The Colour Purple Chapter 71: an Ugly Duckling, 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 written 2015]

WE, CAN

NEVER BE

FRIENDS the colour purple

Every waking moment, I find myself helplessly, constantly, thinking of you. and Before my knowing, I had found my entire existence captivated by my longing for you. My dreams are haunted by your face, and I cannot bring myself to be apart from your body. You and only you, keep me warm during cold nights – and with every breath I take, YOU give my life purpose.

A four-letter word; Imprisoned within a dark room, surrounded by four walls and a fear of regret for the future. A story for people who are trapped in the past.

Chapter 71: an Ugly Duckling

The END of La Bizarre Love Pentagon – part 7 –

November 10, 1977 – The Bee Gees release the soundtrack to Saturday Night Fever, which will go on to become the then, best selling album of all time.

…

"It's good to see you again, old friend," said a slender, smartly dressed man. He wore a plain and weathered beret that covered his dark, neatly slick back hair. In matching drab colours, he had on a military suit so perfectly trimmed and tucked there was, as always, not a flaw to be seen. He nodded his head lightly before extending his gloved right hand out.

"'Old friend'? Does anyone still say that?" A square shouldered, dirty blonde haired Englishman laughed. "Commander Heidern," he grinned as he returned the handshake.

"Please." Heidern firmly squeezed down onto his friend's hand with a hearty grin. "Just 'Heidern' is fine enough for a British Royal Knight."

"Ha ha." The Knight laughed, but he stopped abruptly as he titled his head one way and looked down at a small teenage boy who stood frozen with his hands at his back in attention, just beside and to the rear of Heidern. "Is that your son, Heidern?"

Heidern couldn't help but instinctively look to his side, and almost pretended like he was surprised the boy was standing next to him silently. As a polite gesture, he laughed once. Ha. "No he is not, he's just a dog I found and gave a home to." Heidern said matter of factly.

Taken aback for a moment by Heidern's crass remark, the Knight tilted his head back and furrowed his brow in a slight shade of confusion. The British man probably didn't even know he was tilting his one eyebrow up and stared into his friend – a gaze that wanted to say 'Are you serious?'. Heidern, on the other hand looked back with a stern gaze.

"Is that true, boy?" Knight directed his focus onto the boy to challenge the young one. Your commander just called you a dog, as flat faced and calmly as if he said 'the sky is blue'.

"That is true." The boy looked up to meet's the Knight's gaze; his own face was just as firm and unmoving as his commander's.

"What is your name, boy?" Knight asked.

The boy pulled off his navy blue cap and with a swift movement, put both hands behind his back once again. He wore a puffy goose down vest over a plain t-shirt. He had golden yellow barber's cut hair and was gifted with unwavering deep blue eyes. "Clark. My name is Clark Steel, sir!" Clark, all of 13 years old replied firmly and proudly.

"Huh!" Knight called out in a perplexed but pleased tone. "Your dog is surprisingly polite, Heidern. Many fathers would've been content with someone HALF as loyal as him."

"True." Heidern said. "Hopefully my child will be as well."

"Oh? Is Sandra pregnant, Heidern?"

"No, but we are trying for a child."

"Ha ha," Knight let out a slight ironic, chuckle.

"You've heard it before, Sir Knight." Heidern said. "The fundamental difference, between a DOG, and a MAN… is that – if you give a dog warm shelter, food to eat and a noble purpose – if you do," he said, "A dog will NEVER bite you."

Knight crossed his arms, trapped in their own stale, corny, but heartwarming joke, radiating in their own middle-aged world. "And in some ways, that is why DOGS are superior to MEN!" He said heartily. "I missed you, old friend." Knight fell back into what could have been a weak and slight spiral of nostalgia. "…and I like you. You are a good man, Clark Steel. You are a good man." He repeated. You are a good man. Clark.

Clark nodded his head ever so slightly and silently.

"You may thank him." Heidern said.

"Thank you, sir Knight." Clark bowed again, but as he lifted his head up his blue eyes he caught a glimpse from behind the Knight and that was all that it took to break Clark's near perfectly robotic performance.

In a bout of silence Clark held his place in mid bow, tilting his head to the side and unable to stand up straight as he was perplexed by the curious person that hid silently behind his host.

Heidern put the back of his open palm over Clark's collarbone and guided his soldier to stand up straight. "I am sorry. Is that your child, Knight?" Heidern asked.

"Ah, yes, this is King." Knight put his hand behind King and invited his child forward.

"King looks like the same age as Clark?"

"Yes, King will be 13 this year. Thank you for bringing your soldier to help in our training. I hear Clark excels in a particular field I unfortunately do not."

"No, it is the least I can do. I know that in order to properly grow and learn, one must be exposed to numerous fighting styles. This will be a good lesson for Clark too." Heidern said. "A week is such a long time to bother you, but I appreciate you taking care of my boy and having him as a sparring partner for your child. But, I would go as far as to say we are getting the better end of this deal." Heidern smiled a sincere gleam in his small almond shaped eyes. "But please, try not to kill him… I've grown quite fond of this boy."

Tested again and again, Clark's eyes widened when he couldn't keep still. Usually solid and impenetrable, the hard statement from his commander perplexed Clark. While Clark was typically unfazed, he repeatedly found himself drawn into this conversation he originally ignored. He looked across the room at the Knight, then to his child, King.

While he was only 13, Clark's body was painfully chiseled and hardened. His shoulders were wide and solid. An unassuming boy at first, when you looked at his arms carefully, even the wayward stranger could not help but stop in their tracks and be drawn to his perfectly formed, twisted muscular biceps. And his face – was a cold and stoic picture. Before you knew it you couldn't turn away – but you didn't know that this was a plain boy, a simple boy whose body was sculpted, for all except vanity. Unlike King who stood near a whole head shorter than Clark, with a small seemingly frail body, with dirty blonde hair in contrast to Clark's bright glowing locks, were dull and miserable. King's body was so dainty and seemingly frail. While King's shoulders were slumped over, they did not look timid nor weak, they simply hung lazily in place and seemed lack luster to Clark's firm stature of attention. King's hair was an unkempt criss-cross chaotic, ugly, blonde buzzcut. When Clark, still stunned at Heidern's comment, looked right at King - the response was a deep lethargic look from a small child whose eyes held the last dying glow of indifferent smoldering ash.

Clark could not understand it.

For as long as he was alive, he didn't care – and he stared outward, so unafraid of the consequences. BECAUSE he was a dog – he was so unafraid of fear.

Yet, for once, suddenly, so silently, from the darkness that laid in front of him, from the depths of that dark viscous pool – two globular eyes opened as it parted the unseeable black that drowned all – he did not know it then – but it ANSWERED him – a despicable, ugly THING looked back with the same rough, and meaningless nothing. It looked back at him too.

To you. The ABYSS peeled [it], back, with utmost care, that, like the ROTTING onion you are, what you had so hard tried to protect, back, layer by layer.

"I know what you're thinking, boy." Heidern interrupted Clark's thoughts, Clark, who promptly stood up and turned to his commander. "I would warn you not to take this lightly," said Heidern. "Make no mistake, Clark. From this moment forward, learn all you can, likewise, experiencing another fighting style will be good for Master King. But please make no mistake," Heidern repeated, "Starting today, you are nothing but King's plaything."

Clark's brows furrowed and bunched up into knots on his forehead, but unable to understand, he just curled back into his soldier stance and pulled his shoulders back at attention staring forward.

"Do not take this lightly," Heidern warned yet again. "If you let your guard down, I promise you…"

Clark's face reverted back to a deadpan look that mimicked his master's. He looked back at his host, King, at that unattractive looking dirty blonde haired boy. King's face did not change throughout their entire encounter. King revealed no clues - it was dank, dark and dead face. A soft statured boy who stood lifelessly and lost.

"Where are your manners? Greet your host, Clark."

"Hello, my name is Clark." He said immediately.

Knight slapped his hand over his child's shoulder – but it took moments before a response came out of King's lips.

Looking at his opponent, Clark could hear amongst the silence, a shrill piercing static hum that polluted the world in between his ears. Then that despicable, timid body said,

"I'm King." The voice so lethargic, awkward and flaccid, the young child murmured them so silently the mouth that uttered them seemed like it ate those words shortly after.

While Clark's body did not move an inch, Clark's shoulders tensed and the traps on his back curled back. While he was frozen Clark's heart was forced to take a mental step back. As it was 60 chapters ago, this was not simply a sensation when an animal feels when it encounters a PREDATOR, NO, rather, this knot in Clark's back and the unforgettable, churning acid in his stomach was the carnal, physical response one feels when they come face to face – with a SUPERIOR being.

Though Clark's eyes, he gazed upon a timid, frail bodied boy who would snap in half at the slightest provocation, bewildered as Clark was, his mind saw another picture. Superimposed over that ugly boy's face was the ghost of a mysterious prince, whose long blonde hair covered his face, but in between the locks of his bangs were sharply slit sinister eyes – with glowing irises and black Sclera that replaced the white - and bolstering it all was a gleaming evil radiance of a fang toothed grin – hungry triangles – and a wicked sneer that spanned literally ear to ear within sliced cheeks.

…

One thing that makes us human, is weakness. This is why people turn to religion, why they are quick to force the blame on others, and we so easily discount our own abilities. What makes us human is our propensity to regret and our urgent desire to stop time. However in the end, all we can do is never be satisfied with the present and recall a special time long ago. Our innate fear of the future petrifies us, and this is why we cling to yesterday, because there is nothing we can do to change it anymore, and absolved of our guilt – instead of trying to change the future, strong men find warmth in reminiscing a wonderful, perfect memory trapped in a small glass bottle.

There is no such thing as a truly evil man.

…and, this is the memory that I held so close and gives me courage to continue living.

…

One day, despite your great aspirations, and even with your tempered confidence - you will meet someone utterly superior to you; And, it will change you. If not – you will simply die.

…and this is the memory that I held so close.

"Are you ready? Let's go." Clark smiled. He tucked his right fist under his chin in a traditional ready position and over extended his left fist out just in front of King's. A fighting greeting, inviting them to touch knuckles – a warm interaction that would one day be commonplace between men, but right now it was an esoteric gesture 3 decades ahead of its time.

King, an ugly looking child with an equally ugly looking expression simply had no interest in such things. King did not even bother to take a stance and seemingly looked at Clark, a beautiful young boy in comparison with hardly a shred of interest. King looked him over from head to toe, mentally engraining it into mind but made no reaction of any sort.

Clark paid heed to not take any sudden motions and teetered in place, not fully committing to defense nor offense right now before King would make some indication of his course of action. However, as Clark took painstaking care to watch every bit of motion in his opponent's body he soon grew weary of waiting, yet he still kept his left fist up, waiting for a response. Clark wasn't sure if King was so arrogant he would not even bump knuckles in greeting, or if he was simply afraid of Clark. Staring at the Kings shoulders, his knees, waist, it did not matter, and Clark began to grow agitated because when he looked back at King's lethargic eyes it became apparent that King simply was bored and it seemed like he had no intention of fighting.

"Please pay attention to your attacks. Hold back your blows when hitting above the knee, and reduce your attacks to the head when your opponent is on the ground." Heidern instructed.

"Yes, sir." Clark replied.

Heidern furrowed his brow and tilted his head slightly with a meager grin. "I was talking to King, watch yourself, boy."

Clark's right eyebrow cocked up and he mouthed a silent 'huh', wordlessly in respect to his commander. He wanted to blurt out a preposterous slur but out of respect held his tongue. King still stood in place with slumped shoulders and hands open by his hips. King wasn't even looking at him now, refusing to meet Clark in the eye, the small boy only looked downwards at his opponent's feet – breathing out his mouth, he had a peculiarly sour look that Clark could not explain. It was like he was trying to expel a disgusting poison from his stomach and vomit it out.

Clark turned his head to his commander, while still keeping his left fist up despite his now aching shoulder. "Sir, do I…"

With his attention momentarily amiss, he felt four knuckles hitting his own, throwing his arm to the right.

"Clark!" Heidern called out.

The world that was once slow and carefree – now became dead silent. Clark looked at Heidern's face. His commander issued commands but even when his mouth moved, Clark could not hear a sound. Next to Heidern was the Knight who sat cross armed with a curled frown of disappointment. However looking at the Knight, it seemed like he wasn't looking at Clark, but past him. At that point the glass of water had already fallen from the edge of the table and eventhough we knew it would happen we couldn't react fast enough and could only watch as it was inches from shattering on the ground.

The sound of static grew LOUDER in between Clark's ears as a hundred million thoughts now ran though his mind and jumbled his brain like the crumpled, tangled up carbon black ribbon from an undone cassette tape. His left hand instinctively, desperately tried to get back on center and as best he tried he could not keep up with the blur of movement in front of him. He only felt the rush of wind hit his chest, and when his eyes and mind once again focused and came back in sync he could only feel his right fist resting on his chin and saw NOTHING but his left fist floating in front of him.

King had now disappeared.

Superimposed over that ugly boy's face was the ghost of a mysterious prince, whose long blonde hair covered his face, but in between the locks of his bangs were sharply slit sinister eyes – with glowing irises and black Sclera that replaced the white - and bolstering it all was a gleaming evil radiance of a fang toothed grin – hungry triangles – and a wicked sneer that spanned literally ear to ear within sliced cheeks.

…As Clark's eyes deceived him, he was reminded, that we did all this, not for folly, not for the whims of petty social praise, and never for vanity. As Clark's eyes deceived him, his opponent allowed him to slowly, with great purpose, peel back the dirty layers that hid behind the petals of a wickedly beautiful flower. As Clark's eyes deceived him, his heart eventually laid witness to a horrendous vision he would never ever forget for the rest of his life.

"Haaaaagh," the ghost snarled through his razor fanged mouth, the mist fogging its exhaling breath. It was a warm and cold emotion caught between awe, fear, between the dark crevices of confusion, then finally… the cool reassurance of 'an answer' to a question we asked ourselves when we were once children.

A horrendous vision he would never ever forget for the rest of his life.

Clark's lips puckered outwards in a mixture of fright and giddy excitement. Underneath his molars grit feverishly against each other and those feelings slowly bubbled to the surface and blossomed into a slit eyed eager smile.

YES. YES! Clark's eyes opened wide in delight and stared outwards as his cold body was absolutely petrified.

From the darkness behind Clark King floated up, his eyes still cold and dead, an indifferent reaper - his scythe was a flying spinning back kick that set its target for the soft part under Clark's jaw.

…

I assure you… boy. If you dare hold back…

King will simply kill you, without hesitation.

…