The Colour Purple Chapter 89: Mortal Sin, 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]

We were only bred for FIGHTING. And only through FIGHTING, shall we die.

…

1970.

Black Sabbath's debut album is released, regarded by many as the first true heavy metal album.

"If you do not do anything, that young boy is going to become a master before you, Captain Miura…" a much younger Captain Jackson said. "Will you allow that?"

Ninja Captain Miura just slumped his shoulders and shuffled his feet. "If the boy has THAT gift, then let it be." Miura said in surrender. "I suppose I do not have the gift." Miura opened and clenched his fist repeatedly in front of his face – perhaps as a nonchalant habit. "I simply do not have the gift, mayhaps…" Miura droned on and on… or simply mayhaps…

"Captain Miura," Captain Jackson put his hand on his comrade's shoulder to ease his anxiety in his own simple way.

Miura looked back and what waited was Jackson's tense fist about a foot from his chest, offering it to his [friend]. It was a familiar gesture, half a century ahead of its time. In reply Miura curled his fist too and put his knuckles inches from Jackson's. "I could not serve a master like YOU anyways, friend." Jackson said.

It was so repeated, over and over and over again, that saying they exchanged was so overused and polished it could shine even in the darkest of night. Miura looked up defeated, his eyes were stern and angry, and yet his mask did not allow his smile to show from underneath.

"Loyalty above all else." Miura said.

Jackson bumped knuckles with his comrade, "…above all else, except… except honour."

…

'Tomo yo.' My friend.

Chapter 89: Mortal Sin

A Sequence of Uneventful Mornings 24. A forever story.

"In due time you will soon understand, ninja master…" Hajime Yagami said with his cheek resting smugly in his palm. "Just how much…"

Just how much that old man, Eiji Kisaragi hates Kusanagi so. With every fiber of his being.

…

"MIURA! I will not…" Jackson shouted as he thrust forward. "I will…"

I. Will.

"I will never betray you!"

Jackson's cleaver rushed down and separated their master's right hand cleanly from his wrist.

Their master's face was frozen in time, the shock and horror had petrified his body and the boy just could not accept nor understand, why his fingers would no longer respond to his simple commands.

Jackson released his grip from Miura's shoulder, he had committed his entire body to swing forward so much that he was unable to counteract the inertia of motion that made his body tumble into the ground. The rocks gashing his exposed face.

"A!" Their master gawked in horror when the Kusanagi fire erupted like a wild, flailing water hose from his bloody wrist.

"Jackson!" Miura sai…

A dismembered hand bounced off the ground.

Jackson lifted his upper body from the ground with both arms and turned back up to Miura, his ninja mask now torn to shreds exposing his face that was soiled with a mixture of tears and blood. "MIURA! HURRY! HAYAKU! NOW!" I can finally see your face.

"Ouszz~!" With another chance at life, Miura roared with a frightful happiness! Cocking both arms and lunged upright ready to rush at their enemy.

…

Time stop.

…

{Miura's left hand is open, but… but he still has the sword in his right hand. It is obvious; all he has to do is swing his right hand at me again. Miura has a sheathed blade on his left shoulder, but it would take too long for Miura to cock back and execute an overhead draw with his left hand – so he has to simply twist his right hand back and cut at me. It is so simple…} The master turned his left arm in and it would become easy enough to intercept the blow. His own sword was on the inside and just a few inches closer to Miura's body. Even before Miura could attack, the master could reach his target first. He would be the quicker…

"Agh!" Miura groaned.

A stream of blood peppered the ground with crimson dots across the master's toes.

"A?" The master stuttered.

The young ninja master's sword cut bone deep into Miura's right elbow. Miura pushed forward and in a daring bet, jammed his elbow into the edge of the sword just at the hilt. It was basic physics, instead of swinging his entire arm, he just folded it by its elbow and a shorter half arm's length would span the distance quicker - by sacrificing his own arm, and by stopping the blow higher and deeper in its swing, by meeting it at the sword's hilt, it took less force to stop his master's sword because the centrifugal force was weaker closer to the arm's fulcrum.

Miura could no longer feel his lower right arm as the steel blade severed its nerves. The blade embedded itself half way deep into the back of Miura's elbow.

Miura's sword hit the ground – the morning was still so far away and all was dark.

The motion had happened in fractions of a second but his mind, meandering, seemed to take ages, and so he thought, with so much confidence that Miura was sure he would inject every single syllable into his enemy's skull as he pulled his head up high from his wrenching slouch – as his head rose, he dragged his enemy's face in tow in a hungry attraction they could not escape - their eyes met, their spirits frozen in time.

A HATRED, so pure, that it persisted half a century at a time. We were only bred for FIGHTING. And only through FIGHTING, shall we die.

…

Young people… are so petty. Too busy with women, wine and games. You probably never read, do you, young master?

Well let me…

Let me tell you something a wise man once said… 'Do not pick a fight with an old man, child. For if an old man is too tired to fight you… He.'

…

"He will simply kill you."

…

"Miu…!" The mast…

In a split second, Miura's left hand curled back into his left armpit and pushed out a small six inch kozuka, a thin Japanese blade from a kydex, thermoplastic sheath from his hidden break forward shoulder holster – drawing and attacking at the same time. Instead of a traditional shoulder holster that required a long cross draw – a hand having to cross the torso towards the opposite armpit, to first pull downwards then swing the weapon back at its target, the break front sheath was designed to open at the front, not below so in the same motion a hand pushes the blade forward to draw from the same side as the drawing arm, it is already in the optimal line of attack - this design pioneered in America by Tom Maringer's 'Vorpal' in the 1980s. Miura forcefully DROVE the knife into his master's neck.

The master's right arm floated in front of his body. However his mind had betrayed him, even as he made motion to block the attack, the only thing in front of him was a fiery, gushing, bloody nub at the wrist where his hand once was. A phantom pain, a sensation that lingered but was no longer there. The master tried to block the attack, but without a hand, he only wailed helplessly in silence. Miura's quick attack had rendered the world into a cloudy blur when his blade cut through the space where his master's decapitated hand should have been.

A wicked smile and a sigh of relief painted itself across Miura's face as the tip of his knife dug an inch deep into his enemy's neck.

However, despite all that, as pure mockery, the master turned his head to the left as hard as he could, and by sheer instance the knife's tip dug into the side of his neck and shoulder, missing his jugular and barely grazing his carotid artery.

"DAMN YOU." Miura cursed.

"Hunngh…" A snarl and sinister grin was the reply from the young master this time. His voice pained and labored he was still able to speak one last time – "Die. Miura."

Miura felt a hard solid kick drive itself into his diaphragm – pushing him back – and – an out of body experience - he saw the spectre of his body in front of him – he felt his spirit driven back forcefully as if hit by a moving car, his flesh and mind only seconds in tow as he fell backwards.

"Ughh!" Miura groaned, releasing his grip on his kozuka, leaving it still impaled hilt deep in his master's neck. And so he saw it, just at the cusp of victory, eventhough he would have been content with a stalemate, he realized soon enough when he released his gaze from his master's neck – that his master's still whole left hand floated upwards – his fingers stretched out and in between these fingers were small globular spheres the size of golf balls. His original skill, despite all that.

…

Images – pictures from an ocean of memories taken out of sequence…

"Eiji." Miura sighed back then, looking down at his young student, once again sleeping mid day against a tree. "Eiji…"

Eiji Kisaragi looked upwards digging the grime from the edges of his eyes. Scoffing…

"They say, Kisaragi," Miura said. "That a warrior's greatest sin, is sloth."

He grinned.

As Eiji always had been, he did not even bother to hear anything. A weathered old man trapped in a young boy's body, the easy wails of everyday seemed so inconsequential to Eiji. Scratching the sand from his ear, he looked up to his Captain aloofly from the dirty earth below. Funny. "Funny." The young boy, Eiji coughed. "I remember differently."

"A?" Miura jeered.

Eiji put his palms on his crossed legs and looked up slowly at his captain. His eyes chained the old man and pulled him with a merciless gravity that was further augmented by the slight pain of silence. Eiji said those words – words that since that time, the old Miura could never, NEVER remove from his mind.

A warrior's ultimate sadness and shame…

"Miura." Eiji said in response. "If I remember correctly… a warrior's GREATEST SIN…" His sin. "A warrior's greatest sin. Is not sloth, but, is immortality…"

Captain Miura.

"A warrior's greatest sin, old man." Eiji said, "Is to grow old." To remain, and to watch, as all his friends die. "A warrior's greatest sin – is to grow old, and to die of natural causes."

…

Miura grit his teeth, in a wistful sigh of defeat he grit his teeth and finally let his body relax in a calm of peace. "So…" Miura said as he fell backwards. "Even if you had the power of Kusanagi at your disposal… you still…" You still did not forget who you are. Master.

Their eyes met, twisted and locked, Miura and his nameless master. When Miura finally accepted defeat he smiled under his mask and braced for the blow, biting down. He looked into the opening in the front of his shirt. Inside his uniform was a half dozen small, home made grenades, all with sparkling wicks.

The goddess turned away with tears in her eyes. Despite all her power, and all the old man's faith, all that, had come about to this after all. She walked away. "I grant your wish!"

…

"You did good, little Miura." A disembodied old spectral voice filled Miura's ears at his final moments. "You did well, and I was so happy to have raised you as my own, my son."

…

You gave this old ninja master's life MEANING. Miura. Miura wrapped both hands over his old Master's hands as he remembered – as his white haired Master lay with his back floating in a large pool of red blood. DO NOT BE AFRAID. Miura gripped his Master's hand hard – so hard he was sure he would break his bones. He put his forehead on the back of his knuckles. Sobbing, crying silently. HE could hardly breathe – tears ran down his face and clear sludge erupted from his nose and mouth. Do not be afraid.

These, are simply – the chains of time.

Do not leave me. Master.

WHY?

WHY MUST WE FIGHT? WHY MUST WE DIE? And why, must we boys continue to see this scene over and over and over again in agony? This chain that bound us to each other.

I am so tired of fighting.

The goddess turned downcast. "No more." She said. "I grant your wish." And I release you from your lifelong suffering. Little boy.

{You were wrong after all, Eiji.} Miura smiled brightly. He once again saw his Master's hand escape his grip and fall lifeless from his grip and into the dirty Earth.

"Thank you." Miura's eyes pooled with salty tears as he responded to the pastel blue void. "Thank you, my Master."

In my heart, now, truly, dwells a happiness – I hope to share with the entire world.

…

BAAAAKOOOOM! Miura's mouth opened wide, his mind wailing from the searing scorching pain from that violent explosion that devoured his internal organs. The old man looked up to the sky and now – now – for some peculiar reason, had changed from a dark, ebony gray to a light pastel blue. A.

Ah… A heavenly blue. The clear blue sky. Amidst pain.

…

Top class!

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.

Unlike a sprinter's stride, their way was measured, calculated and consistent. Not just the toes, but the entire foot, ball and heel hit the ground at the same time with complete constant pressure, so even in mid step, they could…

INSTANTLY change direction! The boy without even thinking, willed his entire body to shift to the right, just as three arrows stabbed the ground where he stood just an instant before. He continued to run forward, hearing the feverish beat of drums and a booming orchestra that clouded his mind until he could think of nothing else but to run.

The boy jumped up with his arms bolstering his own body leapfrogging a foe who swung wildly at his thighs. A hard foot his the back of the assailant's neck that drove his face into the ground.

The boy kept his breathing in check, taking exact, slow and precise breaths in from his nose and exhaling sharply from his mouth to prevent the lenses of his glasses from fogging up and obstructing his view.

Practiced lovingly yet mercilessly - again and again and again. A body bred only for pure, efficient, ruthless fighting. He faced another enemy who drew his sword and swung it at his head – but [he] simply did not care. Measured, calculated and consistent, he took a deep breath and held it there, counting beats in his head as he ran with all his might then purposely skipping one. In slow motion the tip of that sword swung centimeters from his nose, slicing a bead of sweat that floated in mid air - yet he kept his mind clear and focused. [The Sequence.] As the sword swung harmlessly where one tiny mistake could have cost him his head, the boy ran past and around the side of his enemy and without wasting any effort, hooked his right heel behind the ninja and tripped him when he pulled his foot back not breaking the rhythm of his run. With extreme ruthless precision.

His enemy hit the ground, his brain rattled in his skull when he fell hard.

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.

RUN. RUN! YOU! You… YOU SUPER NINJA BOY!

…

"MIURA!" Captain Jackson pushed his body up and reached out in vain.

"GUWAAAGH!" Miura choked, expelling the blood that had filled his lungs out his mouth as he fell backwards. His stomach was torn open from the grenades and the cool empty space was what was left of the remnants of his lower body.

"Ojiki!" A young boy ran up behind the old man and met him in mid flight. The ninja boy met his Captain in mid air and wrapped his arms around his chest. Both Miura and his young ninja's boy hit the ground. The younger ninja sacrificed his back, ripping it across the earth to soften their fall.

"Captain. Captain! Are you…" the ninja boy stopped mid thought when he witnessed the gruesome horror when Miura's guts had spilled into the ground. "Taichyou…." He whimpered in fright. "Captain…"

Even in the dark shade of dusk, a shadow loomed over the young boy that cradled his captain's limp body in his arms.

"You lose…. You… after all, old… man." The young master wheezed as he now lifted his open left hand up – slowly the wild flames from his cleaved right wrist transferred itself into his left palm. A snarling seething grin, the young master cocked his head to the side, the knife still floating in place in his neck from where Miura had left it without effect.

"YAMERO!" Wait! Jackson pleaded. "YAMETE KURE, NO! STOP! PLEASE!" Jackson pulled his body up yet still in fright, he could not command his body to action and he stumbled in place like a newborn fawn trying to run. STOP!

The young boy's eyes opened wide – the Kusanagi flames grew bright, hungry savage fire that was sure to envelope them and as it did in the past, would leave no trace of their bodies in its wake. OROCHIGIRI. The divine power on loan. The boy could not bring himself to escape, he put his body over Miura's face, curling his arms over his Captain's devoured body. And even if his captain was about to die, if he could somehow – somehow – somehow defy fate – just – just one last time. He put his back in between the Kusanagi flames and his captain, to sacrifice his own body at the expense for just a few more seconds of Miura's feeble life.

"Rrruugghhh…" Miura's pitiful torn voice spoke – the blood filling his mouth. The old Captain's hand reached up and pushed on the ninja boy's chest. However, the arm had no strength. "Ruuuugghhnn…. Ruhhnn. Run away…" Miura cried with tears in his eyes, when he realized soon enough that his body had no more power to save his boy. His hand, his arm.

The arm. It was the arm that built our fortress. It was arm that fed us. It was the arm that taught us to fight. It was the strong arm that lifted us up when we fell time and time again. …and in the end, it was the arm that wiped away our [tears]. However now, that flaccid arm was weak now, and it put itself over my feverishly beating my heart.

Leave me. Run away. Please.

NO!

We followed you. We believed in you. We will never leave you! We will.

Show me…

…in the same way you wiped away our tears. The young ninja boy caught Miura's wrist as it was about to fall, and put it hard on his beating chest. SHOW ME. SHOW US!

Show us… that YOUR way was RIGHT! PLEASE! Show us. SHOW US.

That even if we were given the chance to turn back time, that even then – we would still choose the same path as we did before. That regret still had meaning – yet – it would have no meaning.

That the entire world was, instead wrong.

"THE ENTIRE WORLD…" Jackson said…

"THIS ENTIRE WORLD IS WRONG, CAPTAIN!" The meek ninja boy roared fearlessly.

MIURAAAAAA! The boy screamed mouth wide open as far as it go as the flesh on his cheeks was about to rip and tear. As we were about to DIE.

As you never left us. Abandoned by our arrogant mothers. Regarded as SHIT. We, boys who were once human GARBAGE, but now have become so so great. We.

The young Kusanagi master's hand pulsed one last time and released a raging flame.

The meek boy from the 8th Brigade pulled his Master's head high into his chest, putting his back in between the last thing that kept him alive and the Kusanagi flames.

"You will soon understand." Hajime Yagami said. Why He HATES Kusanagi very so.

WE WILL NEVER BETRAY YOU!

…

His entire right foot hammered the ground flatly, his hands rocked up and down in an awkward L shape like Olympic level sprinters. In a peculiar way, this was how ninjas ran.

A finality of fate. RUN! YOU. SUPER – NINJA – BOY!

At the last moment when the Kusanagi flames were about to reach its apex, the young master heard a whizz and felt a slight breeze rush across his cheeks.

"A?" The young master said, eyes wide open.

"Hey…" A heroic voice whispered.

…

"Mouu ii yo, Ojiki…" Eiji's voice slithered from his curled lips. That is enough, uncle. "I…"

…

Jackson lifted his gaze from the ground and looked up…

The young ninja boy turned round to his back still clutching Miura lovingly in his arms.

"Miuuuuuraaaahhhhh…." Eiji's yellow ghostly voice escaped his lips.

Then. A whisper so sweet and loving – it was enough to entice her ears. Just as the goddess of fortune, the cruel beauty was about to walk away, she could not help but stop in her tracks once again. She put both her palms over her heart when the soft sound of boys romanced her ears and even when she forced herself to ignore it, her heart made her head look up.

On instinct the goddess turned around before her mind could stop her.

"Eiji." She said. "Miura. Mayaps…." We can run, escape where lights cannot chase us.

The gray dusk began to slowly dissolve and welcomed a blue sky. When the cruel wicked ways of the world was finally proven wrong. God… just a little bit more.

…

NINJA BOY.

Eiji's corpse cocked its head up, and then, yellow smoke seeped from the edges of his lips.

The vertical speed lines slowed in its flight, and made the ghost reappear once again slave to the mortal coils of the world.

The young ninja master looked outwards gasping.

Five fingers wrapped themselves around the hard handle of the kozuka knife that was impaled hilt deep into the master's neck. A brass spectacled boy, our familiar hero stood aloofly behind the master's right shoulder.

Namerunayo.

Do not underestimate us.

…

"Kusanagi hachi gundan wo nameruna yo!" Do not underestimate the 8th legion. Eiji Kisaragi's ghastly voice snarled.

…

He locked his grip around that knife's grip.

"Oyaji wo ijimesuru na." Do not bully the old man, he said.

The spectacled boy twisted his entire body with such force he was about to dislocate the spinal cord that connected his upper body from his pelvis. He pushed forward and tore the sharp knife through bone, cartilage and flesh and across his master's throat.

That even if we were given the chance to turn back time, that even then – we would still choose the same path as we did before. That regret still had meaning – yet – it would have no meaning.

…

You chose well, Miura. And in exchange, WE will prove to you, that you were indeed right, and instead, that the ENTIRE world was indeed wrong.

Once upon a time… Mukashi mukashi – aru tokoro ni…

"I beg to differ, my king." The beggar said with a smile. "This garbage…" With both palms the beggar held out his hands – seashells that had been polished by ebb and flow of decades from the sea and sand until they shone brightly. Those worthless things, those worthless seashells he collected as treasures had become... "These things you said was garbage," he replied, "…have become DIAMONDS."

…

The sharp edge cut the master's throat in two – and in its wake was a wild fountain of blood that painted the sky, in between darkness and a light pastel blue. The droplets of crimson blood bespeckled the sky like the stars that were about to fade away from the morning dusk.

To give way to the clear blue sky.

…