The Colour Purple Chapter 104: Declaration of War, 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]

[Harmony] : One day, all will be as it should.

Until then… It will always be raining, here.

In 1982.

"Don't have time." She mumbled flatly in response, softly, probably so much that she could hardly hear her own words. With her short, dirty blonde ponytail at the center of the back of her head, she still felt awkward leaning back.

"It's ugly. I just want to let you know that. It's ugly." Clark groaned.

"…"

"You're going to get fucked up in grappling with that long hair." Clark callously twisted the steering wheel left and right slightly.

"…"

{Your shorter hair looked better. I just wanted to let you know that.}

…

Sometimes, I wake up on Sunday mornings in a panic attack. With only a false memory to keep me company just as I am welcomed back to the land of the living. Eventhough my room is cold I feel a raging heat in my body. The first thing I think of is – What happened? I missed so many math classes, what's my schedule? What's my schedule? I don't know what class I have to go to today. If I miss too many classes, I won't be able to catch up.

I struggle in bed groggy and lethargic, had too much to drink again the Saturday before. What can I do? I work in a nightclub after all…

But what… what's going on, if I don't know which class to go to and if I can't catch up...

Slowly, I turn over to the right side and bury my head into my soft goose down body pillow.

I have to purposely slow my breathing, and calmly, cautiously tell myself… {You're 30 years old now. You don't have to go to class.} I breathe out violently. You do NOT have to do that. You just go to work, and do not have to worry about those things.

"It's just a dream, it's not real." King uttered in a weak breath that clung to the last strand of doubt. "Wake up… you don't have to go to class…"

What was I thinking? Why do I keep on revisiting that time? Did I forget something important? Something undoubtedly important? Did I…

Did I leave something behind – Dreaming this peculiar time in college. Did I somehow leave something behind? And my mind just can't let go.

Ah. It's Sunday… again. King's left hand crept under her shirt and scratched her belly. Soon she would forget it again if she didn't write it down. Can I be freed from the past?

…

New Hong Kong. NHK. Despite what most would believe, it was run by four families. Ignoring the Yagami and Kusanagi clans who could hardly give a shit about us - Mr. Big's Southtown. The Empire of Geese Howard. The Krauser family. And the 'Fourth Syndicate'. Beyond each of their knowing, these four syndicates' influence maintained a seemingly peaceful order and balance in NHK. If one of the four would gain extraordinary influence, the three others would rise up to hammer the one down. An automatic, symbiotic relationship that leveled the playing field – and much like a nuclear deterrent kept this nation from falling into a swirling chaos.

"You don't understand it yet, do you, Big?"

"It's just a fucking kid. Just have the gang take him on all at once and FUCK him up. THAT should shut him the fuck up!" The bald headed man ran his right hand over his smooth scalp ever so frustrated.

Shi Ten Oh. The four heavenly kings that kept the world in balance in this town, without their knowing. Each of them did not realize until too late when a FIFTH angry God rose up from the ground that one day in 1982…

I will warn you. If you try to fight that boy [unfairly]. A heavenly punishment will come to you from the Royal British Military. So. So, I suggest that you not resort to cheap tricks, and fight him fairly. Then, you will know… Who is right and who is wrong.

If you FIGHT him like a scoundrel, try to KILL that Boy by any means possible by your evil ways, make no mistake… If you kill him that way – the entire Royal British Military with the destructive force of at least 3 noble units of the British SAS Special Forces will descend on to you like CRAZED savage ants… and CRUSH you... until not a spec of dust is left of you.

"…do you understand, Mister Big?" HE, said, "So, I suggest you fight him… FAIRLY. If not, like cascading, intellectually orchestrated chess pieces, I can guarantee you that that entire British Royal Military, including no less than three divisions of England's SAS will come down and ANNHILATE this entire city WITHOUT A SPEC OF MERCY."

Do you…

DO you understand me? Big.

…

Sunny days.

1982.

"See you tomorrow King!" Sharlene waved behind King.

King turned around slowly, a bit unsure, trying to find the source of the voice. "Uh." King grumbled. Clothed in a dark navy blazer and pinstripe pants, he scratched his scalp with his left hand and shuffled his grip on the fake leather briefcase with his other.

Sharlene's cheeks bubbled and her dimples visibly showed. To her left and right, her friends giggled amongst themselves and whispered to each other words King couldn't hear.

"Uhhhhh?" King said, turning around after growing bored of the silence and continued to walk towards the front gate.

"Hey, don't you think King's long hair looks nice?" The girl said. "It's like, you know – like Iron Maiden, or KISS."

"Yuck! Those curly hair old guys look ugly!" Sharlene waved her had in front of her face. "King's hair, in a few years, all rock stars are going to be like that!" She grinned, her cheeks blushing brightly.

"Ehh? Sharleeeene…."

"What? WHAT!?" Sharlene's voice cracked in guilt.

"Hey. Hey who's that?! Look!" The other girl pointed forward. "Another hot guy!"

"You think he knows King?"

"Ah… who would you choose!"

King felt a strange yet familiar presence in front of her and instinctively stopped mid step, cautiously tilting her head up to break her apathetic gaze on the ground in front of her.

"Hey!"

"…"

"HEY?" In a few years, the label of teenager would be long past been stripped of this young man, the blonde haired Clark waved his open hand over his face slowly from left to right, arrogantly at King. How many fingers am I holding up? He seemed to want to say. "They make you wear UNIFORMS in this college?"

"…" King bit down behind her lips, and when the awkward silence built up to a point where she could not bear any more, "Fuck you, Clark." Tilting her head to one side lethargically when her eyes rolled up wanting to flee from the world to the back of her head.

"Huuuuuuuuuuu!" Clark shook his shoulders, his open palms trembling in mock surrender, taking a few steps back.

{You're an uneducated barbarian. I don't need to hear that from you.}

{Sorry, you're using big words and I can't understand you, Bitch.}

"Hey, come on! Get in. Let me give you a ride." Clark took a step back, walked around his Ford F-150 truck and was about to put his hand on the passenger door latch.

Before Clark could make contact, four fingers wrapped themselves over the wrist of his underhand grip. With King's left hand gliding under her right forearm and juggling the grip, she wrapped her fingers around his thumb and King cocked her left hand up sharply still gripping Clark's, turning it around and upward, locking it with her left hand – her hand now trapped Clark's thumb in mid air in a twisted wrist lock.

"I am NOT a cripple." I can open a door on my own ASSHOLE.

"FUCK!" Clark hammered his left fist down at King's wrist, barely in time to break free from the lock before King could dislocate his thumb. "Okay come on, already." Massaging his now sore wrist with his free hand.

…

Clark slammed the driver's door shut and put both hands on the steering wheel unconsciously. "You know… King. Women've been voting since the fucking 50s."

King said nothing, pulled her hair back, tying it into a short ponytail before crossing her arms over her chest and shuffled her briefcase in between her shins.

"What's with the hair?" Clark giggled to himself twirling his right index finger mid air in mock faggotry laughing at King's blonde hair that was barely pulled back into a ponytail at the center of the back of her head with a felt wrapped elastic band. "You trying to impress a fucking boyfriend?"

"It's ugly. I just want to let you know that. It's ugly." Clark groaned.

"…"

"You're going to get fucked up in grappling with that long hair." Clark callously twisted the steering wheel left and right slightly.

"…"

Did I leave something behind? Was there a reason I still FEEL these dreams. It's sunny, yet it's always raining. Here in a silence. I hated these awkward silences when I'm with this fucking guy. Clark reached out with his right hand and turned the dial of his radio counterclockwise to silence it.

"Why are you here." King couldn't stand it anymore and broke the silence, her tone peculiarly more a statement instead of a question.

"Pops tried to call you. But you won't answer, so he asked me to get you. He wants to talk to you."

"Stop calling him that." King huffed, seething through her teeth with a bitter venom.

"Hunngh." Clark chuckled a long, single syllable, while shifting the steering wheel with one hand. "What do you want me to do? Your old man stopped responding to 'Knight' YEARS ago."

He responds to POPS, so I'll call him 'Pops'. Or... what was it that your Mum said in Japanese… 'Oji?'

"I don't care… Just STOP calling him…" King…

"Your Pops bought you a $4000 cellular phone. You can at least carry it." Clark cut in, "Your Pops wants to talk to you so he called me to pick you up."

"Ugh." King grunted. {It's 15 pounds, why would I have to carry that. I have enough shit to carry.} She thought to herself wordless.

"Heh." Clark chuckled. "One day, EVERYONE'LL carry cellular phones."

"Buuuuullshit." Bull - shit. King immediately yet slowly enunciated.

Clark continued to drive lethargically, and as the world continued to pass them by, the two rolled through a group of men at the side of the road.

One by one, each one of them, their faces, their eyes and the shoulders of unknown strangers reflected on Clark and King's face in slow motion, as the truck zoomed by the flashing city in slow motion.

Did I leave something behind? Back in that college time?

King stopped. Her vision tilted to the side through her window, as the small sidewalk shops passed over their vision one by one, flower shops, game shops, toy stores and convenience stores… Her vision was locked in place. As if a harpoon had been launched from a cannon, and driven itself squarely with its barbed prongs, embedding themselves in between her eyes, her head froze in place and was pulled back across that clear passenger side window.

STOP.

"Stop. Stop this truck," King said flatly.

The faces had already become blurry as time swept across his vision. The scene that had passed seconds ago were already far from Clark's mind.

…

Is this? IS this the place you spent most of your time? In a dark place where there was no one else but you? Is this where people go when they are sad? Here, in the 61st second? Was this how you used your godly technique to defeat your enemies? Where no one but you existed.

Here, no one could understand how great you had become. But now, finally, at long last I can UNDERSTAND how great you are. I wish you could be with me HERE in the DARK.

It is so dark here, and eventhough it is so cold, I feel as if – it is going to be alright.

1977 – the 6th day.

Because he told me so… he… "Clar wh don' yo jus si her fo… jus wai a momen…" It took all my strength and effort but I could parse that old lady's soft whispers. My head was throbbing in a numbing pain, and I sat here on this chair. In this dark room. Clark tilted his head up. "Oh, it's you…"

"King just stay there while I get some bandages." His mother said out in the distance.

Clark hunched forward and pressed the cold ice bag on his temple. There he was, in a dark space floating in a void and in front of him was a 13 year old King who sat cold and uncaring with his hands on his knees, staring back at Clark.

Clark looked at King.

King simply looked back with eyes glazed over in apathy.

"Haaaaghhhh…" Clark breathed out in a heavy sigh. He had finally given up and put both hands over his forehead, digging his fingers deep into his scalp. "This is all fucking useless."

Is this so fun to you?

"What?" Clark shifted his pupils up to the very edge of its travel before it would roll into the back of his head. "What?"

This fighting… do you give up now?

"Haaaghhhh…" Clark's breath dropped to the bottom of his diaphragm. "You will never understand." When your LIFE is judged and measured simply by FIGHTING, yet, you are battered senseless for 6 days non-stop... "What good am I? After trying SO hard." When you devoted your entire life to fighting and killing, yet you were so easily defeated by a small boy.

A boy bred for fighting, killing other children, killing and fighting defined everything.

"Don't think you're so great and fucking fantastic, King." Clark said, sitting in that chair, his head wrapped in bandages and his cheeks plastered with patches. "You don't understand what I've been though."

"Bullshit."

The space in between Clark's brows furrowed all of a sudden – Clark denied it at first, but after collecting his thoughts he was sure, that the voice his heard, was real, and not his own. It was a rough and raspy voice from across him, he could not begin to believe that he was somehow granted the honour of hearing King's voice.

At the end of Clark's gaze was the little boy King, hands on his knees and sitting upright now looking back at him. Just two blonde haired boys, sitting on wooden chairs floating in the darkness.

The ABILITY to cross the boundary of reality. I think I finally understand you. The lonely torment of having to walk all alone. I wish I can share this with you… so you can know, that you are not alone… What do you feel when you 'run' in the darkness?

[The sequence of nine.] I understand it now.

…

Floating in the dark, trapped in the past.

ARE YOU SAD?

"Ughk." Clark felt a large mass hit his left cheek, turning his head around.

1993.

JUST LIKE ME?

The next instant another massive attack. A solid hit with the equivalence of a 10 pound sledgehammer swung at 20 miles an hour, impacted his right chin, launching his head up, with an effective damage of approximately 134 Foot-Pounds. Clark stumbled back one then two steps – already he was slowly losing the ability to cognitively parse commands.

BOTH OF US, FORCED TO FIGHT… BY ADULTS?

His left ribs shook and felt as if they shattered, making him cringe and grit his teeth hard.

ARE YOU SICK?

An impact just under his right breast, making him reel as the sensation of all his pronged ribs contracted all at once into his internal organs.

AND ARE YOU TIRED?

The left side of his face again. Then the right.

WHAT IF I TOLD YOU…

His body swang left and right like a wet rag doll that NOBODY LOVED ANYMORE.

THAT I COULD…

"GHHHAAGGHHKK!" Clark's mouth opened as he hunched forward, a mixture of saliva and blood overflowed over the edge of his lips, his lungs were so battered it was in complete disarray and inhaled and exhaled at the same time.

IF I COULD END ALL WAR… WILL, WILL YOU HELP ME?

YOU'RE NOT THE ONLY ONE WHO'S SUFFERED.

"Hehheh heh… King." Clark laughed silently holding back the sickening, twisting, wretched feeling that was about to come out his stomach. "I am so weak." No matter how much I tried, no matter how much I suffered, no matter how I felt jaded, tormented, how so very much I suffered… All I could do was FIGHT! Yet, you took it all away from me. I feel SO SO WEAK. SO USELESS now. There is no way I can help you… I am so severely depressed… and… I just want to die. I want to DIE.

Ah I see… that's sad. King stood up and walked away.

…

1982

As Clark continued to drive, the faces had already become blurry as time swept across his vision. The scene that had passed seconds ago were already far from Clark's mind.

"Let it go, King. Don't get involved."

"Stop this truck right now, Clark." He could not help but swing his head sidewards across his windshield eventhough he pretended not to care. A stranger, walking by herself on the sidewalk, ears plugged, trapped in a place of her own – she looked up and for some reason, time slowed for a moment when Clark locked eyes with a girl walking alone, with her staring blankly into space.

For some reason, HE recognized THIS feeling.

No, not now.

"King, I said…" Clark turned his upper body to the passenger side, driving the stark look in his eyes forward like bullets, penetrating even the dark sunglasses that covered his face. King. But instead of King, Clark saw a small boy sitting in the passenger seat with his hands on his lap.

DOON! The boom of invisible speakers, cracking concrete, piercing his chest and pushing him BACK into his seat, Clark did his best with grit teeth to suppress the twisting, knotted vomit back down his throat when it the mounting pressure forced it up.

That face.

With slit eyes, bloody slanted eyes cut by knives, tilted its head up – a small boy with his hands on his lap. However, instead of a smiling face, this time, it was a picturesque Pierrot face clouded with a miasma of RAGE. A familiar vision, but now everything was clouded with black and white static and shook in place so very similar to the television in the 1980s shaking violently back and forth tracking in four axes rendering the picture so difficult to watch.

Lost years, months, hours, minutes, seconds. As if lost in a dream, a day too late, there was a small boy, a vehementious monster sat in the passenger seat next to him.

YOU.?

A feeling, a base like, carnal feeling he recognized welling from his gut. All was unfolding from a background of velvet darkness. A scene taken apart from time, separated, just the same as when… she made this promise to me. A sweet, sweet promise that had somewhat gotten lost in teenage time.

A clawing sensation, Clark felt it too. On and into the spaces between his vertebrae, eventhough his heart screamed so loud, clawing desperately – and it became real – in the form of razor sharp bladed fingers, Clark grit his teeth and held himself back. "This isn't your business, King. LET – IT – GO."

NO. NOT NOW. This isn't the time to make good your…

In 1982. King and Clark were both 18 years old. Things did not matter, and YOUTH is wasted on the young.

"KING! WHAT THE FUCK!"

King pulled back the door latch and began to twist over, her right hand on the B pillar of Clark's truck – in the next instant her body was poised fearlessly, and was about to jump out of a moving automobile.

"FUCK!"

The END of La Bizarre Love Pentagon – part 18 –

It's always raining here, just before the sun breaks from the clouds.

…

1993.

Yuri felt the familiar sensation in her gut when her body began to transform. The rule of equivalent exchange, the rules of the conservation of energy. Her stomach immediately became cold and a sudden sharp hunger left a large hole in her midsection – this feeling of 'mass balance', she had grown accustomed to and no longer feared – when her hands begun to grow heavy… This feeling, was the fundamental concept of Kyokugen Karate.

This time however, her mind was unable to stop her from instinctively FILLING that emptiness in her stomach and heart with something else. Eventhough it was against the rules, Yuri filled it – with ANYTHING and EVERYTHING! Even with HATRED. And PAIN.

You.

"Because you are weak, that is why…" Takuma said to his daughter half-heartedly.

SHE forcefully FILLED that emptiness. Instead. With ANGER. With RAGE.

For some reason, Clark dug deep and could swear he heard a faint whisper, a weak static, an unfamiliar voice from a small boy. A sound that was lingering between a fine line of crying and laughing.

…

"Are you going to give up now? Clark?"

…

A storm was brewing, the wind picked up its pace and began to whistle as it dexterously swirled in and out of the steel pipes and boxes, the crevices and narrow spaces of the mechanical contraptions that littered their stage above La Bijoux. A growling echo they heard – it was the Earth's anger, and it mimicked the rancid, bitter rancor within Yuri Sakazaki.

"Hontou no IKARI wo… Hontou no ZOUU wo…" MISETE AGARE! CLARK STEEL!

TRUE rage. TRUE HATRED! This, is what I will SHOW you! YOU ARE EVIL!

…and therefore, you must be PUNISHED.

…

"Hagh?!" Clark's eyes opened wide, and in front of it were his dark Ray-Ban shades now peppered with small droplets of rain. Stripping his mind from the sweet veil of nostalgic dreams Clark was once again forced awake.

How heavy can this small girl be? At probably a puny 5 feet tall and likely 110 pounds? Left and right Yuri Sakazaki wailed wild punches across his face and body. Yuri Sakazaki tilted her body back, approximately balancing 80% of her bodyweight in textbook Striker fashion on her right foot, then launching it as fast as she could into a punch.

"I HATE YOU I HATE YOU! JUST DIE. JUST FUCKING DIE!" Yuri wailed.

If an average female's fist is 0.5% of her entire bodyweight with roughly the same impact surface area as a sledgehammer, then at 0.55 pounds, she would have to propel her hand 86 miles an hour. That is 86% of the fastest baseball pitch recorded in 1993

Each punch, each hit was a terrible punishment as grueling as being run over by a truck, Clark felt inch by inch, his bones being crushed minutes at a time.

How many foot pounds? How many Newtons of destructive power did Clark feel when each fist that rocked his brain regressed the world into a black and white X-ray of his skull being crushed by a strange impact of the same force as a giant hammer from such a small girl?

It was physically impossible, to drive her fist that fast. In order to feel the killing blow Clark felt now at 134 foot pounds, Yuri would have had to have driven 80% of her entire mass, wait.. wait…

A high level black belt could probably drive their fist 15 miles per hour, with professional boxers reported 25 miles an hour. If 80% of Yuri's mass could somehow be instantly transferred from her left foot without loss of energy immediately to her fist. 88 pounds – then – she would have to only propel it just under 7 miles an hour.

Was this ridiculous notion, the fundamental concept of her fighting art?

Locking her left leg and balancing solely on it then INSTANTLY tilting to her right foot, using it as a fulcrum, Yuri launched a wide left hook at her enemy. "KAKUGO!" PREPARE YOURSELF… Yuri screamed as hard and as loud as she could, that her lower jaw was about to come unhinged and drop to the ground.

Each of Yuri's four knuckles made contact with Clark's right temple, rolling with the punch each bony knuckle rotated and imparted a devastating force into the man's head. Then Yuri's right fist swerved reversing Clark's direction as his body swung to his right side. "RAAGHHH!" Yuri's left fist embedded itself into the cavity under Clark's right breast just as he inhaled. Clark spat out in a guttural vomit.

Without a moment's pause, Yuri grabbed Clark's head as he bent forward and pulled it down. Wham. Wham. WHAM! Yuri pulled her enemy down with her entire body weight – and three times she punched into Clark's lower backside. Three merciless kidney punches – each hit devastating – each hit merciless. Wham. Wham. WHAM! "URAAGH UGHAHGH! RRRAAAAAAAAAAGHHH!"

SHI-NE! Die. Die. DIEEEE! "You don't deserve to be ALIVE!"

DOOOON! Yuri's last hit into Clark's kidney left a permanent indent in his flesh when her fist, each with the repeated impact of a metal sledgehammer, left its mark in the man's body and soul.

Clark stumbled forward, his arms flailing and hands placed on his side and belly as if he was trying his best to keep his intestines in his body after being slashed by a knife.

"Huuggghhhh….. ggghhhhhkgghhh…" Clark inhaled a dry breath even when his lungs refused to take in air.

YOU HURT MY FRIENDS!

Cognitive consistency. The focus to drive mental determination no matter what the opposition. Then. Perpetual zeal. The driven will, caught in inertia, wherein not one ounce of impeding rational thought can steer it away from its original path.

YOU DESTROYED MY PEACE.

Incognitive, sociopatic zeal.

YOU TOOK AWAY MY HAPPINESS.

This is the END… Yuri Sakazaki pulled back her right hand back, then, at the end of its apex she twisted her shoulder in a painful manner and as her muscles defied her, she PULLED back 6 inches further…

…

Whiiirrrrrrrr…. Shhhhhhhghhh… Click.

A mechanical error and now, everything was clouded with black and white static and shook in place so very similar to the television in the 1980s shaking violently back and forth tracking in four axes rendering the picture so difficult to watch

Click. The black and white image finally came into focus and was frozen solid and clear.

"Is that all?" King said. "Do you give up?"

Do you understand it now?

"Yes."

Yes, I understand.

Clark twisted his left ankle.

[DARK squares… and… LIGHT squares.] Clark clenched his right fist so, so VERY hard, so hard it impaled four NAILS into his bleeding, trembling palm.

"A!" Yuri…

…

Chapter 104: Declaration of War

Just as if hit by a speeding car, Yuri LAUNCHED rearwards, her back hit hard and embedded itself into a tall steel electrical cabinet, the back of her head was shortly to follow, whacking the thin sheet metal like a hammer and popping her eyes from its sockets; the folded metal curled around her body that was splayed apart as she was crucified. Her body was now of the consistency of clay, weak and numb her body became one with that rectangular steel bear trap that felt like it absorbed her body more and more with each passing moment.

"GHHHAGHHK!" Yuri vomited, suspended motionless in mid air devoured by that steel cage.

"Haaaaaaagggggghhhh…" Clark heaved with his body hunching over. Just wobbling back and forth to numb the pain. "HGHahGAkgh." He coughed, expelling viscous goo to remind him he was still alive.

Clark looked at the ground, one by one, bit by bit the orchestra of tears soiled the concrete with rain, then finally he tilted his head up.

DARK SQUARES.

{That hurt.} Clark thought. "That hurt, very much." Both arms hung limp, penduluming in front of his body. A warm mist fogged on front of Clark Steel's dark shades when the world grew cold.

And LIGHT SQUARES.

"Ah." {I thought out loud again.}