The Colour Purple Chapter 107: Fear, 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]

"I could never really understand why. He loved him. HE so LOVED him. SO much. Just as if he was his own flesh and blood. That was my father." Leaving NOTHING for ME.

In our hunger, we hated them, yet we could not help but feel guilt. Fighting for small scraps of dignity, we hated ourselves. We directed our hatred outwards, to the world… and in the end… all that rage came back down to us… like rain.

…

Close your eyes. Grit your teeth. BRACE yourself, for what is to come next.

"...and when I see his smiling face... I will surely go INSANE."

An-original-62

"Iori-dono. There are no aesthetics in [hate] and [tragedy]."

…

The hatred we hurled to the sky, at heaven we hated so much – it simply came back down at us, laughing, as rain – and it laughed as it touched ALL of us indiscriminately.

The MADNESS infected him.

…

Standing in front of him was the slave girl.

She was drenched to the bone and shivered in the cold rain. She was visibly weary and it seemed that she had been waiting for an eternity out in the open, but as soon as she saw Iori she stood up with glee but approached him cautiously.

"Iori... Iori dono... It's raining..." was all she said. With that she fumbled under her soaked Kimono and pulled out a black plastic bag. She proceeded to unfold it to uncover a dry, navy blue towel and covered Iori's shoulders with it and then replaced her hands in front of her lap and waited for her young master.

[Brace yourself.]

King stood in the darkness looking outwards at the picture perfect scene that walked by her in that empty void, the actors in a play who ignored her as she watched. "Why…" She clenched her trembling fists as they dug deeper and deeper into her fleshy palms. Why… Why?

ONE DAY we will meet – and we will then determine which one of us suffered more.

In our hunger for [IT], we fought for scraps of dignity. Hating everyone in our path.

Why can't I even HATE you properly?!

…

King pulled up the half zipper in front of his long sleeve tracksuit top and raised his fists temple high, the left slightly in front of the other. A standard kickboxing defensive stance.

A body nurtured and forged, for American Kickboxing.

Then God said, "Let us make mankind in our image, in our likeness, so that they may rule over the fish in the sea and the birds in the sky, over the livestock and all the wild animals, and over all the creatures that move along the ground. So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he him; male and female created he them. And God saw every thing that he had made, and, behold, it was good. And the evening and the morning were…"

THE DAY

6TH

…

Small scraps of dignity.

"Ugrgh!" Clark groaned. He pulled his face in and buried it deeper and deeper into his forearms. King's right foot appeared on his left side, hitting with the thunder of what felt like a small sledgehammer.

Cut, split, subdivided into small pieces.

Clark did not even realize it, but he instinctively raised his shoulders and retracted his neck further and further into his body like a turtle.

We – we were BOTH kept alive.

King did not even give his enemy the luxury of collecting his thoughts – the rhythm of King's roundhouse, side and push kicks came in rapid succession left and right – each one more forceful than the other, each from a different orientation and chaotic musical sequence that was difficult to predict – but his stride advanced in tune with every erratic beat. King's lower body swung rapidly back and forth while he threw his opposite arms as a counter balance.

By the same THING.

King's right jumping roundhouse kick retracted back when gravity took its toll and pulled the boy back down to the ground. Clark's mind in disarray and his body absolutely thrown into a panic attack – he watched in slow motion as the opening came into view. "A!" Clark pushed his left foot forward, toes leading – he turned his body clockwise, slightly breaking his defense to slightly pull back his right arm to attack. But.

As we clung… pitifully...

"Agh!" The stinging pain in Clark's right temple came to visit him out of the blue and once again the sensation held him back. "AAAGH!" He stopped his advance and once again Clark curled into a ball, he wrapped his right arm around, behind the back right side of his head and crossed his left hand diagonally in front of his face.

The silent invisible sound pulled Clark backwards. It manifests itself differently – from person to person…

As we clung pitifully to life.

Once again, LA GUILLOTINE. King disappeared and reappeared behind Clark and embedded his foot into Clark's waiting block. Clark could not understand what was happening. Why this was happening, why THEY appeared all of a sudden, and pulled him back.

It was peculiar and beyond Clark's comprehension. It was another four letter word.

A four letter word that pulled him back. An emotion he was unfamiliar with – something he had forgotten if he had experienced it before, a feeling, he did not know if a word existed to describe it. Clark curled into a hard ball and covered his upper body, unwilling and unable to take that blow again.

The END of La Bizarre Love Pentagon – part 21 – do not you know, the world is forever defined by four letter words.

It eventually happens to all boys.

The activities and instinctive actions you once took for granted… Walking, talking, jumping and kicking. What was once trivial and executed in complete confidence, had now become uncertain as your mind continually subdivides each action and questions its efficacy in dubious fashion.

Knight looked at his hands.

The euphoric sense of liberty, of pride and confidence you once felt – when you thought you executed each action flawlessly that you could easy disregard them as insignificant – each of them now carried a heavy thought so ominous and burdensome, it crushed you under its weight. Suddenly, even the action of breathing became tedious.

Your mind no longer has the ability to spread outwards, it instead now turns inwards, paralyzing you and suffocating you. If you are unable to become aware of your surroundings, you lose the ability to fight.

Then, as the connection between your mind and body becomes erratic and confusing, you wonder why your body can no longer keep up with the conflicting tandem of commands you issue it - you eventually lose the ability to function at high speeds up until the moment where your constantly screaming mind petrifies your body to a screeching halt.

Then THEY appear.

WHY CAN'T I EVEN HATE YOU PROPERLY?

While the mental hallucinations manifest themselves in different ways to different people, the resultant summed effect is inevitably the same.

Plagued with these swirling emotions, your mind begins to dig ever so deep into its subconscious, transporting you back to small faint memories of weakness you once thought forgotten – AND you begin to wonder where, and just when in life, exactly, you went wrong.

Clark twisted his upper body back and immediately released that cocked hammer. Bracing himself on his left foot he hurled himself forward, gaining traction on that tatami mat. His right foot planted itself on the ground, and in the quick instant, his left foot raised up. However, just half way into his punch he heard the familiar sound of steel upon steel hold him in place.

Clark's right foot slipped.

Unable to control his body for a split second, Clark fell forward with his left leg in the air and the ground under his right toes give way. His punch was pulled back half way.

Then time stopped. As the familiar sound of CHAINS pulled him back – and he could do nothing, but cross his arms over his chest to regain composure.

It manifests itself DIFFERENTLY from person to person.

Four lengths of chain wrapped themselves around Clark's wrists and ankles.

…

I wanted to shout and I wanted to scream.

"If you assholes make a sound I SWEAR... I will fucking KILL YOU!" The mercenary, Marcus threatened.

Clark sat in the back of that van, his wrists in handcuffs, draped over his knees.

Save me… Please.

The back door slammed shut leaving Clark and two other boys in that van.

From these CHAINS.

"Clark!" Did they scream for me?

Did they do it out loud? "I can't find my son!

Had I done it differently. Had I screamed and fought instead of staying silent, stewing in this feeling in the dark of that van, immaturely thinking that SOMEONE would save me.

Those two other boys made no sound as they crumpled in their laps across of me.

A man and a woman who gave their lives to save this shit hole country. Only to be repaid this way. God tested them, but I have lost faith in that being now. As he tortured us.

"I CAN'T FIND CLARK! HELP ME! PLEASE… MY SON!"

TORTURED THEM. PUNISHED ME.

Please help me.

There was a distinct, thin line that separated my life. Where I cowered and where I fought. My life only has TWO volumes.

TWO VOLUMES.

LOUD.

And.

SILENT.

Shortly after… when I accepted that my parents would no longer be able to find me, I decided I would FIGHT. I told myself that I had NO choice.

1972, The Unrecognized Country of Rhodesia.

Clark rolled over after thrusting his hip up, reversing the mount placed on him by his opponent and now was on the top wailing, BATTERING his enemy mercilessly under him. LEFT. RIGHT. Blow by blow crushing that boy's face mercilessly under him. Child soldiers forced to fight in a proxy war that they couldn't even give a shit about.

I WOULD FIGHT. Clark threw his right fist across with enough determination to cleave his enemy's head off his shoulders.

KILL YOU!

LEFT. Red blood… Behind gritted teeth.

There were only two volumes in my life. QUIET and LOUD!

RIGHT. Red blood splattered across the dirty soil.

Clark grabbed the boy's wrist and fell to the side, and when his shoulders hit the ground he immediately cocked his hips up to complete the arm bar. HONED FOR KILLING.

But… it's all over now. In the presence of a SUPERIOR being.

Chains kept him in place and he could do nothing but curl into a ball.

I came back into this darkness, a drop that was now just an echo of rippling black water - in that place where I remained silent when I should have screamed. Though sometimes, I wondered… if I fought hard enough… maybe, I could reverse the torture of time, if I had screamed instead of remained silent, I could have saved myself and everyone else in that van.

But alas, that chance is a fleeting dream, and over now… just half a decade later.

I can't even hate you properly. Because I HATE something else.

{If I would fight,} I thought. BRAVELY, SELFLESLY, VALIANTLY, VIRTUOUSLY, maybe, GOD would take pity on me and give me mercy, he cried with tears in his eyes – perhaps GOD would grant me my wish, a gift that could reverse time.

Wherein we, boys, would live in a world of ignorance, and not have to fight for our lives.

Oh God in heaven, could we abolish our own personal war?

"God, my dearest God, can you turn back time for me, and just for me?"

Alas, it is all over now.

…

The Knight took in a deep breath and leaned back on his chair. "That four letter word…" he whispered to himself. IN a zero sum game. What one side TAKES, the other must inevitably SURRENDER.

Knight lifted his open palms up, but just as they were a foot from his face, he held himself… He held his hands in the air, unable to break that thick barrier between his hands and his downcast face. The old man wanted to hide – staring at his comforting palms, but, he refused, he denied himself the luxury because he made himself understand – that his penance would be that he had to witness again and again what he had done, until the very end as he destroyed everyone in his path for his selfish gain. Perhaps he himself felt something too – his open palms curled into fists, turned back and half way through their journey, he turned them around and put those curled fists on his knees. I am so sorry.

Because of my selfish desires. Because of my wild ambition.

I am so sorry, boy. Knight lifted his head from its slump to watch IT until the end. It was the least he could do, as a small penance for his sins.

…

On the 6th day, God made man and woman. And he said… "This was good."

…

If you were alive in December 24, 1977, you were probably playing "Video Olympics" on the Atari 2600 video computer system.

December 24, 1977. Christmas eve.

The 6th Day.

The passage of time began to flow again. Clark crossed his hands over his face as he fell forward.

"STOP!" Knight shouted from his seat.

From 60 to 0, King took a jump back. As instructed, King took a handful of quick strides rearward, going from a quick jump up until finally taking one last, slow, conscious step behind his opposite heel and to a full stop with his hands calmly at his sides. The chaos finally stopped, leaving Clark frozen in place with his arms still wrapped around his head.

"Stop." Knight pushed off his knees and took to a stand. "You can stop now."

"Kn…. Knight…" Clark stuttered. The boy had to slowly pry his petrified arms that were wrapped around his face. His breathing slowed to a normal pace now when his body caught up to his mind – when he finally understood that King had stopped hitting him.

"It's okay, son. It's…" Knight said. "It's okay," he said in a downcast sigh. You've done enough. Knight put himself in between the two boys, pulled Clark in and put each hand on each of their shoulders. The old man gripped down hard and shook both of them heartily.

King said nothing and instead looked down on his left shoulder, perplexed at the strange feeling he felt on his body. It was a strange, peculiar feeling – something King had never felt before, and when he looked up, followed that arm up – from his father's hand, wrist, forearm, bicep, shoulder then his face, he saw his father facing his enemy with a reassuring smile. Just as he felt that once warm feeling fade away when his father's hand connected with his shoulder, HE understood clearly the deeper meaning beyond it all.

"King." Knight instructed while shrugging his face, pulling King's attention to his enemy, "Teach him the defense."

"The defense?" Clark repeated with a blank stare, only to be interrupted by King obediently taking both of Clark's wrists and lifting them up temple high before Clark could even realize King had grabbed him.

…

When I was younger, I trained in martial arts from an old man in the Philippines. I recall him saying… "In order for you, yourself, to grow stronger, you may have to foster your enemy to become stronger too." That was what my master often told us. He absolutely REFUSED to accept monetary payment and had all his students tend to his small farm, and while rich students' fathers often gave donations of livestock and household appliances, their rich children were not exempt from hard labor.

As a small British boy from a well off family, that was all too peculiar to me.

He never took in money and worked us like slaves; and in doing so made us appreciate the value of hard work. All the training we received from him as a result became so PRECIOUS because we earned it through our own sweat – it made it much more real. Through hard labour that old man repaid us through a richness of fighting, and as all of us, wealthy or poor, put in the same amount of sweat and blood, it made us treat each other as equals.

"When I was younger," Knight said nostalgically. "I trained with an old man in the Philippines."

"Only through hard work, is it deserved." I could roughly translate it. "I will not teach your son unless he works for it."

"In order to make OURSELVES stronger," Knight repeated the old Filipino man's words. "You have to accept that you have to make your enemy stronger also."

King wrapped both hands around Clark's wrists and lifted them up temple high.

"You have to defend." Knight said. "In order to become stronger, sometimes, you have to empower your enemy. Through your enemy's strength, only then can you grow and become stronger!" This was what my master taught me.

…

"Use the strength from your hips, THEN your biceps." His voice was so strange sounding eventhough I had known her for 6 days now.

Clark bit down hard, wrapped his left hand around King's left ankle, then immediately rolled the back of his right wrist in front of King's right full force kick, stopping it only for a second before redirecting the impact outwards, twisting his own wrist, around, over and into the ground instead of taking the force into his body.

One. Two. Three. Four.

Clark twisted his body, slapping King's kicks upwards then downwards.

Clark took a step forward, but, even as he tried so valiantly, the invisible metal chains pulled him back. Clark initially pulled both arms back in front into his face, but he refused and instinctively pushed them FORWARD as he was instructed.

As the world turns. Turn it, rotate it. Touch it.

TAKE IT. REACH OUT AND TAKE IT.

The same instant Clark deflected King's attack, Clark darted forward, punching his entire body exploding at the thighs – "Augh!" Clark's right foot twisted the wrong way and his foot slipped. He was only barely able to catch himself from falling forward, and was forced to pull back to block his enemy's succeeding attack.

Knight curled both hands on his knees. He had realized it was over.

…

In a dark room. Separated from the world.

"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...

"Sir Knight." Heidern chuckled. "Don't tell me I have to come see you tomorrow with a body bag? My friend, I put a LOT of effort into that dog."

"No…" Knight replied in kind. "No, no old friend." Knight puckered his lips when he was sure no one could see him. "But…" Heidern laughed from the other end of that telephone. "I think… I have."

"I will come tomorrow, see you then, friend." Heidern said.

It is a zero sum game. In order for one to TAKE, another must surrender.

I am sorry for destroying your dog.

…

At full speed, it was as if King was boxing with his legs! Left and right, the impact of his kicks came in rapid succession relentlessly at a pace Clark could barely keep up with.

AGH! In slow motion, King's right foot threw Clark's left block back into his face, pushing his body back as a result. Then his right, King's left foot pushed Clark's right arm back into his head. How long had it been? Seconds and minutes, Clark could only defend and even if he wanted to push forward and attack, he could not help put surrender to the rusty chains that immediately pulled him back with every instant.

It was true – it had finally happened. This four letter word.

"Clark…" Knight sighed weakly. Those chains…

A four letter world we ALL experienced at least ONCE in our lifetimes.

As it enthralled us – as it encaptivated us – as it – ENSLAVED US.

This four letter word – was FEAR – and now he had become a slave to it.

…

"A!" King's right kick swung Clark's right block wide to the side in slow motion.

JUST AS INSTRUCTED.

Just at a moment when Clark's thoughts were distracted, his right arm grew limp and flailed flaccidly to his right side.

CONQUER AND SURRENDER!

NO!

Overcoming that sick, crippling sensation, Clark took a step forward and heaved his body down. "Reach your arms out, and TAKE it!"

The figure 8 defense. Clark reached out to the light. With Clark's right hand in front of his face in defense, he took a bold leap and broke it to reach out with his left hand. Then.

Stop. The clink of chains again. Pulling him back and imprisoning him. "AUGH!" WHY! WHY!?

What would come next was what he had predicted.

…

"I am SO sorry, but, your dog has already given up!"

…

THE SEQUENCE OF NINE!

…

King turned his left hip around and just as he was about to hit the apex of his attack, Clark's eyes focused on that one part of King's body, the joint on his hip, where his upper leg connected with his pelvis. As is enemy turned, horizontal speedlines cut the picture of the world from left to right.

King came forward with a left roundhouse kick, but, stopped.

And.

King instantly shifted his entire body to the right just as he was about to tilt his weight to the left hand side, taking a small piece away from the flow of time, cutting it, subdividing it, then taking that one part… His body, like a skipped beat from erratically crumpled videotape – the picture jutted left and right in a cloud of static all at once.

And King had vanished.

…

{King will disappear.} Clark thought.

As is enemy turned, horizontal speedlines cut the picture of the world from left to right.

I can attack or defend, but before I could make the conscious decision, it would already be too late. That I know.

The blurry lines slowed and now from colours of gray and black – starting from his legs, waist, then belly and chest, the image of King's body eventually became visible – a picture easily able to be seen – King appeared behind the right side of the back of Clark's neck. Clark with wide eyes gazing forward, his heart already knew that King was behind him as his mind desperately raced to keep up.

…

An ultimate truth. The Rival Complex.

…

"In order to become stronger, sometimes, you have to empower your enemy."

And by doing this, maybe, your ENEMY will one day become your FRIEND too.

…

"A!" Grit your teeth and BRACE YOURSELF!

King's kick, like an axe, dug itself deep into the joint of the back of Clark's neck.

"A!GHUUGHK!" Clark forcefully coughed out a dry breath, feeling distinctly his lungs collapse and the back and front of his lungs touched each other. Clark could no longer exhale.

'La Guillotine', how many times had he taken the full impact of that final attack these 6 days? Clark's body grew weak and could barely stay upright as he swerved his body to face King behind him flaccidly.

"Ughhnn.." Clark lifted his left arm up but it simply floated weakly in front of his face because now, Clark had lost all command of his body. He is coming again.

I do not want to die.

"King!"

I will eat you alive!

"KING!" Knight leapt up from his chair.

The image of King rotated clockwise in mid air as he followed through from his La Guillotine, then at the next instant, King vanished once again. Almost with a fast forward or even a quick rewind, the static lines crossed from left to right and when it stopped King had spun immediately around and was cocked for a second strike.

KING! NO!

Clark's pupils shrunk to pinholes. The rules of time temporarily came to a halt, sequence, physics and rationale stopped existing. King was in the same place he was once before turning 360 degrees once again in an instant. Disappearing and reappearing. Ready to deliver a SECOND killing La Guillotine.

I… I can't. My body no longer responds to my commands.

"I…" as the darkness, like merciless talons had begun to cover Clark's face with a darkest black. "I…"

…

Had I made another choice, had I chosen differently, would things be as HORRIBLE as it was today? Had I taken another road instead, had I not treated my friend the way I did…

It is not IMMORTALITY that men wish within their world – instead it is the defeat of REGRET. We do not wish to live forever – we instead – wished we could turn back time.

Are you still my friend? Eventhough I treated you so horribly?

GOD! Reverse time! End my war!

…

I… I can't. My body no longer responds to my commands.

"I…" as the darkness, like merciless talons had begun to cover his face with a darkest black. "I…"

Chapter 107: Fear

I do not want to die.