminded himself to keep the shackles that imprisoned his wrists, loose. If his hands were too far apart, the chain would bind, limiting his movement. If that were to happen… he thought... if that happened, not only offense, but defense would also be impossible.

He had to keep a balance, so he would be able to move both ways despite the handicap.

Yes, that's it. This exercise Takuma laid out for him explained a concept far more effectively than a week of boring, long, drawn out lectures. Robert's strongest attacks were now locked out - inaccessible, and his options were left primarily on defense. Like working out your legs or cardiovascular training, defensive training seemed to be boring and inconsequential to Robert Garcia, and perhaps to all hot blooded boys his age, who wanted only flash and boisterous luster in every motion.

He had to keep his movements small – compact - efficient. Most of all, he had to shift his attention, not to HIMSELF but instead, to his ENEMY. He put his cocked fists next to his temples. Suddenly, when he wasn't concerned about flying in the air like a bird, or launching those inconceivable fireballs that his teacher taught him, he had to think, and had to analyze his enemy's each and every movement. Each and every one of them. Truly, Robert had never really examined Takuma before... How his shoulders shuffled in and out of sync, how his feet went back and forth, putting weight on one side then the other. Each distinct motion once easy to ignore, now had some sort of meaning, perhaps? Suddenly all his senses were in focus, and a whole new world opened up to him because he had stopped and looked at his master for the first time.

Every small movement has a meaning. It's no longer just about me anymore. Short, quick, compact, consistent and efficient. Keep all your attacks tight, and effective. We live in this world with other people, and therefore, we have to learn to communicate… and accept communication.

…

With every attack Robert presented the prince countered with two or three hits of his own. While each of Prince's hits hit cleanly, Robert didn't wobble or swoon like he had done previously. It was no mystery that Robert was severely outmatched, outclassed and underpowered. One or two quick body blows from Robert kept Prince on guard, but it was not enough to tip the scales to his favour... yet why? {Why?} prince became to muse in the world of his own.

Even if you know you're going to lose. Eventhough you KNOW that you are NO match for me? Why do you continue to try SO HARD?!

One more time Robert answered with a curling overhead swing to cleave the prince's head from his shoulders, and once again he replied to him "No." the prince replied and swatted the hit annoyingly with the back of his hand. With every REPLY, you have to DESTROY your enemy's spirit. That was the prince's foundation. Swinging that attack aside he punished Robert again with a kick to make his ribcage crumple, but now, Robert's forearm waited to block the kick.

Faithfully he listened. With an honest smile, devoid of malice, prejudice or any other bitter feeling, Robert answered sweetly with a tight underhand cut into the prince's stomach again before the prince could retract the kick. The prince's eyes glared open in disbelief, spitting out his gusts glistening, floating in the air. "GUGHKK!" four knuckles into his torso, he gurgled.

"Do you understand what I'm saying now?"

FIGHTING IS A COMMUNICATION. That was what Robert's master said to him – over, over and over once again until he couldn't help but understand it despite it not clearly making sense. He just understood it.

I am here to have a proper relationship with you.

If you share your feelings with me, then I'll share mine with you.

If we have to share this world – this world of our own together, then let's do it properly.

Prince hammered that white shoe once again passionately into Robert's hand that deflected the blow to his head. With a pure feeling. Letting go of any preconception.

Robert replied by sidestepping and embedding his knuckles deep into his enemy's kidney. THE MORE YOU [PUSH] ME AWAY. Robert said, lovingly. THE MORE I WANT TO [RUSH] TO YOU. Let's not keep any secrets from each other.

Again and again. Let's open our souls to each other.

Chapter 39: Roman D'Amour

Prince grit his teeth. Prince cautiously and purposely draped the back of his left hand over his lips to wipe away the grime that was left behind from Robert's center punch that felt like it gutted him while still awake.

The longer it took to BREAK Robert, the longer he had to fight, and the longer he had to fight, the ANGRIER and more unhinged he became. SO ANGRY. He asked himself now, why did he even launch himself over that bar? He was simply content in his own world – fully protected by that dark indifference. Why did he have to cross that line simply because that immature boy, Robert, taunted him with such stupid bravado?

His insides felt like they were twisted into knots, making the pressure crack from the inside – as he suffered in silence. If Robert punched him with his left hand, he would simply weave his own arm inside it, push it aside, then twist his hips forcefully and deliver a body blow. If Robert staggered back he would continue the roll and attack with a side kick from the same side, as if clockwork because he had done it hundreds, thousands of times over and over.

Robert twisted his body on instinct – his right punch rushed forward as his attack. With all his might he was sure to hit his enemy in the face as he rushed forward. Instead a bludgeon hammered into the left side of his head.

Robert had expected a punch – however – instead – a hard foot came into contact with the left side of his face. The Prince's fists were taut just above his eyes. Wrists were eyesight height. They were in his ready position, and they revealed his fighting style just a second too late for the young Robert. A kick to his brain heralded the start.

The start of the INSANITY.

Left – then – right. The Prince's fists smacked dead center on each of Robert's cheeks. Robert was just one step behind. Robert's hands flailed in mid air as they missed their parry. Prince was just too fast. Just as Robert made the command to block a punch, the Prince had already made contact and was cocked back to make the next move from his ready stance.

The quick and sudden motions. While not as devastating, Robert thought, just pushing his mind to keep on thinking so he wouldn't black out. Favouring quick punches and switch ups – the Prince wasn't simply an upper body boxer or a striker, his ready stance was similar to Muai Thai, but different. His tempo was quicker, instantaneously alternating from short and long range, from rhythmic to rabid so that Robert could hardly keep up with his own kempo.

While each hit that hit Robert wasn't necessarily immobilizing, each combination of three to four hits kept him from matching a tempo and switching the balance of power.

American Kickboxing, Robert deduced.

But it was too late; just as the 19 year old boy found some realization his left jab only hit blank air. The Prince hunched down, curling at the legs. This was the reason the Prince was neither wide shouldered nor enourmous in muscular stature. The prince looked frail and thin to Robert's standards. His body was well suited for his fighting art… an art cultivated painstakingly, a body developed thoroughly for American Kickboxing.

The Prince hunched down, curling at the legs. A quick left hook, then, a slow and full swung right hook to Robert's diaphragm. Robert spit out what he had eaten earlier. Robert's hands were now open helplessly downrange. {Give up. You cannot fight Mr. Big if you can't even fight ME!}, The Prince proclaimed. The third and fourth hit inserted themselves immediately with no reaction. THEN. As he launched both legs up, his left side kick then right, completing the reverse cartwheel, launched Robert up into the air like a rag doll.

For 20 years, painfully, mercilessly, a body cultivated for American Kickboxing.

{Short! Quick! COMPACT!} Robert kept on reminding himself, tucking his body to recover from his flight. His body skidded on the ground then he was off again left and right foot rushing back towards his enemy. Robert bobbed his head under that imaginary steel bar, walking slowly forward purposely, bobbing his head left under that horizontal steel bar as not to hit his head. He walked down Takuma Sakazaki's backyard, down the length, parallel to that steel pipe, conditioning his body to keep his head moving, scooping under the pipe to the one side, then bobbing to the other side – all the time hitting low body blows. Independently of each other, his head kept moving, body twisted without stopping and he could still attack. A simple textbook motion – to bob and weave. Boring and plain but consistent and efficient.

When he set his own body into motion, it remembered and moved on its own. Left hook to the Prince's side, then a straight punch to the gut. He wasn't fast enough to match speed with the Prince, that what he was reminded of when his enemy's fists hit his head. Still – he kept going. Consistent and effective. As long as he could stay awake and rational, he was hitting his enemy at least as much power as his enemy was beating him on his head. An equal exchange – a battle of attrition.

Everything the Prince did seemed like perfect poetry. Every hit that boy tried to release, every bit of that pain that built up inside of the prince's body, he let go, never keeping it inside for longer than a moment – his angst he twisted and turned into an attack. He screamed, but refused to open his mouth. No matter how fast, no matter how hard he threw those punches and kicks he wasn't able to empty his insides that felt like his mouth was filled with nails ripping into him, wanting to lash out. He could only suffer in silence, and hated every single moment he had to continue to fight. He hated fighting.

{He's still hitting… me.} Robert simply accepted the fact – and reveled in the idea that this would now become a battle of attrition. Exchanging vows until someone finally gave up, this is what it meant. There was no way Robert could win with a magnificent special attack that would topple the Prince. The only thing he could rely on now is to stay alive, alive long enough for the Prince to make a mistake. Just one mistake. Lack luster and simply not glamorous, he had to simply last longer, just one more punch longer than the prince.

Unfortunately, with each hit Robert was able to connect with his enemy's body, the Prince was able to [counter], at least once if not twice. Some, Robert Garcia was able to block, some he had to simply accept. {He's… he's just countering too perfectly…} Robert mused in frustration…

{Counter?} Robert finally stopped his pinwheeling uncertainty. He caught himself gawking wide open at the realization, when he launched his right fist halfway to a power cross. He frantically hit the brakes, retracted his right cross and put his hands up to his cheeks, just the precise moment that Prince's foot was about to cleave into his temple. {That's it.} The realization finally dawned to him when Robert swerved to the side to intercept the kick.

For the last few moments, while Robert was hanging by a thread – he kept pace with every movement both he and the Prince executed.

It was no longer just about Robert, because now, Robert had introduced himself into another world apart from his own – and accepted his enemy into his life. He could finally understand perhaps – that he was not the only one who held importance in the world. A Chinese saying… "M'Bat da…" Takuma again mangled out in speech…

The Prince, by himself, his movements may be fast, but his small statured body – it was – it wasn't at all that powerful. His punches and kicks, for the last few minutes, when Robert threw slow and short attacks, Prince's attacks were not at all as devastating as before.

Robert tilted his face up to meet his opponent, finally that dumbfounded, bloody face of his twisted in a grin that somehow… The Prince looked back at Robert. Without words exchanged between them, simply by the expression on Robert's face, simply by the fact that he curled his body tight and shuffled his feet slightly, it was sufficient communication. The blonde haired prince gnashed his teeth, because he understood it too.

Your secret – the source of your destructive power is COUNTERS.

Rightfully, when the prince tried to close the gap between them, Robert tried to bring a knee up. It was only met with a two handed block. One open palm behind the other, he pushed down forcefully with the entire weight of his smaller framed body, effectively cancelling the blow. At this range, he was too close and too low hunched for Robert to do anything. He swerved to the left. A body blow, at the same time his left hand checked Robert's right arm so he was unable to grab him. He perched both hands on Robert's shoulder and hopped up, as he descended, his entire weight brought Robert down into knees of his own. {Why don't you just GIVE UP already?} Prince growled. The first knee smash petrified the tall Italian. {Give up!} Those rusty nails spewing out of his mouth.

…

Robert accepted the fact – that he was not the most intelligent man. He would never win any contests in debate, he would likely never have the last word, and would be crumpled at a battle of wits. But it was okay. It was OK.

Because it was possible, that he had finally figured out the Prince's secret!

{By himself, just the way he is,} Robert analyzed just once in his pea brain. {By himself, the Prince wasn't all that strong.} His fearsome, terrible presence came from the fact that he was quick, compact, efficient and terribly, perfectly effective.

{However,} Robert was able to convince himself. {If you get past all that. Get past the fact that the Prince's movements may be perfect… the truth remains, that his attacks were not as powerful as my own.} That's it. He counters. Robert didn't pretend to fully understand the physics behind it, but he knew that one, that one simple question from his driver's license exam. That written exam, question number 8… He may not be as smart, but as much as he loved fighting, he loved another thing… the luxury of freedom gifted to him by his Ferrari. That car… the answer to the question was so perplexing it became so interesting even if he didn't understand the mathematics behind it. If a car was to DOUBLE its speed, then the resultant energy from a collision would not be simply doubled, but instead... be QUADRUPLED!

Four times!

That was how the Prince did it. The stronger and more flambouyant Robert's attacks were, the Prince simply had to dodge and use Robert's own body's kinetic energy against him, and it would quadruple his destructive power, and Robert offered it to him!

…

He perched both hands on Robert's shoulder and hopped up, as he descended, his entire weight brought Robert down into knees of his own. {Why don't you just GIVE UP already?} Prince growled. The first knee smash petrified the tall Italian. {Give up!} Those rusty nails spewing out of his mouth. Robert was weak, he knew nothing about fighting, he knew nothing about what the prince had to go through. To follow the first, a second attack from his knee rocked into Robert.

Destroy his spirit. Teach Robert that every attack he threw, the prince would block and instantly counter two and even three times. Until you realize that everything you did was useless. Robert remained hunched after the two blows, more than enough times for the prince to twist and send a waist high roundhouse kick to his head.

{Then…} Robert's eyes looked up, ignoring the Prince's hits. {Then..} I simply have to take away any opportunity for you to counter. Now I know, how to TRAP you.

{Do you know what it takes to really fight? Are you mocking fighting?} Despite all that, Robert put both hands high, his forearms covered his ears and his arms perched on the top of his head to stabilize the defense. Prince scowled at his enemy frustrated. The anger was painted on his mouth, and as if he could hear, Robert's face peeked from under his arm block and smiled retardedly.

"You… You're just not having any fun are you?"

…

It's simple really – all I have to do… All I have to do, Robert gasped frantically, trying to deliver enough oxygen to his brain just so he could see this story up till the end. I have to keep my attacks short, and precise. Perhaps you could whittle me down with more kicks, but if I have bait so sweet, that even you cannot ignore.

It's simple really. Takuma, Ryo and perhaps Yuri would scoff and scold him at the preposterous ignorant, improbable plan. Who would fall for such a maneuver? A counter! {Yes,} Robert grunted. A COUNTER, to a counter! That will be the instant I can unleash ALL my power, every last bit without you expecting it – and without fear of your retribution, every last bit of my heart will be delivered to YOU.

…

Trapped in his own thoughts, Robert stepped back and kept his distance from the young peer that shared the same dark kingdom as he. The Prince took a cautious step forward, and in response, Robert shuffled a few steps back, keeping a set distance between them.

Uncertain of what to do next, just when a boy meets a girl. He takes a step forward, but she takes two steps back. Carefully analyzing their movements, because the viscous air that draped the world kept them there. She wanted to run away, and he didn't know what to do. He didn't know what to say. If he said those words too late, if he said those words too soon then they would be judged instantly. Is it alright? Is it okay to say "I love you?" to someone you think you love. When a boy meets a girl,

"I love you." Those simple words uttered when you were ready to jump off that cliff. "I love you." Those words said when you didn't know what else to do.

There were a few times I could remember, the knots in my stomach, I wanted to say it, but I didn't want to say it so soon. Do I really love you? Or is my mind simply holding my body back? Why must a boy be attracted to a girl? Is it just human nature? Or is it because of society's rules? Or maybe... it's simply true.

…

Instead of moving back, when the Prince made one step forward, instead of moving two steps back like a girl, Robert twisted his right ankle and pushed it to the side, forcing his stance WIDE.

{Is there a way? Is there a counter attack in Kyokugen Karate, so devastating…} Robert raced, trying to find an answer before the buzzer would tell him he had lost. Is there a simple, reliable attack that can… {Ah! Yes, there's a way.}

On instinct, Robert's legs shifted the ground and pushed the muck that trapped his feet, and lowered his center of gravity down, even deeper. His hips dipped down, buttressing his familiar wide framed horse stance.

Robert noticed, that Prince's head tilted down to his thighs slightly, then shifted back to Robert's center. His fists at the ready position. His eyes opened for a moment, then loomed back into a sinister glare.

Robert cussed under his breath. {Did I reveal it too soon? Shit!} He cursed. No, no way he can see this attack coming. 'It's so stupid, it's just so stupid... it may just work.' For a hundred thousand years, people have thought of the most effective way to kill each other, mapped all angles of attack with great precision, there is truly nothing new under the sun. Instead, if you defy that logic and offer something so preposterous… He could almost hear Ryo and Takuma say. The perfect way to COUNTER a counter!

…

"Hey!" Robert smiled, glimmered on his face because they were in a highschool soiree. When boys looked for girls, and went though the paces because the world told them they had to. Flirting with fate – daring each other to catch a live grenade. "Thank you." In one hand, Robert tried to distract the Prince, but in the other, he simply said words that came naturally.

"Hey – I'm really having fun. Thank you for fighting me." Robert said, and now his palms were open wide, breaking his defense snobbisly. The Prince's eyes locked themselves onto Robert's shoulders, as they moved and shifted in place, then down his biceps, arms and then hands and fingers stretched wide. "I've never seen fighting more perfect. Never seen anything, anything more beautiful!"

The Prince gnashed his teeth, keeping the rusted nails at bay. Curling his lower lip, he bit down until blood radiated from the sides.

"I've never, ever had THIS much fun in my life." Robert smiled on his own – for an instant he had a plan but now he only said what came naturally to him, with no premeditated scheme – and only plain faith and honesty. But. "I'm sorry, but…"

The Prince gnashed his teeth, keeping the rusted nails at bay, his fingers clawed inwards into his palms and into his heart.

"I'm sorry, but… even if YOUR FIGHTING is so beautiful, you won't win today." Robert said apologetically with weak, sad brows.

The Prince gnashed his teeth, keeping the rusted nails at bay.

"Because I'm better than you, stronger, HUNGRIER than you." Robert said.

The nails puncturing the sides of the noble Prince's cheeks even when he valiantly forced himself to stay sober.

"Because to you…" Robert smiled in a sad cry, the ultimate truth uttered, as he brushed that string of hair to the side of his visage. "It doesn't even matter if you win or lose, does it?" Robert smiled, the breeze didn't penetrate those walls, but he felt it push his body back. The ULTIMATE truth, once uttered…

Robert understood now, finally. Each time, every time that boy's fists connected with Robert's body, the same story, the same thing Robert heard. I don't... Who cares... WHY? STOP! Please. He couldn't hide any more, because Robert listened to him.

The Prince gnashed his teeth, keeping the rusted nails at bay. 'Why were you born this way?' the Prince's father cursed uncaringly. He didn't care about his son, and so therefore, his son didn't care either – his son wanted to simply prove his father wrong.

If someone else was WRONG – did it simply mean that YOU were RIGHT?

The ultimate truth.

…once uttered, can never be recanted – and will change the tide of time.

"To YOU… someone who hates fighting. This is ALL meaningless, isn't it?"

GNASHED! Twisting and curling those carbon steel nails. My only fault was that I was born this way!

"But… to me, oh my dear Prince." Robert finally breathed. "To me, defeat is NOT an option." …and to me who hungers, who loves fighting so, so much, I will keep on fighting until the end of the world.

What the hell is so magnificent about fighting? What?! Is it SO wonderful? Even if I was born this way, did it deliver me an answer? Did FIGHTING make my father accept me? Did all these years of FIGHTING absolve me of my original sin?!

DID IT save me?! DID IT?!

"Because, FIGHTING is the most wonderful thing in the world!" Robert finally proclaimed, roaring widely to his limits. The happiness shone so brightly at the stupid man, the glowing light eclipsed the rest of the world and kept his enemy in the shadows. The hungry claws at his hands, and the ends of his arms stretched outwards, hurtled back into the center of his palms then went back to his cheeks in a ready stance.

A love that held no boundaries, between a boy that was chained to the Earth and then to a prince who was lonely in his throne in heaven.

…