The Colour Purple... The King of Fighters '95
Based on the Characters of The King of Fighters '95 Copyright 1995(C) SNK
Original Fan Fiction Copyright (C) 1995 [ENGEL] Design Room 1995
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]
1980. May 22 – Pac-Man, the best selling video game of ALL time is released in Japan. Welcome. To the world of men. A world built on the foundations of individual, simple sequences of uneventful mornings.
Yokozo – otoko no sekai e; To the World of Men.
"Miura." The ninja master looked down sternly from his perch high above the walls with his arms tucked over and under the other.
"My Ninja Master," Miura replied unconsciously and obediently.
"Your men," he, that man was one of only three Kusanagi Ninja Masters, said slowly and firmly. "Have them attack, and kill Kisaragi."
"My men?" Miura said, his voice now dry and ragged. "How many of my men will…"
"All of them." The master interrupted.
"All?" While we didn't hear it at first, his voice, always solid and stern, broke in a slight crack, and a wisp of softness as the word escaped his lips.
"ALL! AAAAAAALL OF THEM!" The cross-armed ninja master looked down from heaven with bloodshot eyes at his subordinate ninja captain who was about 20 years his elder.
…
A Sequence of Uneventful Mornings, part 21.
1980. All? All of them?
…
"Your… your.. sw…." The small, so tiny boy shook in his worn and tattered hemp sandals. "I… I…" The thin, scrawny boy sobbed violently, furiously rubbing his bawling eyes with the balls of his palm.
"Agh… Ah…." The middle aged ninja sighed to himself. A man who was able to kill 6 enemies without a second thought – one of the finest Ninja Captains in Kusanagi palace shuffled back and forth – so mortified and ashamed that he rolled his shoulders forward and hunched down. A grown man had just forced an 8-year-old boy cry in utter horrid fear.
"I... please... please."
An 8-year-old? "What am I now, a nursemaid? This is ridiculous. Hey… hey.."
The boy so frightful of punishment and even death he scrunched inwards tightly in terror.
"HEY!"
Taken aback by the adult's sharp call the boy stood erect, petrified, just before his frozen knees buckled and forced him to fall onto the ground.
"Boy." The man said. "It is your choice. I will not lie to you. You can choose on your own, without fear of punishment. Do you understand what I am saying?"
The thin, frail boy said nothing and simply looked back at the captain's eyes who would not let him go. "All I ask is that you not make me wait, and make a decision now," he smiled.
"So answer me truthfully. If you understand the words that are coming out of my mouth. I promise you… I promise you…" It is a long way forward for you, so trust in me… for when I am long gone…
The boy…
That if you choose me, then… Then I promise you I will give you shelter, a shelter, that slavery can never – ever – hope to provide.
The year was 1928. Showa 3 nen. The 3rd year of Showa.
1928. Following the death of Emperor Taisho, Hirohito is enthroned as emperor of Japan 2 years after he took the imperial throne.
I will never betray you. I swear it. The man put his torn, calloused, yet gentle hands on the child's frail arms. For if you serve me, I promise you… If you choose me, boy. For as long as I am alive – I will watch over you and you - you will never know fear, ever, ever again.
…
No.
…
Just this once. I refuse to bend to God's will.
"NO. That. I can not." Miura, looking upwards replied plainly, his eyes once closed in deep thought, lost in memory, his mind swam through over 5 decades of time in a matter of a handful of seconds, before opening and just as quickly as he was drowning in a bittersweet melancholy had now surfaced to take air.
You will NEVER know fear, if you offer your life to me. For as long as I am alive.
"What did you say?"
"I cannot… Ninja Master." Miura's deep, dry and weathered voice, cracking in mid breath, replied.
"Captain Miura." The captain of the 6th brigade said behind Miura. "CAPTAIN MIURA," he repeated to his colleague, his voice begging. "Captain… if you…"
"He. Eiji," Miura said. "I will NOT. I will NOT send my men to die in vain for you. They will NOT kill each other. Not now… not – this - time. NOT – TONIGHT." He gnashed his teeth as he spoke slowly, and clearly so his master was sure to understand every word. "Eiji is one of US. Perhaps… Perhaps we can reason with him… Please, Master." Miura begged, looking up to the sky, refusing to break his frozen glare from his master.
You are not my master. My true Master, he would never… ever…
Every sinew, every twisting muscle in his old, battered body trembled, this much the 6th captain witnessed – and an old man – a proud and bitter man, his men could do nothing else but look away because they knew instinctively… After all these years, this broad shouldered old man – their captain – who raised them, who, even in times of tribulation protected them, and supported them. A proud, towering and invincible man. When they were only 10 years of age, his body stood so high in the sky, and continued for a decade and more. Yet now. However, now, his voice was about to fold in half and he was a moment from dropping to his knees – all in front of a Kusanagi Ninja Master that was 20 years younger than him.
"Master… Master…" Miura whimpered, he was old, and his joints were brittle and just this instant had become as weak as it was 52 years ago – yet those, now slumped and trembling shoulders, even after 6 decades still paid no heed to the rules of mortal men. Miura's large chiseled body was still firm and toned. This, THIS was the result of a single-minded determination that carried him through six bitter decades, watching. That was the statue of a body that carried all his men. That, his men understood as they watched him. All his men, one by one, turned away, for they could not bear watch this old man grovel. Is your pride? The pride that carried the sorrow of a dozen or so boys at a time, when the comforting embrace of death was the same as the strangling thorns of living.
"Is your pride?" The boy whispered, "Is it worth, this? Are WE? We, your children…"
Scum. Garbage that washed on the shore haphazardly and without even with a warning on that one simple day. Wasted and dirty seashells that no one ever wanted. Young boys – [doomed to fight], doomed to die for god's plan, and you - beyond obligation – who was tasked with the trial of raising a dozen young boys who – whose parents abandoned them…
The Dream. One by one – from one to twelve, he, counted them in hand.
Forsaken by those god damned mother-fucking creatures who abandoned us, THREW US AWAY. Parents who gave in to their carnal desires, gave in to the will of social convention, yet could not follow through with their responsibilities, they had us, gave BIRTH to fucking GARBAGE. Do not you know – do you not realize by now – that our lives are cheap and worthless?! Do you not even understand it?! When the sands of time pass through your fingers?
…
Every Ninja Captain had this task. It was a burden each and every Captain had to carry on their shoulders.
…and Miura was no exception.
We were all children of an innocent crime, and it is time to take down the throne, and although our hands my shake, we will set this city ablaze... 200 years of war. Fight until we are no more.
(Porter Robinson – Years of War).
The [question]. It had a deeper meaning.
…
Once upon a time. Aru hi… Mukashi mukashi, aru tokoro ni…
There was an old man, absolved of his destiny, he had never married and never had children. Now, the battered soldier was too old to fight and no longer of any use to his country. Because of this choice, he had no place in society. One evening, he came to a sandy beach, sickly, weak, bitter and tired. In this lonely place, by the whims of his petty folly, he knelt on both knees in the sand and collected, with great care as the sea brushed them to the shore, a dozen seashells in his calloused, dry and broken hands that bled at the fingertips.
As chance would have it, the King of the land, on his evening walk, held his stride and looked at the beggar who knelt by the shore just as the sun had set. He asked.
"What is it that you do?" The king asked.
"I am here to gather and search for treasures." The beggar shivered as his knees lay deep in the water that had slowly to grown cold when the warmth of the sun began to ebb.
"What nonsense!" The king replied with his troupe of soldiers following a few steps behind him.
Thrown away from distant golden lands – only to be washed ashore and lost…
The king, taking a slight interest in the peculiar man who knelt in the sand with torn, tattered clothes, the king took a step and two forward as he spoke. "Those things you gather…" As best as he could, the king could not hide a hint of mockery in the flavour of his voice.
The man, with great and utmost care, collected THEM in his hands even as the sand that passed through his fingers cut his flesh like small shards of glass.
"…are nothing but garbage." The king said sternly with a merciless, condescending tone, his face just inches from the beggar's ears, their faces side by side just next to each other.
…
That question. It had a deeper meaning. For EACH of them.
"You have a choice." Each and every one of these young boys, no older than 10 years was granted the luxury of hearing that question. Even if one afternoon they stood, weak and unwilling – they were in a cold concrete castle, and they stood lonely and alone – when… When everyone and everything decided they were USELESS. Each and every one of these young boys was granted the sole luxury of hearing that question "When you pass the second Kusanagi gates, you will never hear from me again… but, if you stay with me…"
Like lonely seashells washed ashore.
Will you be a slave…? Or…?
…if you stay with me… I promise you…
1928. Nineteen and twenty eight. Miura. Eventhough my mind and body have grown old and weak – I still – I still remember that one day. When [he] asked me… My Captain is long dead. That question. My answer... It brought me [here]. It bought [us] together. NOW.
A torn bundle of newspaper rolled over the ground, thrust by the wind.
…
"Please. Master." Miura begged, his head now bowed low. "Eiji, he…"
…
WHY?! Why must you…?" NOW.
Their fists curled tight, and once again, again, just like that [one] day.
Like that one day, lost in the whimsical passing breeze of time… as it did then.
Lost, but, it was preserved in a perfect picture.
Their fingers tore into their palms and red blood gushed out…
…When they were asked, THAT question.
…
"TREASON!" The master boomed. "Send your men out NOW! NOW! Yoshiki Kusanagi COMMANDS it! If you refuse, you and ALL your men die."
"CAPTAIN!" Miura turned around when a young voice put his hand on his captain's shoulder and pulled him back tenderly. His once frantic scared voice had now become soft, warm and easy. As if the weight of the entire world had suddenly evaporated and left them be.
The captain of the 6th Kusanagi brigade smiled under his mask in relief.
…
CAPTAIN MIURA!
…
"Captain Miura!" The boy screamed his right finger pointed outwards to the horizon, "Eiji! Eiji has…"
Miura's nearsighted old eyes, as best he tried to hide it, was now weak and broken, he could hardly focus and see from afar, but just for this one moment, his entire body willed it and when he looked out he focused on Eiji's cold body. Eiji's hands…
Eiji's right arm stretched out erect to the sky, and in his hand was a small, bloody sack.
"Eiji." Miura whispered.
"Eiji…" The spectacled boy shifted his glasses up and down the bridge of his nose. "You did it, did you not?" That we, and all who came before you, could not.
You ended a DYNASTY. And you…
You have set us FREE.
From a hundred yards away, the ninja Eiji's arm pulled itself up into the dimly lit sky, and in his hands was a small burlap sack, its bottom was a wet, dripping red blood that ran in viscous streaks around his wrists and down his upper arm.
YATTA! YATTA ZO! "You did it!" The boy leapt up and down, cocking both arms up and down wildly while his body floated in mid air. "You DID it, Eiji!"
"You…" Miura said. "You've killed him."
You have fulfilled your part of the bargain…
Oh, for over 50 years I slaved upon this one Kusanagi mantra, my sacrifice - but you, you brought something to change the world – and perhaps, made my entire life petty and listless. Did I just spend 60 years fighting, and now you have come to END it all…? End all our suffering?
Eiji kept that bloody burlap sack suspended in mid air.
With a mind of its own, Miura's head swiveled on his shoulders. Arrogantly, proudly, without thought to consequence, looked up, but, instead, now, from down below in that abyss, Miura's spirit rose ever so high to the heavens, and now he looked down at his master. As Eiji Kisaragi, ninja of the 8th brigade, has brought the head of Iori Yagami; Miura turned sternly to their master.
"Eiji has fulfilled his part of the bargain." Miura smiled under his mask when the cool breeze enveloped his entire being with a tender touch. EIJI KISARAGI. HAS KILLED IORI YAGAMI AS PROMISED!
…
There is no looking back once we let go…
A Sequence of Uneventful Mornings, part 21.
We were children from an innocent crime. We will fight until we are no more. Take back what the kingdom stole. A curse on the streets of gold. Although our hands may shake we will set the city ablaze, and we will shed blood and set our fathers free. 200 years of war, we will FIGHT until we are no more.
(Porter Robinson – Years of War).
Hail hail. For tonight, Iori Yagami is slain.
Chapter 86: Otoko no Sekai e
Just as she did me.
Perhaps, now, and just this once, the wicked goddess of fortune had taken pity on you and given you the luxury of a second glance. Omigoto! Congratulations Eiji. That cruel woman, had lent an ear, taken mercy upon your desperate plea, and once, just this once, rewarded you – with a momentary glimpse at happiness.
Carry it. I plead you – carry it to the end.
Eiji Kusanagi – proud Ninja of the 8th brigade.
1980. Welcome. To the world of men. A world of sequences of uneventful mornings.
Yokozo – otoko no sekai e;
…