The Colour Purple Chapter 73: a Heavenly Sequence, a king of fighters fanfic

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

pointblankassassin . com

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 2016]

"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.

…

The sixth day.

Clark pushed a plastic bag filled with ice over the back of his head. It was so quiet that the sound of those frozen cubes cracking as the temperature met equilibrium with the air around was so deafening. However, the sharp piercing sound was pale in comparison to the throbbing, piercing beat in Clark's head. Clark let out a weak exhale…

Clark tilted his head back and rested onto the soft concrete wall. Six days of this unending torture, it was a mad surprise that Clark was still alive.

"You." Clark said to King as he sighed in the same labored breath. "You, you're pretty good." He grinned weakly, a boy who lived his life for fighting sighed. "People will one day pay lots of money to see you fight." He chuckled weakly, finally realizing his own weakness as he nursed his wounds…

"If…" King interrupted, his face was so cold and frigidly uncaring. IF. "If I said to you, that fighting, could end WAR." Would you? "Would you…"

"Would you lay down your arms for me?" A wide triangled fanged tooth smile gleamed.

…

Eh? What?

The first day.

…

If I promised you right now, that I could END all WAR, and end ALL suffering, yours and mine, what – how would you answer me?

…

Clark's right first had overextended and he almost fell over as he shuffled forward, just barely catching himself. It was a sensation so very similar to leaning on a door that had suddenly swung open.

On instinct, Clark threw his left foot to balance himself and continued his advance. This time a quick left hook swang wide, but as it did before, his attack swept harmlessly in front of King's face. King did not move and with his arms lazily by his sides he simply stood at attention, like when we waited in line for a Broadway play we didn't care about as children.

The feeling Clark felt wasn't frustration, it wasn't anger, it was something absolutely foreign and bewildering. He couldn't even muster the energy to defend himself, and he stood with his mouth agape at the enigma that was happening in front of him.

Clark could not even scream GOD DAMN YOU, FUCK IT, WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU?! Those emotions were far from him now, for he couldn't understand why he was unable to connect, yet King stood in front of him motionless. What was even more abstruse was the lack of evidence of King making any motion to evade or dodge the attack.

Clark took a step back then forward again, he put his left fist over his temple in defense and with a sudden lunge, put his shoulder just inches from King's chest. He waited for the last second, when he saw King's face lock gazes with him and he was of utmost certainty he would break his enemy's chin and knock him out. Then Clark unleashed an uppercut skyward with all his might.

But. As it was before, Clark's fist lingered above his head with his entire body fully overextended just like a corkscrew rocket ship that was about to lift off. Once again King stood in place and made no motion to defend, retaliate or avoid the attack.

…

"How… would you answer?" Every motion of King's lips as they curled, made its place to engrain themselves in Clark's soft, supple brain. "To END all suffering."

…

Everything.

…

Clark pulled his shoulders back and took a step back. Absolutely bewildered he shifted his vision up at his enemy and then to his arms in front of him, then back up watching King for any movement of retaliation. However, King remained perfectly still and stood in place lethargically with slumped shoulders and a bitter look on his face.

Clark was too bewitched to even feel emotions of hatred, anger or frustration. It was as if King had suddenly stopped time half way through Clark's punch, picked him up, laid him two steps back like a chess piece, then, when time began to flow again, stood arrogantly, unmoving as Clark missed his mark by a wide margin. Was it a speed trick? A mind trick? Did Clark's arms suddenly shrink half way through its drawstroke or did his enemy play tricks with his depth perception? These questions were so paralyzing he felt nothing but a cold empty void within his chest.

To a man who lived his life with his fists, where his livelihood depended on his combat prowess, he was torn between rational skepticism and the simple desire to believe in the possibility of a celestial miracle. In simpler terms, Clark could not doubt what he was seeing, and indeed he was simply punching at empty air while King stood defenselessly in front of him. In simpler terms Clark had to wrestle with the difficulty to solve a monumentous problem or to weakly surrender to the possibility that this superhuman phenomenon that was revealed to him, was akin to tracing the footsteps of a celestial being in heaven. It was A HEAVENLY SEQUENCE.

…

Chapter 73: a Heavenly sequence

The END of La Bizarre Love Pentagon – part 9 –

The ultimate art - a Heavenly sequence.

…

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.

…

NO.

{No, this is impossible, it has to be some speed trick.} Clark pulled himself back to Earth. {King cannot walk on water, and he cannot fly. He is simply dodging my attacks and I just can't see it, yet.}

Clark took two quick steps and threw himself forward fearlessly, and even if the attack would overextend his entire body and he would be unable to pull back to block any counterattacks, he was absolutely determined to break the veil of mystery at any cost. At the end of its journey the knuckles of his right fist floated just in front of King's nose, staring disappointed at it just as Clark's punch once again ran out of steam.

{Don't you dare look at me like that.} Clark screeched with bloody maw. With those eyes, those eyes that say to me 'you're so useless, you're so petty and weak…' Giving him strength in his resolve, anger slowly began to rush like searing crimson rivers to fill his insides with magma to compensate for the cold frigid paralyzing fear of mystery that enslaved him.

"I will force you to move. I WILL force you to RESPOND."

Clark did not turn his head away, his eyes were dry and were about to crack at the cornea, but he absolutely refused to even blink just so he could watch every moment and force King to reveal the secret to his heavenly technique. His Heavenly Sequence.

- -, FLYING GATLING ATTACK! Clark leapt up.

…and I will BIND you to this ugly, disgusting place with ME!

…

You see, for the longest time, all the little boy could do was fight. Deprived of a peaceful childhood – he was forced to become strong. However, however my friend, if suddenly the foundations that supported this mentality were to one day crumble and break apart, everything else that was built over top of it – would fall to ruin. One day when a boy named Clark came face to face with a superior being, suddenly, all of a sudden, the last five years became indiscriminate and insignificant. Just like us.

…

Up until he could no longer bear to wait any more Clark spun his body completely around and in one fluid motion leapt up with an unorthodox flying, swinging backhand to follow up his flying right cross. A two hit attack in rapid succession propelled his body over the vast canyon and finally entered King's own private haven. King's expression now changed from a weak lethargic gaze to a sick disgruntled snarl. Clark got his wish and, backed into a corner and given no other reasonable alternative, saw both of King's arms fold and cover the left side of his face

A hard bone crunching hit, Clark felt the sweet reassuring feeling of his backfist hitting his enemy's forearms. At long last he was able to connect two points between his body and King's, and his combo wasn't over yet – as long as Clark could maintain contact, he could BIND King's to him. Clark pleaded. {Don't fail me now. Don't you dare fail me now.} Even if it was conceivable that his enemy was a deity, unconstrained by mortal physics, just as folklore, witchcraft and legends preached, for as long as you have a method that can bind an evil demon to the Earth, then you are able to shackle them to set, predetermined rules.

As long as I can touch you, and maintain contact, then I will know where you exist, and I can slay this demon. "RAAGH!" Clark's third hit was wide haymaker punch that pierced through King's block, sent a shockwave through King's ear and, finding its home, rattled his teeth.

…

Disgusting.

Are you REALLY enjoying yourself?

…

After long arduous moments that felt like hours, the fatigue and stress Clark felt in his joints when he would swing blindly in the air, finally, he was rewarded with the sweet sensation of imparting the entire impact of his blows and transfer the kinetic energy to his enemy.

{I know you felt that. I know that FUCKING hurt. You son of a bitch.} Clark sneered.

Clark wanted to savour the moment so much, he willed his heartbeat to decelerate to a dribble, and now, the flow of time had slowed to a standstill. Gingerly Clark twisted his corkscrew fist into King's meager block digging deeper and deeper, relishing in the finality of his thesis. Now, King had to reveal his secret, or perhaps, Clark had overestimated his enemy and King was no longer able to retaliate with the crippling pain impaling itself into his ear and so much further into his brain.

{Answer me. Look at me!} Clark commanded silently.

.and King did. Fortifying his left block with his right hand at right angles, even as the searing pain of that blow dug deep into his head like a disemboweling virus, he simply tilted his head up in the silence. Heidern and the Knight sat in their chairs and looked on silently, but they were petrified in place, and save for King and Clark, this was their own private world.

As an answer, King tilted his head up and looked straight, fearlessly at Clark. However, the emotion that was painted on King's face was neither hatred, nor pain. Clark's eyes refused to blink even though his corneas about to crack and bleed red blood. Just so he could witness every bit of it. King looked up and his face was a halfhearted scowl, as if he was about to throw up.

"Do you really enjoy this?" Clark finally heard King's voice.

Is this, 'fighting' so wonderful to you?

"Are you having fun, Clarkie?" The voice in Clark's mind changed to another foreign bubbly voice. Clark's eyes widened even further, for now amidst the still flow of time he was now hearing hallucinations of a third unknown being.

From beyond the edges of his peripheral vision, when Clark convinced himself to break his gaze from the sight of his fist drilling into the side of King's head, he switched the focus of his vision from nearsighted to far, from the shadows he saw an unkempt, ragged blonde haired boy sidestep from behind King's back to reveal himself. Like a deity, an evil spirit that emerged from King's body like a fiery bird – a small, frail blonde haired boy made his presence known to the boy named Clark.

…

THIS was something I took for granted once upon a time – but, without my permission, I had suddenly grown to become a frigid old man, and spent the next decade desperately trying to SEE this scene again.

…when I stared at the dark abyss… constantly.

…

This moment, trapped between two distinct finite seconds, a slice of time taken apart from the sequence of history allowed Clark to experience it. With both arms splayed wide, another boy took a step back and to the side, pulling its own body from the grips of bloody ligaments that once joined his own body with King's. Those black tendons and sinews broke apart and disintegrated into a static that buzzed and dissolved into rancid spectral insects as he arrogantly gave birth to himself. Ripping his soul from King's body, a dark shadow was cast over the boy prince's face. A horrendous vision – his white eyes slit the black quagmire with two distinct slashes across his face, and a third wound appeared like a knife cut that slashed from left to right, then, it opened in a bright triangle fanged gleaming maw that radiated the WORLD.

…

Unbelieving and now he was the one to be petrified. Clark wanted to wake from the nightmare he had started. He had willed time to stop but now, he had become the prisoner and even if he desperately willed it, this Prince that revealed himself to Clark refused to let him free.

A vision mortal men would never forget as it raped his mind.

"Are you having fun, Clarkie?" The Prince snarled.

…

King pushed back with his entire weight. When Clark finally twisted his head back to his enemy, King's face was neither gleaming with hatred nor anger, but in its place, it was a twisted visage that looked like he was about to throw up.

"Is this so very fun to you?" King mumbled under his breath. As if forced to drink sewage and roll around in SHIT, this was the picture that reflected in King's face. He wanted to throw up.

This is no game.

…

I will show you. The difference between your blissful game, and true, cruel, VIOLENT fighting.

…

a bright triangle fanged gleaming smile radiated the WORLD!

Clark broke from his numbing fantasy and pulled his right fist in a panic. The high pitched shriek then static pierced his ears, Clark's eyes widened in instinctive horror. Clark was unable to retract his right forearm in time and instead crossed his left arm over his chest, under his retreating right arm, and put his crossing, open left palm over his right ear.

The deafening sonic boom made no sound and Clark could swear he felt the familiar viscous dribble of blood seep from his opposite ear. King's left foot planted itself into Clark's left palm that had spanned the distance over his torse and Clark's hand was the only thing that barely prevented King from cleaving his head right off his neck.

…

Clark had momentarily become deaf. He had lost his sense of smell, his sense of taste, and it came to a point that he had become unable to swallow saliva when it slithered past the edges of his mouth. Clark's body had ceased all non-essential functions, and his mind could now only process carnal, simple commands essential for survival.

{I'm still alive.} Was all Clark could think. {I.. I cann… can't… have to…}

Unable to parse his own thought, he was unable to coerce his body to formulate a firing solution. Pulling back, Clark looked down at his body and he barely understood well enough his futile predicament when he gazed down his chest and saw King leap forward. King reached out with his right hand and pushed Clark's floating right hand back into his torso. In order to desperately stop King's attack, Clark threw his left hand over the insides of his right elbow and onto the side of his face. King pushed Clark's right arm back, trapping Clark's right hand on his chest.

Clark's arms were now shaped like an X over his body, with King's hand pushing downwards sealing that package like a glittering red ribbon.

A crossover trap.

A penetrating move used in both grappling and knife fighting, King used Clark's own right arm to immobilize both his limbs.

{No. Oh no!} Clark's mind shouted.

But he was unable to move. With both hands trapped in a figure X, and his spine arched backwards, Clark was unable to advance nor retreat.

"GHAGGHRK!" An incomprehensible grunt escaped when King's second thrust the entire weight of his body into a SOLID side kick into Clark's left rib. {I… I have to move… I have to move now.} The fluids gushed up his throat and filled his mouth.

Clark bent at the waist, pushing through the grueling pain, he felt like he was about to fall over. He had to take this fight to another plane of action, because if he allowed this story to remain upright, he would die.

Targeting King's knees, Clark maintained enough composure to lunge in a downward arc with full intent to tackle King and bring him to the ground. However, once again, just as he made motion to push his right leg forward, Clark felt an iron wall hit his own right knee.

…

If you are right handed – there is an instinctive bias to lead with your left foot. During a committed sprint forward, the upper body does not push its center of gravity forward and become horizontal until the second step with the right leg.

and there, King was ready and waiting. King kicked down hard, as if climbing up steps, put his foot onto Clark's right knee and walked up, now, a meager 100 pounds of flesh stopped Clark's advance.

Inertia.

Inertia is the resistance of any physical object to any change in its state of motion. IT is the tendency of objects to keep moving in a straight line at constant velocity.

Clark's upper torso was now horizontal and his entire weight was barreling forward without a right foot to bolster it. His hands were handcuffed in place, and this blonde haired boy was unable to stop his body from plummeting into the ground.

Why? Why?! You looked so WEAK.

…

TRUE. VIOLENT. FIGHTING.

…

Can a man, a man who lived a gambling life, where he relied on his ability to FIGHT if he wanted to wake up to another day. Why? How is it that he could not stop his body from free falling and could see nothing but the dirty ground beneath him that eagerly threatened to devour him whole? Who are you; King? Who are you, and why am I…?

Why am I seeing my life rush through my mind in an instant?

Now, a bright light enveloped the silent world in a plain white when King's shoe floated just millimeters from Clark's left, falling temple.

To end THIS story.

…

A second, a very small slice of time taken apart from the flow of mortal history, King's left foot drove a spike into Clark's right temple, ripping though his defense, paying back the pain he had inflicted onto King just seconds before, then, instantly, just as King floated down, a right roundhouse kick bellowed, cracking ribs before Clark could comprehend what was happening. Then, just as Clark made one defiant attempt to lunge forward, King's left foot spanned the tasks of time and unearthed the ground from Clark's feet with a solid, full weight push kick when he placed the weight of his entire body on Clark's right knee, and before Clark could fall over, King, still suspended in mid air, his right foot dealt a crushing blow with a force of a sledgehammer into Clark's left temple. I can stop time, and I can read your mind, and I can predict the future…

…

…and then…

DARKNESS.