The Colour Purple Chapter 40: les enfants surdoués, a king of fighters fanfic

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

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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 written 2013]

What the hell is so magnificent about fighting? What?! Is it SO wonderful? Even if I was born this way, did it deliver to 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 ABSOLVE ME?! (Just disappear!)

I HATE you, GOD. I HATE you, Robert. I hate EVERYONE!

…

For as long as I could remember, I had been very fascinated, so terribly fascinated with the concept of suicide. If there was a word for it, 'suicide' then it MUST have meaning.

…

He could finally understand, perhaps – that he was not the only one who held importance in the world. There is a Chinese saying… "M'Bat da…" Takuma again mangled out in speech… from a Chinese people who spoke in a terribly harsh tone, like they were all gangsters and savages – and why not, they spent their lives dominated by white devils.

"M'Bat da, m'bat seung sek." To anyone who understood the deeper meaning of fighting, this phrase was close to their hearts. Takuma Sakazaki repeated it eagerly and often – any chance he could. It was translated from Cantonese – and it meant –

'If you do not [fight] someone, you will never really [know] each other.'

Words laced with sweet honey and poisonous venom, and actions speak louder than words. Truly, every friendly, everyday interaction amongst people was fucking meaningless. However, this [complex] was far too ferocious to mask with double speak. Subdividing every emotion, decomposing it to the least common denominator, we are back here to the base of human conflict and interaction. The Chinese, with millennia of history figured it out a very long time ago ladies and gentlemen.

Chapter 40: les enfants surdoués

"For as long as I could remember," he said out loud – this one time, eventhough Robert watched him cautiously but completely. It was a familiar line he said in those dark afternoons to himself in that dojo and now in this dark nightclub shielded from sunlight. Just this once, he would let himself say it out loud. Words for only this one man to hear. You are indeed fortunate, that, before you DIE, you will hear these words escape my lips… and only unto you, because, I have chosen YOU.

The prince said.

"For as long as I could remember…" he said to Robert plainly. "Ni jyuu nen." For 20 years. "Ni jyuu nen goro kakkatte mo," even… if… 20 years do… pass… Robert squinted as he tried to put both hands up at the ready and at the other instant tried to parse the foreign language his own master spoke when he was irate and condescending – the same as Prince spoke.

Each step left and right, his footsteps echoed amidst the wide hall, on those smooth, clean floors, everything was spick and span – as clear as could be shining in the dark, reflecting hungrily the light. Those sparkles of fairy dust that was his signature erupted and trailed behind his shoes once again.

Never. NEVER did I once.

Robert blinked when the pressure was too much for him to bear – and he could have sworn that every time he shut his eyes, the prince's body was in a different place. Robert's enemy tilted his body to the RIGHT side, made contact with the ground, then at the moment he was about to launch away, he vanished into a dark haze – a footstep was the only piece of evidence that he existed, and a warning that he was now to be found instantly instead to the LEFT, a few feet away. If you cut the existence of being that interconnected two actions, it would be impossible to predict where he would appear next.

That disco strobe light catching our fancy, and with each beat the room was dark, and in the next, when the lights came back on, his body was somewhere else. A fascinating illusion entranced us once again, like it did before in our youth. The prince's motions became disjointed and erratic, making it seem as if the frames between each action had been cut away and discarded – only this time it was happening for real, and without any assistance from cheap toys or listless illusion.

Disappearing then reappearing to the left and right, the actions were indeed disjointed and when taken out of context, difficult to understand, with only the glitter of blue, pink, purple and silver dust marking a clue of where the prince had laid roots moments prior. Swerving left and right once again Robert's pupils raced back and forth within the world limited by his eyeballs. His mind screamed SO LOUD. It took all his concentration to keep up with his enemy. This was not possible. This was not possible!

The 'stroboscopic effect', while ludicrous, was finally given practical combat application.

"Never did I ONCE, ever, enjoy FIGHTING."

I will SHOW you…

{Just a little more…} Robert pleaded. {JUST a little bit more.} He reigned his body back. Robert's body wanted to jump out – it wanted to LASH out mercilessly. No, not just yet, he begged. Wait... wait until the last moment. Just before the scythe of DEATH, the cold steel came to touch my neck, I should remain still. {If I fail…} Robert begged, reassured himself – if my counter-counter attack fails, then I will lose it ALL. That was the only thing that chained him to the Earth. The mere concept that attacking too soon would end it all was what kept his fiery RAGE from exploding.

If I miss, then my enemy will destroy my body, and my world will end.

If I say those words TOO soon, then it's all over.

Wait for it. Robert COMMANDED the world to fall silent. All who dared listen could hear every crumpling fold on their clothes CRUSH and RIPPLE. The cotton creases on his shirt made sounds almost unbearable.

With her thumb, the piano key dove down a crisp note. The Prince's left foot hit the ground, toes striking down rolling by its balls, sliding back. Then another key sang out. His right foot made contact – the CHAINS clawed hungrily, their evil beastly teeth lashed out hungrily to bite into his foot, - to trap him to the LAWS of gravity, of reason - but… but he was the quicker, GRAVITY, as those bloody trapjaws snapped shut, missing their prize, his right foot lifted and it was his left foot that stamped onto the ground now. A sparkling sandstorm twisted in their echo, swirling upwards, enveloping both of their bodies. The prince, he was beyond all those petty laws, despite Newton trying to keep him [bound].

Robert watched his every moment – internalized them, every motion of his shoulders, every spark that the Prince's hips swayed. Robert only saw freeze frames, pieces of what was happening, and his mind had to somehow fill in the gaps into logical flow. That pinstripe suit swiveled from his hips as he ran, and the vertical lines curled, merged and expanded like an accordion – the motion – the illusion was too hard to follow, but he tried valiantly anyways.

Watching slowly – watching intently Robert remained as he was.

Two fingers, then three fingers hit piano keys, rapidly increasing pace.

Running erratically yet purposely. One – then two... Any moment now – You get only one chance. {wait.. just.. wait…when I see [it].} Robert begged. "Your American Kickboxing is no match for Kyokugen Karate!"

When you see [it].

When romance comes to a full bloom.

WHEN. All TEN fingers hit those piano keys.

Robert jerked his right shoulder forward and lifted his upper arm. A feint. Inviting action within their stalemate, Robert made the first move, initiating the motion to thrust it all in a right cross.

The Prince's left foot hit the ground, only mere inches from Robert now. The Prince's shoulders moved at a pattern quite so different from his running pace. His body changed. It changed, his body ran at a familiar pattern for the last 3 seconds and now it changed flight. His right shoulder cocked back when he shifted his weight back.

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.

He had NO TIME to think about what his master and his master's son said to him repeatedly time and times ago. When the moment, the fine line that separated FIGHTING and ROMANCE presented itself to you. Conflict and Love. You will have no time to consider the possibility of a life doused with regret!

The Prince's wide brimmed Mafioso hat floated up, ever so slowly exposing his chin, his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, it slowly crept up... until… at the one distinct moment – the lower lashes of his, then the whites of his eyes. The WHITES of the noble Prince's eyes came into clear view.

BOY meets GIRL.

BEAT.

Beat... beating steadily my heartbeat…

NOW. BURN, burn my heart.

Robert pulled back his fake attack and repositioned himself to block and grab the Prince the moment he would launch his attack. The counter to a counter was a block and tackle!

Both of Robert's shoulders leapt up, and his hands clawed, arms opened wide to grasp his prize. This was the moment we all lived for…

NOW! This was what we live for – we live for this love. I will grab your star!

"I didn't I was looking for [it] until I found YOU."

The toes of Prince's polished wing tipped shoes hit the ground, and Robert was eager to notice. His ankles twisted, keeping full hold. A counter to a counter of a counter. This was the only logical, technical action.

Even if Robert understood that he was an ignorant, STUPID man. Intelligence was no match for a pure love for fighting that would overcome all. Even if I was not capable of being a man who held wisdom, the FIGHTING would SAVE me.

The Prince's left ankle twisted, toes still keeping full hold as his heels remained in the air. Instinctively, Robert screamed. If Prince's left heel REFUSES to hit the ground, then THE attack would be a left roundhouse kick to snap my head. With enough power to snap my neck and DESTROY me… as the Prince had promised.

Left or Right? Which one would it be? A COUNTERattack.

A yellow and orange aura embraced their ever so lonely bodies as they waited in [THAT] place.

Those toes, on his left foot clawed into the ground, each of those four icepicks stabbing into the Earth – then – it lifted. {His toes lifted?} Robert thought. No.

A countermeasure? The toes ripped again downwards into the ground. Was the Prince feinting too? 2 seconds were stretched out into 2 chapters of meaningless, presumptuous text. His heel. It did not plant down – his heel. If his heel did not plant themselves to the ground, then it was certain that his enemy would launch a quick kick instead – a left foot to his head. Robert's right forearm floated up to defend his temple to complete his right cross feint motion.

WONDERLAND, one that we existed in.

The Prince, his left heel hit the ground, and twisted 101 degrees the opposite way at a very impossible angle! {Anchor! His left foot is an ANCHOR!} His right foot would instead attack. Robert's visage turned faithfully to the left to greet the right kick.

DODODOdododoDOHDOODODOODDOOHH~HHDOHDOH!

The RIGHT foot ATTACKS!

MORATTA! "I got YOU!" Robert proclaimed!

Without reservation, Robert hunkered his upper body down deeper, center of his gravity below both of them, he thrust downwards then launched upwards. Robert immediately shifted his left foot 12 inches to the side, widening his stance to be able to bolster his grappling counter. Their eyes met when Robert rose up from under the canopy of the prince's brimmed hat. Left hand came up to block the right kick, with a fairy dust OF HIS OWN.

Without care and without a sense of waking lost, the Prince returned the young Robert's glare. I will block your right kick with my left hand, and deliver to you – DELIVER you a bright light that will wake you from your lonely slumber. To counter your COUNTER to a counter.

-Robert declared. With clawed resolution the dark shadowed barbed wires that Robert commanded under their feet reached upwards to ensnare the Prince. Heel, toe, up his legs and now the Prince's body.

"Never did I once…" again Robert's enemy repeated. "There are only a set number of attacks a normal human MAN could hope to deliver." The prince said again: Two fists, two elbows, two knees, two feet and his head."

"I will show you, what it means – to FIGHT, painfully, tirelessly, for TWENTY GOD DAMN FUCKING years."

11:58:03 "I'm so sick of waiting – go... GO – CRUSH him."

Prince tilted his body to the left in similar fashion – following through with the weight of his body. His right hand floated up, balancing his core for the coming onslaught, and in due turn his palm's silhouette obstructed and separated the vision between Robert's and Prince's eyes. Then, when those fingers slithered downwards to his right thigh, in textbook manner when delivering a full swing kickboxing roundhouse, the Prince swayed his hips before he could unleash that devastating roundhouse kick – Robert followed them as his hand descended earthbound.

"I… I will show you what 20 years of fighting can FUCKING accomplish!"

Robert couldn't determine the most appropriate course of action – was he to follow his enemy's hand, or his hips – or would his shoulders give away the precise moment to take action. Robert broke away and couldn't help but walk up the prince's arm and gaze helplessly into the prince's sky blue eyes.

In polite fashion those eyes stared back, and kept him imprisoned. Their faces, their lips, inches from each other, Robert couldn't break away from that poisonous attraction.

Then in a flash, the prince's eyes fell – fell as if he had simply walked off the edge of a skyscraper. The top of his dirty yellow blond bangs that were hidden by his hat thrust abruptly downwards, leaving only an afterimage of glitters from what had passed… The prince twisted his motion and hunched to one side at an immediate instant - and when Robert willed his perception to follow and break away from his tunnel-vision focus, there was left for him – nothing.

Nothing. Robert's arms hung wide and empty, his brain unable to parse what had just occurred, and what to do next.

Robert forced his field of view wide in a panic to search and assess the battlefield.

The prince's body disappeared. What was happening, Robert sank into an insanity.

LEFT.

To the left, Robert surveyed desperately, but there were only a slew of tables, with chairs hung upside-down on them.

RIGHT.

To the right, was a long sleek black couch, next to a line of barstools by the side lounge.

He was gone. HE HAD DISAPPEARED.

There was nothing. He... he had motherfucking disappeared! Robert's enemy was once there, but despite trying to dig himself out of the hole that reality buried him in, his enemy was GONE!

Left, no – RIGHT. Again there was nothing, Robert swerved his face.

{The Prince's fingers disappeared while in plain sight,} Robert retaliated, argued against himself, clawing back his vision upwards, and it was too late, much too late, - where his enemy once stood his ENTIRE body was gone.

"How is this even possible?" That a man would disappear? Hurtling fireballs from his hands, even with wings that allowed him to fly in the air as if men could float on water, how was this even possible that his opponent was able to will his body gone?

IMPOSSIBLE! Ariene! Arienee zo!

Even when men could thrust globes of energy from their mortal coils – even if with wings they were able to fly. To DISAPPEAR… to be totally FREE of these chains the Earth bound us with, it was IMPOSSIBLE.

IMPOSSIBLE.

Robert's heart sank deeply, at the final, bitter realization of what he was up against all this time… when the walls that surrounded him, revolved round his body.

"You're, you must be a genius…" Robert finally stammered into that wide hall in front of him. A wide building enclosed his unbelieving body, and he spoke out loud in those fractions of a second that seemed like minutes. Even if there was now no one around him, he still spoke freely, and lonely. "You must be gifted by God."

"No," came his answer from the dark void. I do not believe in geniuses. There are no people who are GIFTED by our selfish, SELFISH God. Even if you LOVE fighting – IF you have no skill, then it's useless! USELESS! This, I must teach you.

[Greatness] can only be bought by TEARS!

Robert turned his head down immediately when he felt a hand firmly grip his left ankle. Their soundtrack, a low bass beat that was once slow suddenly erupted into a quickening thunder. Ever so fast beating, thundering, ripping into the dark silence that was once in that boring nightclub.

Freeze frame – Robert's eyes glared open, his mouth wide agape refusing to understand.

…and from the pits of hell below, the prince's vision looked back in a scene forever to be frozen in Robert's mind – captured instantly just like a Polaroid picture. Prince grabbed ahold of Robert's ankle to stop his body that slithered between Robert's legs.

The Prince didn't disappear – he... he... he slid beneath Robert's legs the moment Robert lurched his body forward to execute a grappling counter.

With arms wide apart, Robert didn't even know what to do next. He was so petrified that eventhough he pleaded his body to move, he couldn't as much as gasp. The counter – to a counter of a counter that the Prince perfectly executed was beyond anything imaginable and nothing he had ever even dreamt of – and couldn't even begin to think of how to retaliate against.

How… how can I even respond to this? Robert stammered. What can I even do?

The Prince had instantly seen through Robert's ruse and the back of his body slid effortlessly on the floor, through Robert's widely splayed legs. He held onto Robert's ankle to stop his momentum as he twisted his body. Now his chest was on the floor, and his body was completely behind Robert's defenseless stance.

His left elbow stabbed into his own belly 90 degrees and lifted his chest up. Left leg cut across the ground like a blade, instantly his right foot thrust up. His left hand crumpled into the ground, and now his entire back was on the ground. Both his feet were now in the air, like helicopter propellers twisting continuously and the back of his spine arched, spinning on the ground like a top. In an instant, Prince was upright.

A windmill. Eventhough Robert didn't know what it was, or even cared to know what those foolish children danced in the streets in the 1980s, Prince had executed it perfectly eventhough breakdancing was no longer in style since the 80s. HE floated up in the air, upright now before Robert could begin to turn. The instantaneous motion thrust the Prince's body up spinning and ready to attack with his final kick. In one instant he was on the ground between Robert's legs and without even a pause, he was already in the air spinning to a kick.

It was too magnificent. Before Robert could blink his enemy who laid on the ground was now a spinning cyclone in the air meeting his own gaze, eye to eye. From 0 to 60 miles per hour all in the span of an instant was possible [here].

Even if the impending doom came down at him, eventhough Robert came to the realization that Death's scythe was already by his neck, Robert could only think of ONE THING.

UTSKUSHII. It's so beautiful.

Robert had never seen anything quite this majestic. Floating in the air, defying, DEFYING all reason and logic, the prince had overcome it all so effortlessly. Robert refused to move, an angel had presented herself to him and it seemed like he had waited 3 years to witness this moment. We will hide, in a place where light could never chase us.

It was as if - a carpenter's son had raised the DEAD before his eyes.

"I am in love, with your fighting..." Robert said unconsciously.

No… Robert recanted.

I am in love with you.

The prince had slithered through Robert's wide horse stance effortlessly, and in the same instant, compounding his momentum, he had no need to rely on a mathematical COUNTER, instead, creating an exponential force from nothing, now, the prince rose up and helicoptered skywards – and finally, his decapitating kick to Robert's head.

'Perfectly', and if you do not understand what this adverb means, the word PERFECT means that it – can – NEVER – fail.

The slice ended with a sharp crack into Robert's neck… and then… darkness.

…