The Colour Purple Chapter 105: a Master and a Slave, 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]

"WHO ARE YOU?"

"GHHHAAAGHHKKGGHH!" Clark's face launched up from the viscous black water that had the consistency of crude oil, salacious and tenacious it clawed onto his cheeks as he tried to free himself from its icy grasp, HE was desperately sucking in oxygen, clinging valiantly to the frayed edges of life. IF YOU CAN DO IT, THEN I CAN TOO.

…

Master and Slave.

1993. 3:45 AM.

The folded metal from the 6 foot tall electrical box curled around her body, her body now splayed apart in four directions, crucifying her. Yuri was now of the consistency of clay, weak and numb and each appendage became one with that rectangular steel bear trap that felt like it absorbed her body more and more with each passing moment. The completely deformed cabinet sucked her body in a freeze frame picture of Yuri sinking into a metallic quagmire.

No… no, no… no.

A grotesque mixture of blood, vomit and saliva oozed from the sides of her mouth, her teeth chattered uncontrollably as her mind teetered back and forth between the thin veils of consciousness.

{You're too weak. It would have been impossible.} You are NOT the one.

You CAN NOT be the one.

Clark forced his breath to slow, intentionally holding it in his lungs and prolonging the time between exhales eventhough his body felt like it was drowning – as if it, just a moment before, had come up for air from being submerged in a dark water.

Then from the black, his vision returned to a warm gray static when the television screen turned on again. His vision took in the light once more, and Clark could see the contrast of dark and light shadows that molded his open hands into discernable shapes that floated in front of his face.

{HOW did you do it?} Clark thought, {What did you DO to her?!} The beaded sweat dripped down steadily from his cold face onto his palms.

I am so fucking AAANGRYYY!

YOU broke her. YOU destroyed her. YOU killed her!

Clark took one step then two and three… from a slow shuffle gradually building up to a sprint then a run. ENRAGED, Clark was ready to ram his entire body into Yuri's unmoving body to crush it like an ant underfoot.

You God Damned fucking girl. "HOW did you defeat KING?!"

…

"Do you know how long it took me to find you? A nightclub? Was this where you've been hiding all this time?"

I've been searching for you since 1986.

7 years in between us, and is this what I find?

…

[Conflict] : The opposition of two forces is the basis of all existence.

And what is most profound in the world – is the bond between two people.

When it is dark, and you are all alone – WHAT exactly – do you see?

The bond between strangers and lovers…

…of friends and enemies…

This place, in this lonely town, with the brick walls that was its façade painted black with hues of red – and in the front was a simple bronze sign that said "La Bijoux". In SouthTown.

…and that of Master and Slave.

…

1993. Many weeks prior.

"Good morning." King groaned as she cradled her tilted head in her arms while her entire upper body was slumped on top of the bar. Her voice was hollow, slow, broken and groggy. However instead of a glass of coloured vodka, in front of her where she sat was a small cup of coffee that was neatly placed on top of an old Compact Disc, and instead of it being 2 in the morning, it was two in the afternoon.

"Good afternoon, King." Clark said, standing at ease clear on the other side of the room. A room locked in darkness, the windows shut with only small slivers of light valiantly seeping through the cracks, just enough that within the void, the crisscrossing blades reflected on the small specs of floating fairy dust, making the listless prisms now glow even brighter, making it look like each firefly shaped, randomly floating spec was indeed alive. Wisps of light that made their world both eerie, yet somewhat mystical.

"Good morning, Clark." King wobbled slightly when she pushed herself up by her elbows and covered her face with both hands, massaging her forehead. It was an awkward silence to everyone and anyone of us who would watch, but for some peculiar reason both of them seemed perfectly at peace. Clark opened his hand - dropped his duffle bag on the ground, stood with his hands at his sides, saying nothing, and in response King continued to force herself awake, or perhaps she was trying to convince herself to return to an eternal sleep.

{It's been a long time.}

King turned her face to the left – her forehead was still perched on her right hand, her right eye covered by her palm and the clumps of blonde hair that seductively fell interwoven in between her fingers completed the picture.

{I did not know what I would find. But I was looking a very long time.}

SO much time… and so hard…

"Do you know how long it took me to find you? A nightclub? Was this where you've been hiding all this time?"

I've been searching for you – long and hard - since 1986.

I did not know if you were even dead or alive. DO you even understand how I felt?

7 years of great cruelty spanned in between us, and at the end of my journey, is this what I find? YOU nursing yourself after a night of indulging in POISON.

Clark was about to take one step forward, but stopped his right foot in mid air and instead pulled it back to where it once stood.

King turned back and locked her vision down to the sleek, shiny wooden bar in front of her. Smiling a bit weakly, she took a long breath. "It's been a long time, Clark Steel."

"A very long time. Pops told me to find you." Clark replied flatly.

"I know." King placed her hand squarely on top of the two page handwritten letter in front of her and pushed it to the side, knowing full well…

"I know what it says." Clark said. "This makes it easy, then." There was no need for explaining, no need for thinking. King of kings.

…knowing full well, that she was about to reach the end of her story…

Then… there is nothing left to discuss I guess. King took a sip of her coffee and looked outwards in front of her – one by one - at the litter of coloured bottles and tall beer taps behind the bar. She lingered in the taste of melancholy that found itself reflected on her face.

There's really no use fighting it. Taking another sip.

"Hey come on!" Clark called out. King put down her cup and looked back at the man. "You make it sound like you're not getting a good deal here." Clark slapped both hands on his hard, chiseled chest, as an offering and like the great entertainer, rotated both arms downwards and outwards, presenting his body to behold, just as if before taking a low bow of subservience.

King's eyebrows jumped up and slumped down softly, her eyelids drooped half way as her face beamed into a sweet smile. King closed her eyes, the lashes on her eyelids perched on top of the [gift]- and at the end its journey, a warm expression floated in the darkness – amongst the backdrop of mystical floating globular bits of soulless fairy like fireflies.

No. "No, I would be happy to." King replied with a sweet, wholehearted smile that spanned a long, and so very lonely decade. After all that we had done, after how far we had travelled, after all the youth we had squandered arrogantly - together. Together, you and I. That – what seemed to wipe away the sorrow that both of them had silently endured so very long – and in the very end of this road, perhaps our SUFFERING could be wiped away in an instant with feelings transformed to words.

No.

No that's NOT it. That is NOT the right answer.

Just as quickly as the grin painted itself snobbishly on Clark's face, in the next instant it was wiped clean from his expression and the smear that remained was a terse scowl on the blonde man's face.

I fought LONG and I fought HARD. A snarling voice hissed from the far-reaching corners of the darkness.

And, THIS was not what I wanted to find!

Here.

…and what was MOST profound, spanning the tests of time and the folly of constantly changing, temporal rules of ethics, was the peculiar yet bewildering bond between a master and a slave.

Long bouts of silence, with short bursts of hollow words strung into sentences intertwined in between. What was not important - were the words, bright lights that flung themselves into the air, but instead, what were matters of great IMPORTANCE, was the telepathy that crossed the lines within the black silent gaps in between.

What happened to your promise? That you would keep on fighting it, fighting them, fighting EVERYONE, until finally – when no one was left - fighting ME. Me. And ME alone, until no one wanted to fight anymore, except…

{If Papa wants me to marry, then I will gladly do it, if it's you.}

…except until only both of us remained. Clark bit down and gnawed feverishly on his lip.

{That's not what I wanted to hear. I did not travel THIS long, just to hear that.}

…here.

{I am not lying to you, I've thought about it and I do it freely, if…}

{No, that's not [it].} Clark took a deep breath in, inhaling until his lungs could take in no more air, then exhaled slowly to his side to calm himself lest he succumb to cardiac arrest - looking disgusted at the ground through his dark Ray-Ban shades.

NO.

After all these years, after only 7 years, did you already, so easily forget?

Stardust floated in the air and illuminated their darkness with a peaceful hum. Stardust.

…

[FREEDOM FROM SLAVERY]. SO SICK I wanted to VOMIT.

…

"What did they DO to you?" Clark's face now twisting itself in a bitter miasma of disdain, a contorted puzzle, a complex flavour of emotions that hid silently in the dark – somewhere within a bold body of anger, a drink enveloped with sweet swirls of disgust, and sprinkled on top, perhaps – with something else… how did they tempt you into embracing madness?!

"Huh?" King uttered in confusion.

{A.} I thought out loud again.

King stood up, straightened the front tails of her long white polo shirt over her bare thighs and walked slowly towards Clark. She leaned forward and still somewhat unsure, tried to comfort him, and herself at the same time, "If Papa wants it, and it's okay with you, I'll go with you."

…sprinkled on top with salty tears of sorrow.

And unleashed a devouring madness across the world.

I'll go with you, as I promised, wherever we need to go. With a warm smile, King reached out her arms tenderly to…

"KUZU!"

…

Conium Maculatum. THEY offered you a sweet, killing concoction of hemlock. Clark's puckered lips twisted into knots reflecting the misery in his heart.

The small girl bit her lip, so much and so hard, blood began to dribble down the sides of her chin. Her shoulders began to tremble from the bubbling, self inflicted pain as she involuntarily mutilated her mouth, but more so from the rising, seething anger that began to overcome her chest with mounting, bursting pressure – pressure that killed her silently when she held it all in, internally hemorrhaging, she forced herself not to scream. In RAGE.

G_O_D DAMN YOU!

Her clenched fists shook violently beside her and all she could do was push her shoulders and placed her entire body weight onto the wall behind just so she would not topple to the ground and suddenly erupt into a rabid, uncontrollable epileptic seizure.

Grace Or Destruction.

…

"GARBAGE." Clark said, his trembling, puckered mouth seethingly lipped each and every syllable with veracity. "You are GARBAGE."

"C…Cl…Clark…" King stuttered, immediately pulling back both arms before they could make contact with Clark's shoulders. King's spine slowly began to twist and atrophy from a familiar sensation – it was not fright – it was not anger – but it was just an instinctive reaction – an instinctive, carnal response, when coming face to face with a wild beast.

The END of La Bizarre Love Pentagon – part 19 –

1993. Many weeks prior.

{That's not it. This is not right.}

WHO are YOU?!

Clark…

Can you no longer see [it]? Can you no longer [hear] it?

"Light squaressssss…." A ghoulish voice echoed in the void, a very faint sound, seemingly indistinguishable from the wind, barely comprehensible as intelligible words.

"and, dark squaressssss…."

What have they DONE to you? Clark gnashed his teeth, desperately holding back his grinding rancor under his contorted lips, but the futility of his actions were made clear when his heartbeat began to race faster, beat harder, thump violently… than a girl in love, than prey just before being devoured, than the feeling of liberating rapture before death.

"A!"

And a BOOM. A penetrating, wave of pressure pushed King's heart to the back of her throat. Her eyes opened wide, and all around was complete, lonely darkness, and the small bits of light somehow disappeared from view.

We abided by a simple rule. And our rule of law was simple.

…yet somehow, unconsciously, apart from our own choosing…

Clark clenched both hands into solid fists and placed them at his sides, standing straight one foot next to each other and looked straight ahead, through the darkness in front of his eyes, over to meet King.

In response, King still barefoot, jumped back two feet and landed on the balls of her feet, her open hands floated over her forehead, her left hand leading 12 inches forward and the right hand pulled back 4 inches from the opposing hand. For a moment she let those open hands float in small circles, medium circles, large circles in a chaotic erratic, but familiar pattern. The DEFENSE.

Our rule of law was simple.

It was free from posturing, from hypocrisy, free from fear, and liberated from politics. Our rule was simple. It was untainted, and it was plain.

Simple.

Then, she stopped, clenched both fists, bones grinding and devouring each other despite the groveling plea of tendons in between - The King of kings placed the second knuckles of both thumbs over her temples.

Do you not remember. TO be RIGHT, all one had to do, was to PROVE it, with fighting.

Shyoumei shiteiru yo.

…

Her clenched fists shook violently beside her and all she could do was push her entire back onto the wall just so she would not fall to the ground and suddenly erupt into a rabid epileptic seizure.

YOU are GARBAGE.

"CLarrrrkkkkk…" Yuri's breath now violently heaving in and out, hyperventilating uncontrollably in the kitchen she forced her back on the wall to steady herself, lest she knew she would fall over the edge into a chasm of madness where she would not easily return.

The hatred! The blinding rage that simply overcame all rational thought. Yuri's mind was now simply, and completely veiled in a dark crimson where zeal prevented her from escape. All she could do was slide her back along the wall and sat trembling on the ground, curling her knees firmly into her chest. "CLARK!" She screamed and suffocated on her words at the same time.

…

This is wrong, so wrong. King took a wide stance, her body now a far cry from the thin and frail 13 year old girl he once knew her as. What supported her now were firm twisting muscles that framed her thighs and calves. While some things had changed, what did not change was the ominous dark power that slowly began to emanate from her flesh.

That voice. It's still somewhere in there…

"Light squaressssss…." A ghoulish voice echoed in the void, a very faint sound, seemingly indistinguishable from the wind, barely comprehensible as intelligible words.

"and, dark squaressssss…."

Vertical and horizontal lines of light ran up and down and side to side on the immaculate, blackwashed floor these platonic lovers stood upon in measured, orderly fashion.

Had our roles reversed? Clark remained standing upright, looking condescendingly at the woman, she, whose body instinctively folded itself into a perfect fighting stance. A body BORN for perfect American Kickboxing. He could feel it, but the man did not notice immediately that his navy blue goose down puff vest and his loose bellowed cargo pants began to float. The glowing fireflies rose upwards through the cracks and among the creases.

Had our roles REVERSED now?

Clark rotated his head up, picking his face up from the ground and looked up aloofly, looking over his brash, turned up nose at the wide eyed King, mouth wide open – she had momentarily forgotten how to breathe out her nose.

{I REFUSE to accept that I have somehow become a Master, and YOU are now a Slave.} To DO so, would mean…

…that EVERYTHING I BELIEVED IN up until now, was WRONG.

A gleaming pearl white smile. And eyes protected behind dark shades.

NO. Clark shook his head so very slightly side to side. Teetering between sadness… and madness… This is NOT it.

…

"Who – are - you?" Clark's lips formed and slowly mouthed each syllable with distinct and purposeful resolve.

{…and THAT, I CANNOT accept.}

Chapter 105: a Master and a Slave.

This is not the same, as it was before.

The camera of the world focused on the 30 year old Clark – hands at his sides absolutely uncaring and indifferent, round and round it swirled in a vortex, looking down at disgust and disappointment at what he had found at the end of his journey.

Did you forget. Our Promise? What have they done to you? What has the WORLD done to you?!

The world turned around. In pace with her heaving breath King inhaled and exhaled forcefully out her mouth her shoulders frozen in a fighting stance, with forearms raised head height.

And again the framed picture rotated round and round – the young boy well into thirteen years of age, Clark mimicked Kings stance, chest heaving in a panic. The defense. The figure 8 defense, his hands were up and feet splayed wide to support his trembling body.

{Do NOT interfere. No matter what happens…} DO NOT interfere. If I kill your son, or if he kills me, promise me you will not interfere. Because, we have to prove something to ourselves. That we can FREE ourselves from your adult rules. That our suffering was not in vain.

The thirteen year old Clark, from his open defense, gripped both fists tight and put it over each side of his jaw. The vision captured clearly through King's eyes. She blinked once, then twice. The camera opened its vision wide and turning back time – their roles had reversed, the thirteen year old King stood up lethargically, uncaring and indifferent – she was absolutely apathetic to the young Clark who was frightfully clinging to life.

With her body completely petrified, only King's pupils raced to the left and then to the right, as if in an unconscious dream, bouncing back and forth constrained only by the limits of her twisting eyeballs.

Clark's chin turned to the right, then the left following her gaze. Following that metal pinball as it bounced around ricocheting in space. Clark twisted his shoulders to the left, but resisted the desperate urge to burst into motion. King twisted her left foot counterclockwise in place. In reply Clark looked down 4 feet to the front and left diagonally in front of King. King lifted her heel slightly to break contact from the ground, looked up but did not commit to a step, instead planting herself back down in place.

…

{What's going on?} Yuri racked her brain watching confused as the two adults simply stared at each other wordlessly in the dark.

A?! Yuri peeked over the edge of the doorframe trying her best to keep herself concealed. It was as if she could see a small boy where King stood. A scowling, sour face that was topped by an equivalently miserable dirty blonde buzzcut, short strands of hair hardly an inch long.

Yuri blinked, rubbed her eyes, and as if a momentary haze, a dream, King, now 30 years old stood in a hard, wide fighting stance, strangely, peculiarly, uncaring as she stood in a familiar place clothed in nothing else than that same old tattered white polo shirt.

…

King blinked, and when the tears in her once blurry vision began to clear and flow down the edges of her eyes, all she could see was a picture of a grown man bobbing up and down to a beat to match her heaving breaths.

We abided by a simple rule. And our rule of law was simple.

…yet somehow, unconsciously, apart from our own choosing…

We had simplified the rules of the world to simply fighting, and in so doing, had forgotten – what purpose we were fighting for. And now, just, exactly, when did it happen? Fighting was no longer a means to determine what was [right]. Fighting just became a means to exist. We were just fighting for absolutely no reason at all.

"Light squares." Clark whispered.

One light piano key then another, deep dark tone. The last glittering cluster of fireflies slowly ebbed and dissolved into nothingness, leaving them in pure darkness.

"And DARK squaressssss." A guttural snarl that gurgled up from a twisted throat hissed in the nothingness. The FIRST CHILDREN replied.

One by one the soft glow illuminated the ground as halogen powered quadrilaterals. Squares appearing in random patterns – with no motive or orderly purpose, dark squares and light squares appeared under their feet, from the edges of the walls, cluttering their vision around and in between them, until finally, for all to behold the darkness had been replaced with a floating chessboard that imprisoned King and Clark in their own private place, left to the devices of their own slow romance.

KUZU ga…

"You are GARBAGE."

…

Your answer is meaningless to me right now.

I will take back – the dream that we left behind