The Colour Purple Chapter 78: a Wasteful Death, 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 2016]

ORIGINAL CHAPTER. (Previously Chapter 36, rewritten from Omae No Tame Ni)

"Are these your only copies?" You're still a kid after all. A dumb stupid kid.

…

Perhaps. Perhaps, fate has in store for you – a greater plan, a righteous purpose.

Great martyrs like you have to continually suffer – in order to see this to the end.

This battlefield is where my soul belongs. Day after day.

Please, allow me to be selfish. Everyone has to revere a messiah in order to continue to live.

Please, allow me to have you carry my burden, oh God. In exchange. I will offer my life to you.

I cannot let you die.

The 3rd day. December 22, 1977.

Chapter 78: a Wasteful Death

The END of La Bizarre Love Pentagon – part 14 –

"There is no mistake, a fierce, superior BEAST dwells in your body." He said. "You are the real deal. The real King of fighters."

…

SHHHHRRRGHKKKK… The story had changed.

Oh no, that's not it.

1993

Clark pulled out from his pocket a small one and a half inch cassette tape and put it in front of his face. "I think I found your original, and what are you going to do now?"

Yuri Sakazaki?

…

The 3rd day. Showa, 52 nen, 1977.

"Today," The Knight said the first thing that warm morning. "You will concentrate on ground defense – nothing else. King, you can't use [that] today."

"That." Clark murmured out loud unconsciously. He grinned a bit, perhaps with a hint of disappointment. "That? That 'thing' you do?" Clark sighed, his face started out with a weak, limp downcast exhale, but in the end his lips curled into an evil sneer.

King bit his lip and as his father instructed him, his knees stopped moving and calmly, though half-heartedly, King let his heels touch the ground, relieving the taxing strain on his toes and calves that once supported his entire body as it shuffled slightly in place.

It seemed like such a cheap handicap, but now, even if just by putting his heels onto the ground, Clark could feel the chains lock down his enemy.

Clark clawed the fingers of both his hands into his hair and gnashed his molars against each other tight. Part of me is relieved – yet another part of me feels sad. Here I come. King.

What were we doing when we were just 13 years old? Do you recall? Did we even care? Was it such mundane things that it seems so inconsequential to us now that we are so old and tired? Back then, these two – were fighting.

The early warm air, in this morning, just like any other, today, just like it was always.

…Every day influences the will of the future. …and.

I am going to grab you.

Unchained from fear, Clark ran forward with both hands open. Instinctively, King took a wide step to the right, purposely crossing and breaking Clark's straightforward right-handed line of attack. King simply jumped up, his left heel exploded into life, launching him up, foot swerved wide across the air in order to build momentum for his right shin to hit Clark's forehead straight on. HEAD ON. Clark just raised his left forearm to block the kick he expected. While the kick was strong enough to buckle his elbow and slam his blocking hand onto his head, it was inconsequential. To his expectation, Clark was unfazed by the attack, he continued to rush forward fearlessly, and Clark's premonition was indeed correct.

If. {If you are unable to do that silly trick you do,} Clark laughed inside. {and if and only if I slowly approach and don't swing at you, and you are unable to COUNTER.} Your lightweight body relies on forward forces, and you are totally powerless to what happens next.

Clark's right hand wrapped round King's right wrist as his heels fell to the ground once again from his failed attack – King rolled his left hand under Clark's wrist, gliding it up the outside of his forearm and chopped upwards sharply to break the grip. King's free right hand leapt to life, now hurling his clenched fist like a hammer into Clark's face.

Being beaten mercilessly by you for three days, I know. {Your punches and chops are weak.}

Sadly, before it could connect Clark was ready, and in clockwork fashion Clark's left hand placed itself behind King's right elbow and pushed his attack wide, overextending it. King's smash missed Clark's face and only hit his shoulder harmlessly.

Twisting his upper body to the side, clearing King's fist he continued forward up until the last moment when his face was just half a foot away from King's. It's almost like cheating.

He said.

"If you can't use THAT, or [THAT]…" Clark sighed. Then…

You are just like…

Clark's left foot planted itself fearlessly in front of King and grabbed a fistful of King's collar. "You're just like any other boy."

King, now shackled and left only to react to Clark's next attack. Clark pulled his right cross back as far as it would go…but… it stopped. "I'm grappling you." Clark advised calmly. "You need to either defend on the ground or pull my head down to parry."

Ground attack. Did you really think your father would invite someone weak to fight you?

Instead of a punch, Clark's hand opened up and lunged forward like a cobra grabbing a fistful of the rest of King's high collar shirt. Here I come.

King launched both arms instinctively and with fingers weaved, wrapped it around the back of Clark's head and pulled down. Elementary. He pulled Clark's head down with his entire bodyweight in a valiant effort to stop his enemy.

"Good." Clark said. "But at this point you need to pull your legs back." Clark's body was pushed downwards to break his attack, but it was not enough to prevent him from resisting with enough force to curl both hands behind King's knees and pull back and push forward!

Despite his efforts, the physics were not enough to stop King from falling back. King tucked his shoulders in as instructed but still he rolled and hammed the back of his head into the ground as he fell.

"You either have to stand or defend." Clark said.

King felt a sharp nail drive through the back of his cranium to erupt in front of his forehead. Caught in a blurry daze King only saw his fingers float gingerly in front of his face as he looked at the ceiling. The world had been turned upside down and it was a sight he had not seen for many years. The periphery of his vision was cloudy and blurry when he looked around and scanned the walls in order to somehow predict Clark's next path of attack, however looking upwards, at the ceiling – on that cold floor, alone, for some odd reason, the sky was crystal clear.

It was like a slice of a memory that had been carved away from King's mind and eventhough his vision had become unclear, his body superimposed it over the world and refused to sully this simple picture.

{A!}

While it was not explicitly painful to his body, what hurt the most was finding himself in this position. King's back was on the ground and the humiliation that was his weakness ripped into him. King gnashed his teeth and tucked his hands to either temple to defend. All he could do was react in defensive measure, and in any game when you are forced to only systematically defend sure kill attacks, it was a staircase that could only lead to defeat. King knew this much, even if it was a simple exercise in training, clear loss was NOT an option. King looked up to the sky, the crumpled, off white ceiling was a long forgotten friend. I had not seen you for so long.

"I had seen you, before. Over and over again; And I treasured it. Loved it. Cherished it."

This picture that drove me to madness.

At this point, I can simply raise my knees and defend with a guard, or…

Yeah.

I had grown tired of looking up at the sky, with its empty promises. How many times? How many times had I looked up at you, in both light and dark, pleading for you to save me?

YET, yet you only answered me with BITTER, RELENTLESS pain?!

Yes, that's right… In order to STOP this shame, I HAVE TO DESTROY ALL OF YOU… and... especially you – you the ceiling I saw, which I knew was one step behind death.

A! King drove his right elbow into the tatami mat underneath him and lifted his entire fallen body up from the ground. King's body was like a hard board floating up without any part of it 'cept his elbow contacting the ground; He twisted both legs wide and like a pinwheel, twisted round and round and round in centrifugal motion. 10 years before everyone else called it 'breakdancing' King twisted his body, lifting his lower body like a helicopter – and now King turned over and twisted in mid air.

You won't be in front of me.

{You will be, behind me!} With his head up now, King overcame common prediction and spun a 540 degree turn with a flying spinning back kick from the ground.

"Wrong."

King had predicted Clark sneak behind him but the response was the opposite, and none was there. I am NOT like them.

From the dark abyss Clark rose up and his right arm wrapped itself over and around King's neck as his counterattack sliced through empty air. Did you think me so petty to attack you from behind? I will fight you face to face. "You're done." Clark said flatly into King's ear.

No. King's left arm, was a hydraulic piston and darted up into Clark's right wrist, just parrying the grappling attack the last instant. It was not enough. "You did it too." Clark said. King had made the mistake of crossing his left arm over his body to defend, the same mistake Clark had committed 2 days prior. Clark's right hand came back and held King's parry at the wrist for just enough a split second of a time to execute a simple counter. You may have blocked one, but, "This is a twin snake."

It was too late for King to notice and while King was able to parry the choke that came from the right, now, Clark's left hand wrapped itself around the opposite side of King's neck instead.

NO. NO! King's face was twisted in a gnashing, seething anger. He cocked his shoulders up and tucked his chin down, all the while pulling down with both trembling hands. His body was shaking with utmost rage that his fingers looked like they were sinking deep into Clark's left forearm like nails trying to pull it free. A meager attempt was all it was, {Yes, keep your shoulders up and chin down. That's good,} Clark thought, {but it would only be a matter of time…} Clark's left arm was around King's neck and his bicep exploded when he willed his muscles to pump at full power. Clark's right elbow folded over his left hand and finally placed itself behind King's head, completing the elementary but no less fatal, rear naked choke.

"You might as well tap out now you little bastard…" Clark said, {A!} he thought. He spoke out loud again.

Refusing to lose, King continued to pull down with his hands, jerked, and twisted his torso violently to somehow break the grip enough to slip away. A sharp stinging pain made Clark's face wince, he had not realized that King's fingers had now cut deep into his arm and small trails of blood had begun to flow from the broken skin.

Clark kept to himself, his look was now trapped between laughter and horror, or maybe it was some other particular sad emotion? "Let me give you a hint," he said. "If you want to try to break out, you may want to try to change your center of gravity."

It did not take long for King to parse his instructions and just as Clark finished his sentence, King was already in action, bent his legs pulled them up enough for his knees to touch his chest, then hammered both feet down with his entire weight and squatted down sharply while still keeping his neck protected. King took a step forward, but the stronger, heavier Clark immediately pulled him back. King now, took a step back, to the side, then to the back again. Clark's feet were rooted firmly into the ground and his stance was solid and unbreakable.

King pulled down, again and again pulling forward to break free, he refused to give in and though he was hooked, he refused, he absolutely defied Clark. Every movement, every silent carnal roar that echoed in his throat just refused to admit defeat. King fought savagely. Everyday was like this? Was everyday like this?

"AAAAAGHHH!" King's voice finally broke his veil of silence when he pushed back with ALL his might and took a step back, placing his foot behind Clark's ankle.

"A." Clark's right leg took a step back to bolster himself instinctively when he realized… That sound – it was the slight yet distinct sound of cracking concrete. The concrete foundations that held up that high tower softly, silently yet surely made a sound.

The lights turned off and for some peculiar reason, the world had gone dark for Clark and King, and for a split second, this place of peace had become the luxury for two. He realized, that… Was everyday like this? For you and me? Everyday…

Everyday. HE broke my concrete stance?

We were never granted a luxury, and it finally took its toll on us. Everyday, we refused to lose, because – everyday – we lived… LIKE WE WERE GOING TO DIE TOMORROW!

DAMN IT. DAMN YOU, you King! Why, why won't you just lose!

Instead of pulling back, Clark leaned forward, then rocked his head back, still refusing to let go. King was already helpless in his hands and if the entire house suddenly erupted into flames Clark had already decided that he would never ever ever let go of that boy. "There is…" If you won't give up, then, neither will I.

Clark would hold King tight, close to him… if he did not, they would fall to their doom - for a precipice of darkness laid in wait beyond the 3 foot circle that enveloped them, and only by holding on, could they be freed from this suffering.

"There is…"

There is, a THIRD SNAKE.

Clark fell back and before his spine could hit the ground, he wrapped both legs around King's diaphragm. He rolled their bodies forward, jamming King's face into the tatami mat. He then locked one leg around the other and slowly began to squeeze. A rear naked choke around King's neck and now his legs constricted King's belly. When King took a breath Clark tightened the grip with his legs, and with each breath King took, he squeezed tighter and harder.

'In order to defeat someone.' You must not only crush his body, BUT you must also crush his spirit. This was what Clark did, and time was on his side for with every breath that King took, Clark's vice grip only grew tighter and tighter, effectively suffocating the small boy.

Clark twisted his arms, tugging violently side to side, slowly and masochistically killing the prey he had ensnared. Give up. Just tap out already. Until you lose. Until you give up and lose, you won't learn anything, you little shit. {Just tap out.} Clark hissed in his mind. {Just give up.} Is it so difficult for you to realize in your stupid brain, in your fucking idiot mind that you are nothing but a weak little boy. A NOTHING. A little shit that lost. "Just tap out. Or I will kill you!" Clark's thoughts escaped his lips when he couldn't take the maddening pressure anymore.

King's eyes rolled up. The Knight's hands were crossed, and with a sigh he turned around to sit down on the steel folding chair behind him. His father's face was too easy to read. His slumped, downcast face did not bother to hide the feelings that swirled inside. GIVE UP. IF YOU DON'T TAP OUT, I SWEAR I WILL KILL YOU. WHY WON'T YOU GIVE UP?!

Every day. Each and every day. It was like this – and just – how long had it been this way?

I WILL DESTROY THE ENTIRE WORLD UNDERFOOT!

…

The Knight's arms unfolded when he slowly took to a stand. "Clark."

Clark bit down hard, he curled both arms tighter and tighter in a feverish pace in a savage determination to snap King's neck and pull his enemy's head off its shoulders.

"Clark... CLARK!" Knight shouted again.

"A." The ringing and maddening static in Clark's ear suddenly silenced.

"Clark, STOP!" Knight leapt up and pulled back on Clark's shoulder.

…

The baby's crying, the wailing, helpless sound on that cold hospital floor, filled with fear and dread, did not stop. His mother sat on her hospital bed and looked away, she hated herself.

Then at that moment – when the last of his breath left his lungs and he could wail no longer. The baby's mouth was wide open, and no sound came out, in this simple way, with eyes wide open, the wide world entrapping him, he came to realize…

I suddenly realized… That I will free myself, but not on your terms.

The crying stopped.

…

A pair of scissors cut that one lone red thread. When it did, King's arms grew limp, unwilling to tap out, his hands simply slid down from Clark's arm and his knuckles hit the tatami mat; His face had become pale and his body now lay lifeless – King had stopped breathing and his eyes had rolled back into his skull.

Knight wedged his hand into Clark's grip and pulled their bodies apart forcefully. Clark felt the cold sweat drip down his back and bead across his forehead. He took into two, three then six breaths, he inhaled but his body had forgotten how to exhale. His brain was a twisted, bloody knot and he had now fallen into a state of shellshock.

"That's enough, boy." Knight slapped Clark's cheek to pull him back to this world. The father walked over to his child and turned him over face up then tilted his head to the side as to let the foaming saliva drip harmlessly to the ground. "Give King some time, he will come to."

{Just how far? JUST HOW FAR?} Clark was still lost in his frigid state of purgatory as he stared at King's lifeless body from where he sat. Just how far will you go? All you had to do was tap out. Your folly, your arrogance, and your blind ambition. Did you not understand? All you had to do was slap your hand on the ground or on my forearm and I would have let go. By not fearing death – are you saying you did not lose? Are you saying that I was the one who lost? To you?! Clark felt his heart drop into his stomach.

…

"Hey. You need someone to teach you how to use scissors?" Clark jeered.

With his right hand, King grasped a pair of splayed scissors like a knife, paying no care eventhough the one bare blade dug into the insides of his four wrapped fingers.

Clark stood in the doorway, unwilling to look away, and locked his gaze into King.

…

I hate you. I [HATE] YOU SO MUCH!

Clark sat up in a panic and darted up past Knight, pulling King's father back and to the side. King's chest was not moving – he was not breathing. It was a sight he intimately and instinctively understood all too well.

Clark pulled both of King's arms from his chest to the sides and put his left palm over King's heart and then put his right fist on the back of his left hand. Without even thinking twice, Clark began to pump up and down to resuscitate his enemy with strong and steady compressions.

"Clark, stop, it's fine, King will…"

"NO!" Clark shouted back, he continued to use his entire weight to push King's chest up and down. Clark's extremities had gone cold and numb, yet all he could think of I HATE YOU was one simple I [HATE] YOU action, administering CPR. "NO! Stay away!"

DON'T YOU DIE ON ME YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT! The cold sweat that had pooled into large beads ran down his forehead and down his eyes.

"Clark, wai… sto…" Knight sai…

Clark tilted King's chin up and when their lips touched, Clark breathed out and forced life back into her. When their lips touched, it didn't seem to matter back then, in that morning, that plain, yet familiar morning that – was like any other morning that we each forgot time and time again. The ringing in his ears stopped, when voiceless thoughts raced across his mind, yet Clark's brain did not understand it's deeper meaning just quite yet.

Not today. I won't let you die – I won't let you win!

When Clark pulled his face back and took a deep breath once again, the cloth that was darkness had begun to tear and disintegrate as the sunlight enveloped his body with warmth.

I think…

Perhaps. Perhaps, fate has in store for you – a greater plan, a righteous purpose. Great martyrs like you have to continually suffer – in order to see this to the end. This battlefield is where my soul belongs. Day after day.

Please, allow me to be selfish. Everyone has to revere a messiah in order to continue to live.

Please, allow me to have you carry my burden, oh God. In exchange. I will offer my life to you.

I cannot let you die.

The 3rd day. December 22, 1977.

DON'T YOU fucking DIE ON ME.

I think… After a minute of compressions, Clark hunched down and breathed into King's mouth.

NOT NOW.

NOT YET!

NEVER!

The voices in their minds cracked and stammered, when he finally understood, eventhough he refused to believe, he finally understood. The bright light, and remnants of fairy dust came to me. It opened my eyes, filled my world with hope and at so very long last, the salty sweat pooled in his eyes then ran down his cheeks, made me realize.

I will NOT allow you die.

King pulled back the blade of that splayed scissor from his neck.

It came to me, like a vision. There is no mistake, a fierce, superior BEAST dwells in your body. You are the real deal. The real King of fighters. …and, Clark's mouth twisted, sour, sobbing look, I will NEVER let you die.

If I did nothing. Your GREATNESS, your unrelenting, wild, selfless, and raging defiance, you King of fighters, would simply be…

Their lips touched again.

…a wasteful death. You oh…

The King of Fighters.

…