The Colour Purple Chapter 106: How Deep is Your Love?, 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]

DON'T YOU DIE ON ME YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT! The cold sweat that had pooled into large beads ran down his forehead and down his eyes.

Was this the FIRST time?

"Clark, wai… sto…" Knight sai…

Clark tilted King's chin up and when their lips touched, Clark breathed out and forced life back into her. When their lips touched, it didn't seem to matter back then, in that morning, that plain, yet familiar morning that – was like any other morning that we each forgot time and time again. The ringing in his ears stopped, when voiceless thoughts raced across his mind, yet Clark's brain did not understand it's deeper meaning just quite yet.

Not today. I won't let you die – I will NOT let you win!

…

The END of La Bizarre Love Pentagon – part 20 –

December 23, 1977. The #1 song in the USA was the Bee Gees – How Deep Is Your Love?

The 5th Day.

…

How many days has it been? I can't seem to remember now.

Clark had both hands on the top of his head, curled his chin down and felt King's right and left full power kicks through bone and rock his brain when the two almost instantaneous impacts bent his blocking forearms inwards, in a manner they weren't designed to do.

The flow of time started from 0 and instantaneously launched to a speed of 60 miles an hour in a split second. Clark took a step forward to attack, but in doing so he had lowered his left arm, and for his trouble a solid kick with the impact of a sledgehammer impaled itself into the side of his face. Everything had become blurry.

Clark pulled both arms back again in fright, and through the curtain of his arms Clark saw King take a step back – another right roundhouse kick came in higher poised to strike at his now trembling left hand. Clark bit down hard and twisted his stomach in a knot.

DAMN IT!

Clark rotated his shoulders back on their sockets, the ripple of motion surging down his upper back and through his spine. His entire body rolled back and compressed into a ball before ducking low and exploding downwards. Barely dodging the kick when it shuffled the hair on top of his head, Clark's arms wrapped from outwards to in just as King's right foot was about to hit the ground. Clark punched his right leg in between the space between King's legs. He was going to take King down by grasping onto the back of his knees.

UKRAINE MOUNT TACKLE. HCF+P

Clark had planned it out. Duck down, push forward, Clark had to jam his head underneath King's RIGHT armpit - while pulling back at the same time – basic neutral wrestling, elementary double leg takedown - and just as King would hit the ground, he would throw two wide left hooks then a full power right cross into King's face. While pummeling King he could use the momentum to crawl forward with his knees. Right leg over his enemy's midsection, and at the same time Clark planned to slither his left knee under King's right triceps as he defended on the ground. Curling it down there, Clark would swerve around, grab King's right arm, fall back and finish that little fucker with an arm bar while he did not notice.

How many days has it been? I can't think straight anymore. Just how much permanent damage has my body taken? My head hurts just thinking, these non essential facts seem so meaningless…

Clark did not even get that far.

Clark swore he saw King's knees in front of him as he was about to wrap his hands around, but, when he curled them in to trap, his arms crossed over each other wildly - there was only thin air.

King was gone. King's legs instantaneously skipped backwards – his left foot twelve inches back and his right leg overextended twenty-four inches to the rear. The starting position for the "Aerobics Mountain Climber".

FUCK.

Clark felt all TEN of King's fingers wrap themselves around the back of his head as he fell forward and despite his mental denial. With the entire weight of Clark's body barreling forward, King's right knee SMASHED FULL FORCE on Clark's chin QUADRUPLING the impact with enough devastating force it felt like his jaw was being driven straight into his brain.

How would you feel? If you were stolen from your family, cheated of your chance at innocence, and subjected to a life of only violence and ruin? If your life was cut and subdivided into small pieces – so small it could hardy satisfy the hunger that kept you alive. Your only purpose was to FIGHT… but now all of a sudden…

The slime of Clark's brain matter stained the ceiling, and at the next instant, red blood splattered on the ground. Clark's right hand was now splayed open and hit the tatami mat underneath him in valiant effort to keep his hunched body steady while down on all fours. A steady syrup of blood rippled over the back of his hand – a primeval strawberry sundae.

But now, all of a sudden. …it was taken from you all at once.

FUUUUUUCK! Clark snarled through the spaces in his teeth and BIT DOWN as HARD as he could so he would not bite his tongue in half because he knew instinctively what would come next.

This boy, King, he was 90 pounds, barely 100, and I was surely at least 50% heavier than him. How can he hit THIS hard?

Why did you not find me?

"My son, you have to find my son… Please." SHE sobbed with her face in her hands while her husband wrapped his arms around his wife, crying too.

WHAM!

Fighting. Fighting. Fighting. Tiny pieces – hardly able to keep him alive.

{He used your own momentum to COUNTER. With twice, no, maybe even FOUR times the force.} A cackling boy's voice whispered in his mind as he fell.

"Where was the last time you saw him?"

I can't seem to remember their faces anymore.

King's knee smashed again, this time into Clark's left temple, thrusting him further and further like a nail into a coffin of darkness.

My parents were both South African Christian missionaries, and we were walking in a grocery store [there]. The events that came after became blurry, just like today.

FFFFFFFCCCKKKK! Clark snarled in a guttural groan, not daring to take a breath.

It became apparent perhaps, my father and mother would realize that their son was kidnapped – by some syndicate – through medicine and spreading the good word, despite giving their lives to save the poor people in that FUCKING shit hole country.

THAT was how they were repaid!

WHAKKAM! One more time King PUNISHED Clark for trying the same move he attempted the day prior. Suddenly it became clear to Clark – that, the high pedestal he stood on just 24 hours prior was simply made of wet sand. And. Now it came crumbling down when three full power knee smashes HAMMERED his skull into the soft throbbing brain he had never felt as soft and supple as before this day.

I can't remember their faces anymore.

How DEEP is your Love?

How long did my parents try to look for me? How long until they gave up – until they realized that some god damn syndicate had kidnapped their son to further their WAR? Do they still light a candle for me? DO they still think I am still alive?

Teetering at the precipice of darkness, "Hughh.. hagh… gh…" Clark crossed his arms over and under his chest slithering on the ground. The once proud Clark could now no longer feel his lower body. Like a cockroach that was CUT in half at the waist, dragging its guts on the floor, leaving its entrails behind – Clark could only pull his body in an unknown direction.

Escape. He had to get away – all his mental functions rendered into broken separated tatters by animal instinct.

Damage. Surely there was permanent damage from that.

Clark pulled his body forward, but he did not know where he was going. His journey was stopped short when his nose met a familiar shoe.

"WE CAME INTO THIS COUNTRY TO SPREAD GOD'S WORD!" Don't you understand?! "WHY CAN'T YOU HELP US!?" HE sobbed.

Clark's breaths were violently quick and broken in rhythm, when he looked…

No good deed goes unpunished. Don't you know that? From one father to the next – that was my life. Clark followed that shoe that blocked his slow painful egress and looked up

King's left foot hit square on his right temple, his kick stopping him in his tracks like the cockroach he was. Just as a marionette's strings were cut, his body slumped dead on the ground.

…

In 1972 two Caucasian South African missionaries set about to spread God's word and to care for the people who were subjected to misery. For their noble efforts, they were rewarded with punishment. Is that how the world was supposed to revolve? The lord God tested them.

'The LORD tests the righteous and the wicked, and the one who loves VIOLENCE His soul hates.'

-Psalm 11:5

Chapter 106: How Deep Is Your Love?

Clark.

A distinct vertical line separated Clark's vision from its left hemisphere to the right. The boy looked up to the ceiling blinking erratically, but a black curtain covered his right eye.

Clark.

Clark took heaving breaths out of his mouth. His left eye darted to the extreme left and right, still confused by his limited periphery and this strange sensation where all the walls looked like it was the same distance in front of him, spinning.

"Clark… Look at me." Knight said softly, with both hands on the boy's face, Knight forced Clark nose straight at his direction. Despite his efforts, Clark's pupils violently rolled and bounced back and forth in a large white sphere trying to make sense amidst all the chaos. "Clark… Are you okay?" the image of the man's face was still blurry, blots of random Colours. Colours of white, gray, red, and then… of purple that veiled it all with a coloured film.

The Knight knew this scene well enough.

{AH, sir… I'm okay. Just give me a moment.}

{Just… A moment. I can continue.}

{I can still… still fight.}

Tiny morsels that could barely keep his soul alive, only on those bitter rancid pieces, did he survive this long. TO give up fighting was to CEASE living. Even when his mind and body already accepted it.

The erratic motion in Clark's eyes slowed down to Knight's relief, however, even as King's father tried his best to force Clark to face him squarely and reel his consciousness back in, Clark was still looking outwards. And his mouth moved, shaping words…

But no sound came out.

Then, the final realization came to Knight. A limp pale look overcame his face, and as best as he could, Knight could not subvert the paralyzing miasma of guilt overcome him – weakening his shoulders to a slump. Knight's head tilted down while still valiantly trying to hold Clark's head up.

…

"I am sorry, old friend." Knight said on the telephone.

"What for, old friend?" Heidern replied from the other end.

"I am SO SO sorry…" Knight bit his lip but held his emotions back and composed his face eventhough he knew Heidern could not see him through the faceless void in between them. "I am sorry." What have I done? I've done it again...

…

King stood emotionless behind his father, his fists at his sides.

"Boy…" Knight grit his teeth, "SON!" Knight shook Clark's face, trying to pull him back from drowning.

King stood emotionless behind his father, his fists curling at his sides shaking violently.

VIOLENCE! RAGE!

"Son, Stop… You will STOP! NOW!" Knight commanded.

King stood emotionless behind his father, his fists curling at his sides shaking violently when five fingertips crucified his palms. This HUNGER.

Small scraps of dignity. Cut, split, subdivided into small pieces – we – we were BOTH kept alive by the same THING. As we clung pitifully to life.

He had seen this scene before. No matter how many times he saw it, he could not come to grips and overcome his cognitive dissonance – believing in his heart and mind in one thing, yet his body did another – trying to justify it all. Trying again and again wishing the outcome would be different. Knight could not reconcile the driving force in his mind with the guilt he felt in his heart.

And so… he had to see this happen again and again.

Feeding IT to the devil. As he sacrificed yet another boy to his grandiose dream.

The Colour Purple. Which character are you?

"CLARK!" Knight repeated. The man wrapped both hands over Clark's cheeks, shaking them slightly when the boy's pupils slowly began to tilt upwards then sidewards.

Knight felt Clark's hand perch over his shoulder.

The boy jammed his right thumb into his right nostril – the world was still convoluted and swirling as the colours of an unshaken paint tin. He pushed forward and snorted out a blood clot out his opposite nostril.

CLARK!

Yeah… I know I have to keep going. From one father to the next. What day was it today? Wake up.

{I…} Clark coughed the gooey blood clot out his mouth, but it wasn't enough and it dribbled over his lips and down the side of his neck.

Clark's mouth kept on moving but he was underwater and no voice left his lips.

HAAAGHH! GHKAGHHaaaaahhhh… Knight felt Clark's right hand tremble violently on his shoulder. It was the fearsome sensation HE UNDERSTOOD. But before Knight could say anything else, Clark pulled his body up. RIPPING his shoulder up from the claws of the wall that propped him upright, Clark wobbled up to a stand.

BOY.

NO.

It was a sight the Knight knew well enough.

I have survived this long, without LOVE.

I have lasted this long on my own POWER.

And… I have survived this long WITHOUT your PITY!

…