The Colour Purple Chapter 72: a Sequence of Nine, 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 2015]

Chapter 72: a Sequence of Nine

Do you know what the "Hayabusa" is? It is the world's fastest flying bird of prey in existence, with an average recorded speed of 186 miles per hour at its dive of attack.

Like a world class Olympic speed skater, King's lunging body was frozen in time in front of Clark. An utterly committed, perfect, efficient form, his entire upper body hunched, sprinting forward to the apex of the very limits of his center of gravity just before it was about to fall over.

King possessed the ability to lunge forward with all his strength and transition from traverse – to attack, in an instant. And this small of piece of greatness was something that can only be attained by a boy, who spent all his waking days – with a LIFETIME of fighting.

The END.

The END of La Bizarre Love Pentagon – part 8 –

June 26, 1977 – Elvis holds his last concert at Market Square Arena in Indianapolis.

And despite all that, ignoring the reality that probably his ultimate technique would be revealed TOO soon, King twisted his left ankle to the far left side – and even when his entire body was barreling to the right, and overcoming the fear that all the joints in his body, his tendons would snap and separate in an instant he still laid to me witness [that thing].

…something we called…

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.

…

"It is so very good to see you again, my dear, my dear old friend." Will you? Will you take me away from [this] very horrid place? For an evil man was once upon a time…

…and within this darkness, welcome me back to a familiar place, wherein we once thought, that we were invincible – and – and despite those arrogant adults who ruled over us sneered. Together, we realized HOW we would CHANGE the world!?

…

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 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.

…for an evil man was once upon a time, a GOOD man too.

…

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.

"Clark!" Heidern called out.

The world begun to slither at a snail's pace. NOW. NOW, IT ERUPTED INTO LIFE.

With his attention momentarily amiss, he felt four knuckles hitting his own, aloofly, throwing his left arm way to the right. He only felt the heavy weight of a steel block hit his chest as the pressure equalized in front of him. His sky blue eyes erupted into life. On instinct, Clark's left fist fought back and swiveling at the waist he thrust back put his guard to return at the center.

Willing his entire body to ignite in flames, Clark's gaze darted forward, defiantly trying to UNDERSTAND everything that was unfolding in front of him. He could see the wide part of his hand, where his thumb connected at the joint, in the crooked crease between his index finger and thumb, then he willed his focus to gaze outwards, just barely taking in a glimpse of his enemy's face. It was a still, unmoving picture – King's body lunged forward, his left fist arcing wide and trailing backwards after it had swatted Clark's greeting aside. A sudden motion trapped in the stillness of a cold photograph, the air in between them looked like silken translucent spider webs to the boy as time lapsed where seconds felt like hours.

Do you know what is a "Hayabusa"? The voices of 9 year old boys filled the classroom.

Then King's outstretched clawed right hand ripped up, King was already in slow motion running towards Clark's left side. The opposite side of where Clark's guard lay.

We. We stumble in the dark, looking for a glimpse of light, fighting for a glimpse of light. We, we were waiting too long - we are fighting for a glimpse of light amidst this darkness. 7 slow days together just you and I. Fighting each other for the adults' amusement.

Eventually – one day I would come to know that this special technique would be called as "the stroboscopic effect" by those this BOY would defeat so easily… But. Just he and I. [We] called it by a different [name] these 7 peaceful days we spent together… But…

{I already know your course of attack.} Clark sneered deep down inside.

Your father may be a top class war hero, but I know better – and you're nothing but a petty, angsty brat who thinks his teenage life is so horrible aren't you? Compared to me, Clark Steel, this is nothing.

But I was the faster! Clark turned his entire body counter clockwise fully anticipating King's course of attack. To the left! It was rather simple, Clark was able to angle and twist his body to the left much faster to cover more distance before King could enter his left blind spot.

{You must think yourself so great don't you? How predictable and how futile.} This as what Clark thought. King would have to sprint a full body's width, about 4 feet to the left, but if Clark knew where his enemy was going, all he had to do was turn a few degrees and he could traverse his defense, that distance, in an instant.

But, do you [know] what differentiates a mercenary like me, someone who fights wars and gambles with his life everyday, with someone like you? Do you?

"It's that you have nothing to lose." {Augh!} Clark stumbled in his mind, he had said what he was thinking, out loud.

We called it something else. [We] called it…

Slowly and surely, Clark's left guarding fist spanned the distance and rolled over King's body. However, just as Clark saw his left arm swerve over King's image like the clockwork manner of a windshield wiper – Clark – he had – as his upper arm swiped over his enemy. The windshield wiper that was Clark's forearm that passed over his field of vision had suddenly erased King's existence as it passed over.

…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.

…

Hey.

You know, what.

When you one day realize you've almost turned 40 years old.

As an old man. Ms. Chan.

You think of this one instant when we were only, 12.

What did she mean? When…

When a girl looked at you…

…and you did not think anything of it.

She said…

"Don't tell anyone about this."

"I'm only talking to you now, because…"

"Because you were nice to me."

"Eh?" We were all clueless then.

Had I said something different to her then; Would the path of future have changed?

For you. "And for me."

…and that one snowy night in the east coast I HATED so much.

It was that one snowy night – a picture perfect night – that I fell into a descent of madness.

You.

You can't go back HERE. Mister. Clark… Steel.

You have nothing to lose.

…

"Yes. You are right." King's voice replied in the stillness. "I've already LOST it all."

Despite the reality that probably his ultimate technique would be revealed TOO soon, King twisted his left ankle…

…something we called…

We called this superhuman technique – [a sequence of nine].

You've already lost.

…

As we had repeated again and again. An event is triangulated and can be defined by three distinct frames. A, B and C. But if you remove B, it would be impossible to predict the future.

This was likely Clark's earliest recollection of 'the Illusion Dance'. The first part of the 'Heavenly Sequence'. King had now disappeared.

…

When Clark willed his eyes to focus, his enemy's body was now nowhere to be found.

Next to Heidern was the Knight who sat cross armed with a curled frown of disappointment. "King's NOT going to learn anything if he does this."

"Haaaaagh," the ghost that loomed behind King's shoulders snarled through his razor fanged mouth, the mist fogging its exhaling breath. A horrendous vision Clark would never ever forget for the rest of his life.

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.

La Guillotine.

Oh.

…

{I had insulted you didn't I?}

Clark whispered.

I expect NO LESS... from the Knight's only son.

King's spinning left heel, like its namesake, spun across the back of Clark's neck. With Clark unable to move, hands tied behind his back, he was helpless to defend. This was the cruel power of King's instant killing attack. La Guillotine.

But.

But did you not reveal it to me, this savage technique so soon?

Clark's heart beat feverishly, so wild that I was about to burst out his chest. All he could feel was his knees feel weak – then...

Clark made his entire body limp and drop down – on all fours, Clark's palms hit the ground just barely evading King's attack that threatened to cleave his head off his shoulders. As much as it threatened, with Clark's quick motion he saved himself from going home 6 days too early.

Clark hurled his right root back in a low sweep behind him. Likewise the kick failed to contact as King suspended himself in the air just a split second longer to linger through the counterattack by folding his foot into the back of his thigh with an inhuman ability to keep himself suspended mid air just a bit longer. Clark used the momentum to turn his body around and pushed back up to a stand. He jumped back a step, but without warning or even a moment of hesitation, planted his heels and leapt forward to King who had just barely rolled his heels on the ground.

Before King could regain his bearings, Clark was already in motion. Coiling the sinews of his shoulder muscles like a spring, then firing, his light speed left jab darted forward – ripping through the spider webs that were now caught in between his knuckles– one, two – instantly four fists launched forward in a single instant. High and low they connected. King crossed his left hand across his chest and right hand over his face. He felt those four knuckles seem to hit him at four places at once.

Clark's machine gun attack was so quick – it seemed as if his one left fist would split into two and then without warning, to four, connecting into King's blocks in almost what seemed like an instantaneous spark with a quick power from the shoulders, both high and low – in doing so kept King at the defensive, unable to do anything but mummifying his body with his arms. Turning the tide to his favour – King was now in reactionary mode - Clark was already watching King's hips. If King made any slight motion to swerve to Clark's left side, Clark would change his line of attack to a sweeping hook from the left and a split second later whipping with the back of his knuckles with a backhand from the right.

Trapping his enemy in a box, Clark whipped his relaxed hand left, right, up and down – switching between left hook and right backhand, only tensing his fist the last instant to keep his motions swift but devastating. All the while all these attacks from 8 directions occurred billio-nanoseconds from each other it was impossible to distinguish them from an eight headed hydra that struck all at once and served to crush King's movement.

Amidst that quiet silence – the special attack was one that we so much practiced over and over again because it was the only thing we were good at. When we were young we cared nothing of school – and the only thing that kept us going was the hedonistic desire to play that silly arcade game that ADULTS cared nothing for. Our parents who were born in the 1950s never understood video games, and the things they never understood, they feared. The things they never understood they considered evil and ridiculous. And we as children, gambled our lives away at a chance of greatness, [one quarter at a time], spending our meager pocket money to prove ourselves. We simply wanted, as generations that came before us – we simply wanted...

Perhaps if you were born after the King of Fighters 2001, you might not understand these hardships, but if not, then maybe you could somehow hold my hand and share in my sorrow.

Isn't that the case, my friend?

WE. We wanted the same thing as everyone who walked the same road before us.

Every human who walked the face of the Earth has to at least EXCEL in one thing. ...and the MEANING of life – an ULTIMATE truth – was to FIND that one [thing]. I understand you, my friend. WE were never good at studying, WE were not too smart, WE were ugly, and we were not all that rich...

WE were never good at sports, and WE were afraid of getting our hands dirty.

But when we put coins in that cold machine, when the stupid tone and 16 bit music filled or ears, WE... WE could experience what everyone before us wanted. Through FIGHTING – we could find peace. Eventhough the adults never understood.

We played the King of Fighters.

Will you not FIGHT me, for a moment?

…for the adult's amusement?

{So, is he a technical boxer?}

THE VULCAN PUNCH. Clark's most elementary attack.

King's face curled into a sour contortion, and his mouth uttered silent words, absolutely disgusted at it. As if he despised it – loathed it so much. Why must we continue fighting.

As the venomous sludge dripped down the sides of his lips. King wordlessly said.

{Your special technique. That is just – a flicker jab.}

One more volley. Clark's whipped the back of his left hand in an unorthodox pattern going form waist high, instantly launching up towards King's chin once again. Like the fictional whip sword, the multi sectional weapon was described as a blade that is split into equally sized one to two inch sections that could be as flexible as a bladed whip but instantly contract once again into a solid sword on command. This was probably closest description of Clark's attack. Clark's left arm would start out as a limp device that could maneuver in awkward patterns, quick and unpredictable but would contract at the last second to deliver a hard hit.

Unlike a straight jab, the infinite angles couldn't be easily predicted since it was not tied to a straight line and a hard point of origin like the shoulder.

While not exceptionally powerful or easily able to score a knockdown it was enough to repeatedly weaken a physical and mental defense.

Once again that flicker jab swerved around King's line of sight and could taste another hit.

POW! The sweat from the small boy's brows leapt from their homes and into the air. THIS TIME – Clark's crazy jab was able to maneuver around any defense and impact with a sweet resonating sound into the lower part of King's jaw. A perfect attack that would slightly rattle King's mind. Clark was finally able to successfully hit King's face after whittling away at that wall. However, that was not the only sensation Clark felt. Clark would also feel the hard stop when King's elbow hit his own bony joint, HARD.

Instead of swaying his head to evade, instead of jumping back to create distance between Clark's superior reach against the short boy, King did something else. As perplexing as it sounds, King...

As perplexing as it may seem, Clark did not know of a way to counter his wild whip sword until this moment. Clark's vision traced back for an instant, down his fist, wrist and forearm to the point of contact at its midsection as he instinctively started to withdraw his neutered attack. The genius was in its simplicity. Instead of what any technical boxer would do – instead of jumping to one side or the other and vary distance – King had jumped FORWARD with a straight rigid left arm that had held the attack at bay for a split second at a time.

Ah, I see. That's right. If you can't predict where the flicker jab's path of travel lay, then all you had to do was reach out. Your attack was now no longer a spearing jab, but a slashing sword. King's left arm was straight out parrying Clark's own like a sword, and his right fist was by his cheek. If you think of the hit box of a standard jab, it is small but predictable. But with a swaying attack, like a karate chop, it may be unpredictable and random – but the HIT BOX is exceptionally large in comparison since it was no longer a pinpoint target. So all you did was close the distance to cut its energy and limit the permutations and combinations.

In simpler terms, it was like countering a spear thrust versus a whipping slash.

...just by outstretching your arm.

...and in doing so you were able to cut the force by as much as half, or even more.

To be able to come to this realization on instinct even when I, myself, had not formulated this defense beforehand – you are indeed impressive. Son of the Knight.

Clark did not let his feeling of awe show in his face, and King did not care. All King did was reinforce his rigid left arm forward, his hand was open and his fingers reached out to try to reach Clark's face.

Taken aback for a moment, Clark put both fists in front of his face and jumped back yet again.

It was a solid hit none the less. Finally Clark was able to score a good clean hit into King's face, but for some reason his confidence faltered and he jumped back when he felt the sensation the tip of his enemy's fingers touch his cheek.

Clark ran his fingers on his left cheek. It was there. He recalled distinctly when King, instead of countering just let his hands linger on his own flesh.

Clark's left foot darted forward once again without a moment's rest. Mixing it up, Clark repeatedly felt his quick standard jabs, his hooks and flicker jabs continue to weaken the meager defense offered by King's right hand that sweeped up and down, left and right to weaken the relentless attacks.

Despite the echoes of this one sided battle, Clark as perplexed by King's refusal to pull his left arm back to defend in elementary fashion. To superhuman beings, those born and bred for FIGHTING, they could see the silken spider webs float down when they were freed from their crevices and fall down to the ground beneath them.

When the smoke cleared – Clark was sure all of his hits made contact like arithmetic and served to weaken King's resolve. Yet, despite all that King held his stance and refused to pull his erect left arm back.

Clark breathed in, then out. His lungs heaved heavily, frantically – the opposite as his slowly calming body. He didn't want to admit it, but he had not realized that he had slowly felt his arms grow tired.

"Fhuuugh." King exhaled.

His eyes met King's through his knuckles. King looked back at him to lock Clark in place where he stood. Then, when the world became quiet again amidst its rampant screaming, King slowly lowered his left arm, tearing the spider silk and in the same way King's right fist went back to its resting place by his hips – King had lowered his defense callously.

So disgusted by it all.

King exhaled a long breath. Once again that face taunted Clark – it was a face that said. Why? Why? Why do you even bother? Is this fighting...?

Is this fighting so wonderful to you? A contorted face looked like it was forced to drink sewage – it mocked Clark who was so enthralled and lived for fighting. IT was the only thing he was good at. Clark as at his wits end trying to wonder why such an interesting opponent seemed to not care about how the minutes between their relationship unfolded.

Take me away instead.

It was the only thing HE was good at.

{Ah, this is so pointless. Just fucking drop dead.}

Clark broke his rhythmic trance jumping back and forth, shuffling in place to once again fall into rhythm to unleash another barrage of attacks.

A boy like you, you – who can't even understand – so aloof and ignorant. I will simply stay with you for seven days, and stroke your ego. Why bother?

Why even fucking bother.

Clark swiveled his left shoulder arrogantly, overtly telegraphing his motions and his left jab – standard – as he had predicted swerved wildly over King's retreating chin. THEN. TO end it all. Clark leapt forward with a hard two step launch, Clark's right foot stepped forward two times and responded with a hard right cross into King's nose, breaking the monotonous pattern, which was sure to knock him out.

"TAKE THIS!" A thundering roar ripped through empty air when Clark's HARD right cross, like a missile defied all predictions, Clark's attack ripped through the web that separated them, and served to END it all. Launched forward.

"Eh?"

Clark said absentmindedly. His fist floated just millimeters from King's nose. King stood still in place, bored and lethargic and in front of him was Clark's overextended right cross floating in place unable to reach its mark.

Eh? What?

At the end of their drama, Clark's stride was forward at is limits, but his knuckles failed to reach its target. King, on the other hand, simply stood in place and looked down at four knuckles, its owner, Clark still in denial that he had missed its target for what could have been a hundred million miles.

King made no move, and stood still in place – in that void of darkness.

King simply stood in place. Clark's punch floated millimeters from her face. What?

What are you punching empty air for?

…

King's face tilted up, his nose upturned arrogantly at Clark's finishing blow that meekly floated at the end of its path, millimeters from his nose.

…

A sequence of nine.