The Colour Purple Chapter 85: Oni, 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]

Running. The same peculiar way – the way that these masked men did. To any normal person, nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but to this young man, with the sweat running down the silhouette of his brass rimmed spectacles, every motion was measured and calculated. His entire right foot hammered the ground flatly, his hands rocked up and down in an awkward L shape like Olympic level sprinters. His left foot beat the ground now – left and right arm moved like a robot, measured, consistent and distinct. Each stride was absolutely identical to the last.

The boy kept his breathing in check, taking exact, slow and precise breaths in from his nose and sharply from his mouth to prevent the lenses of his glasses from fogging up and obstructing his view. Up and down, violently, his hands swung, yet, as it was, they moved in sync and in order. When any other man would flay their hands and could hardly keep upright at such a frantic beat, the ninja boy ran in an incredible pace, yet kept his form perfect.

…

"The way we run is different. Different from joggers and sprinters…" He recalled his captain, Captain Miura say. "The entire foot, toe, balls and heel." He demonstrated slowly, hammering his entire foot flat into the ground over and over in front of them like he was stomping an insect. "Competition sprinters hit the ground with their toes, the balls of their feet. Their heels do not touch the ground. It gives them speed and efficiency. But we do not." Captain Miura said.

The young boy pushed up his glasses. He was probably no older than 10.

…

It was like he was walking lazily in the park, but moved at a pace of easily a 20 minute mile. Run. Run ninja boy.

…

"If your entire foot makes contact with the ground," Miura demonstrated slowly, twisting his foot at the angles left, then slowly to the right. "You are able to instantly able to control your entire weight and change your course of direction. You can stop, retreat, dodge and strife…"

"Captain Miura." The rectangular spectacled boy raised his hand. "The word is 'strafe'." He was quick to correct calmly and flatly. His comrades next to him laughed and chuckled to themselves, but the boy's face did not change. He corrected his captain firmly and frankly, his face was cold and without arrogance or malice. Even as the laughter subsided he made no motion. While other children would jump at the opportunity to correct an adult, to him, he simply could not allow a mistake to go uncorrected.

"A… yes." Miura coughed, and ran his open hand through his hair that was still dark and concealed silvery wisps at the sides. Ignoring the comment almost entirely a split second later Miura continued, "Think of it like an elaborate game of 'tag'…"

"What is 'tag', Captain?" One of the other young ninja asked raising his hand.

"Oni. It is how the westerners call 'Oni'." The spectacled boy was quick to answer.

…

"Except in this 'game', Miura Taicho…" The year was 1980. The young boy was now…

A Sequence of Uneventful Mornings, part 20.

Run, boy… Just RUN! RUN AS HARD AS YOU CAN!

…

"Yes." Miura said pointing his index finger out. "But in this game…"

You are ALL 'it'.

Chapter 85: Oni

…

That rigid L shaped arm swung up in slow motion eventhough it flashed in 360 frames per second.

…

"If I run at you from here, boy," the old Miura began, facing the boy from 20 feet away – the length of over 3 tall basketball players. "At the front, if I tried to 'tag' you." Both of Miura's hands were rigid in a karate chop fashion, his graying hair and beard was already starting to spread through his once black locks, his hands moved up and down similar to railroad gates by the sides of his face, like an air traffic controller, moving up and down shaping a corridor in front of the boy. "If I came at you straight on. It would be very easy to…"

Before the last syllable resonated in the boy's mind, the captain was gone from sight.

Move. MOVE. The ninja boy's spine tensed when he jumped back on instinct. Straightforward. His captain was testing him but it was an easy challenge. It had only been a few months but he was able to train his eyes to see his enemy's body move in the darkness even if it disappeared for a split second. He came from the front, straight on. It was too easy, after moving back the boy had at least eight directions to move to avoid being 'tagged' and avoid being turned to 'it'. Forward, then back, side to side an easy escape.

…If you walk through the second gates of Kusanagi palace – I promise you, that you will never see me again… but, if you…

The young boy waited the last second – he knew from watching again and again, the finite amount of time his captain could trick his mind and stay invisible. Hours, minutes, seconds and then split-instant standards of measurements that were not quantifiable by science, these moments that only his mind could measure. Through the lenses of his glasses Captain Miura's body reflected in the sunlight after vanishing that instant.

We are all 'it'.

…but, IF for a moment, if just for a moment in time, you decide otherwise - to forsake your life for our God. Then I will promise you, dear boy, that I will protect your choice with mine…

As Miura promised, his right foot, his entire foot, toe, ball, heel and arch – all of it touched the ground with an equal, balanced amount of force. Now Miura's face was 11 inches from the boy's nose.

No one cared for you. No one loved you. But, all this will end [now].

…

"So, what will you choose?" We were asked the same question, no matter where our lonely hearts found us. "Choose, will you be a slave?" It was always autumn and it was always a lazy afternoon.

Different faces, different times. Each distinct face flashed one after the other welcoming an animated seizure. Each a single Polaroid picture taken from a different place in time stitched together and run through a film projector at lightning speed. One boy taller one boy shorter than the other – one angry, one afraid, one lost and another sad… the leaves floating down to the ground and the angle of the setting sun, each one as distinct and unique as the faces of a diamond. Faster and faster each face and each backdrop pasting itself over each other like the animated flip books we made on our own in 1989, but this time it was 1968…

…

The boy did not even bother to cry out for he knew what he had to do as he was challenged – and he refused to lose. The boy moved his body an entire torso to the right as his teacher taught him. As per the rules, he put his left forearm up to block the fingertips that was surely coming at the wrist, and to counter attack, jabbed the index and middle fingers from his right hand out. For we are all 'Oni'.

…

"I choose…" a timid boy.

"I will be…" a brave boy.

"…your sword." a once silent boy murmured.

"Sword!" a wistful…

"I will be your sword." …just a laughing boy.

"YOUR SWORD!" The tiny boy screamed.

"No, my Captain… You are mistaken…"

"I choose to be your sword." The boy said as he took steps side to side.

"…I will NOT be a slave!"

"Captain Miura?" He asked.

"Perhaps you will let me see a better day… Captain Miura, I choose…" Eiji Kisaragi, no older than 15 years of age - the colours becoming gray and lifeless put his hands in his pockets and turned around, walking away, "I will… and I PROMISE you…" he said.

…

"I will become your sword! CAPTAIN MIURA!" Hitori hitori. Each and every single one. Eventhough the old man had forgotten the exact moment in calendared time, each and every one, he heard their voices in his ears, the small rectangular spectacled, nameless boy replied.

…

Then. Choose a name. One to call your own as you walk to freedom, my diamonds!

…

As per the rules, he put his left forearm up to block the fingertips that was surely coming at the wrist, and to counter attack, jabbed the index and middle fingers from his right hand out. For we are all 'Oni'.

We, are all 'Oni'. In this game.

Miura's foot twisted, driving the soil into the Earth and in retaliation the crater it formed wrapped the rocks like buttresses around the flesh underneath his shoe.

BANG.

Hitorisezu. You are not alone.

…

The world had become blurry and indiscriminate. The young ninja could no longer distinguish shapes as he ran feverishly. RUN! RUN! Run HARDER and FASTER than ever before.

…

"A sad choice. An unfortunate choice." The old man Miura sighed each and every time he heard it. While he cared not what the answer was, he understood that the consequences, and that burden was part his to bear, just as the old men who came before him bore.

It was always autumn. A lazy afternoon. Just when boys were about to become men far much too soon. When, they, abandoned by the world, were destined for a listless death no matter what path they chose. Even if the world had abandoned you – even if no one cared to love you… Just this one instant. This one moment in time – I give you a choice.

And if you see it to the end. I promise you.

A slice of a moment taken apart from time. And this, a promise that was taken apart from a despicable world – would be protected. For if no one else loved you… UGLY BOYS…

…

That I will do ALL I can, to make certain you NEVER regret your choice, my jewels.

…

The boy. Probably 10 years old, stunned and genuinely surprised felt the four fingertips of his teacher's touch the back of his head. Miura stood behind the boy's defenseless back. No grin, no stern mocking gaze. Miura simply stood behind his student with his hand on the back of that child's head.

Oretachi ga… Ore tachi wa, hitori hitori ga… Oni da.

...

Each and every one of us. We. We are all demons.