The Colour Purple Chapter 108: Lost in the Abyss, 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]

'Hello Darkness, my old friend…'

Running, running and running in the black, the world devoid of colour expanded forever vast as far as the eye could not see – but since the dark misery gave no feedback, he felt as if he was trapped in a very small place instead. Under him was an invisible barrier – at first it was opaque glass but it would disintegrate into liquid as soon as he set foot on it. Black water, and behind him he left a trail of fairy dust with every explosive footstep. Small lanterns left behind, leaving markers to a yesterday we could never return to.

In his rapid sprint, King stepped four times for every exhale, all the while forgetting to inhale as he desperately raced against the strict restrictions of time. Alone, in the dark.

In a place taken apart from time, he pushed his body to its metaphysical limits that would have spanned a distance 20 meters easily in real life in just a split second.

Some called it a gift, but to him, it was a curse – when he visited this lonely place again and again, split seconds at an instant – all alone.

There! King hunched his upper body low, propelling his center of gravity forward accelerating rapidly to his goal. There! King tilted to the right, his left foot crossing the imaginary horizontal fault line in front of the toes of his right, tilting to the very edge swerving to the side as he was just about to fall over. Then. He released the energy from his bent knees and sprung to the LEFT, and as the camera desperately tried to follow his feint, all we could see was darkness, and King's body was running again to the RIGHT.

Exploding into glittering brightness… A sparkling afterimage that wanted to illuminate it all.

King's right arm swung in front to counterbalance and keep himself upright like an auto correcting gyroscope. When his left foot touched the ground, a silent explosion released multiple concentric ripples on the watery ground. When the boy tilted his head up, in this lonely dark place something else looked back.

A familiar face, with a rag doll face, slit eyes with small beady pupils, and a fresh, bloody, wide wound that was cut with a knife from ear to ear, with flashing triangular teeth arranged neatly in a grin, a boy looked back at King as if to respond...

"Omae…" You. "Omae wa, koko ni nani wo…" King whispered in a voice that was perfectly mixed with flavours of shock and disgust.

'I've come to talk with you again…'

…

1977.

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.

THE SEQUENCE OF NINE!

Eight jet engines exploded into fiery life all at once, in what could only be described as the eruption of fury unleashed from King's eyes when he could no longer contain the building pressure, wishing only for cathartic release to anyone and everyone.

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 of that 'picture' away from the flow of time, cutting it, subdividing it, then taking that one part away… His body, like a skipped beat from erratically crumpled videotape – the picture jutted left and right in a cloud of static all at once.

'Why are you so angry?'

And King had vanished.

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

His hands flailed limply in front of him like streamers wailing wildly with no purpose anymore.

'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.

…

Within the darkness, King released the energy from his bent knees and sprung to the LEFT, and as the camera desperately tried to follow his feint, all we could see was darkness, and King's body was running again to the RIGHT.

Exploding into bits of light – small glittering satellites floated in that sad and lonely place – and even when a hundred, million thousand glittering stars floated, it was still not enough to bring light to darkness – for where there was nothing else but EMPTINESS for King to rule.

When the boy tilted his head up, in this lonely dark place something else looked back.

"YOU…" You. "What are YOU… doing… HERE…" King whispered in a voice that was perfectly mixed with flavours of shock and disgust. Though as we slowly drank that sour and bitter concoction, we could not help but wonder, that there was a brief and slight taste of sweetness. Oh but it faded oh too soon. "Omae wa… kokoni, nani wo…"

From King who ran in full speed one step and another, across from him, another boy stood tired at the other end of the empty kingdom. Clark Steel, just as perplexed did not even realize he was in a foreign place looking back at a beast that was about to cleave him in half.

…

Will you be able to share this lonely place with me?

…

A SECOND killing LA GUILLOTINE.

I… I can't. My body no longer responds to my commands. Clark's hands were left hanging upwards in surrender when his body felt limp, succumbing into a pit of utter resignation.

Why can't I even HATE you properly?!

Clark's body was tilted back an extreme angle, that it was inconceivable how he could still remain upright as his body was twisted around and bent backwards in ways human joints were not designed to go. Like the final throes of a limbo dance.

"A!" Knight froze just as he took to a stand, mouth wide open in front of a background of shock painted carefully on his face.

The flashing moment was instantaneous, and, caught in the heat of the moment, Knight had blinked. When he regained control of his senses, Clark knelt on the ground a full four feet behind King's back. With both hands on the ground, Clark's left leg was so contorted and twisted in a knot that it was permanently locked and he was no longer able to move it.

"Hagh… haghh…" Clark hyperventilated on the ground, one, two, eight, sixteen, beads of sweat peppered the mat in front of him - his mind still trying to desperately catch up to his body and understand what had just happened.

"He… was able to escape…" Knight mumbled silently to himself. No matter he was still conscious from the first attack, Clark was somehow able to withstand the first killing blow and still break away from a SECOND La Guillotine.

Looking up at that ceiling he hated so much, the blurry vision that was result from deprivation of oxygen, it took time for his eyes to focus - King clenched both fists on his hips, rolling his shoulders, calming them so they would not atrophy from the continued strain. Then his eyes, King's eyes darted outwards, his gritting teeth seething in frustration. King looked over his shoulders and turned toward Clark whose left leg was knotted in a pretzel, his right thigh, shin and foot, jutted forward in opposite directions at the three joints, his arms were the only things keeping him somewhat upright.

"What… did you do?!" Again that strange voice exercised the luxury to escape King's lips.

"How did you do it?" A coy voice interrupted the screaming loudspeaker that was blaring between Clark's ears – from a raging aircraft engine to immediate silence at the quick and crisp flip of a switch. A small boy walked up to Clark. A curious boy that looked half Clark's age tilted his head on his neck much like the dislocated head of an old rag doll, and smiled at him with sharp serrated teeth clattering against each other as he spoke.

A pale, round face. A black miasma floating up like thorns and dark jagged shapes, bleeding like ink, growing from his shoulders. "How did you do it Clarkie?" The Prince asked with a sinister Pierrot like smile.

…

December 24, 1977. Christmas eve.

The 6th Day.

GOD! Reverse time! End my war!

You told me that… we should go our separate ways. I want to kill you when we fight. I just don't want to live a life without you.

I want to KISS you when we fight.

…

One year ago.

1976. Mao Zedong, leader of the Communist Party of China dies.

In New Hong Kong, NHK, West Coast of China after the 2nd Great Canton Earthquake that split this country in two, Little England. Harding Police Station #2.

"Can you repeat again what you just told me, Bobby?" The British special agent said to the constable who sat across the table from him. In that dark room.

"Please, call this old Bobby, Eagle…"

"Eagle…?" A younger Caucasian man behind his superior, his arms crossed behind over each other and looked over at the British Policeman. Perplexed, cocking one eyebrow above the other and tilting his head overtly; it was confusing – was he being humble or arrogant?

"Like I told you…" Eagle looked past his interrogator and to that kid who stood behind the other side of the room. "The boy ran into traffic on his own, and that car hit him, bang to rights. I tell you. Eagle Eye saw it plain as a packstaff. I swear to you! Nothing escapes old Eagle Eye!"

"Eagle… Eye?!" The younger officer said in an Irish accent and put his hands up in disbelief. "You REALLY think we'll believe you saw ALL this shit in detail from 5 blocks away?"

"Hey boy," Eagle smiled, putting his index finger up to reel that young man back to his face, he was not about to be lectured by a kid who was a third of his age. "I know what you're thinking…" Eagle leaned back on his seat. "A fat old fuck 220 pounds and two of yous around the waist, 60 years old. Your eyes, knees, your back, your shoulders, and your heart… Old guys like me, your body gives up one by one, but it's not in that order all a time, punk."

"Let it go..." The older officer broke from his interrogation and looked back at his subordinate. "Let's just listen to the Bobby,"

"You hear that Mister William Tobin?" Eagle grinned, shuffling in his seat to find a comfortable posture.

The older man immediately froze in place, his index finger still pointed outwards. He immediately lost his train of thought, and at that very instant broke his attention away from the younger boy and turned around slowly to gaze back at the old, visibly overweight constable now in front of him.

Eagle leaned forward and his face slowly tried to mouth words – though his voice remained trapped in his mind. Looking back over the old officer's shoulder, the younger police officer slowly unfolded his arms, and he was absolutely unable to hide the look of shock plastered on his face. A!

"Wha... what."

"Fuckin' Bobby, what the FU…" The younger of the two furled his brows and at that instant, presented his absolute undivided attention at the old Bobby at the other side of the room.

"How did you know his name? How did you know his name, Eagle?"

Eagle only knotted his brows and lifted his hands up over his shoulders at the same pace as his chin, perplexed. As if he was asked how he knew that the sky was obviously blue. "Wha… It's says so on his pen, sir!" He chuckled matter of factly.

The young Irish man's gaze darted instinctively to his lapel pocket, to the black Mont Blanc pen that had come unclipped and wiggled up his breast from him shuffling his arms over his torso. On the upper half of the pen was written in tiny silver cursive script, 'William Tobin'.

William lifted his shoulders from the back of the wall from the opposite side of the room, approximately 18 feet away from the table with the lone light that illuminated the old constable's face.

"So please officer… please." He said turning his attention from William to the more senior officer. "Why don't you call me Eagle Eye instead?"

…

1976, one year before.

"Hey! KING!" Hiroshi shouted.

Wordless, King stopped in his tracks and looked over his shoulders. In a park just when winter barely gave way to spring. In a rancid, horrible world, in this shithole place. He wore white shoes with three navy blue stripes, under light gray pants, and the same tattered, loose white sport tracksuit. It was an afternoon.

A lazy Sunday afternoon. Because it ALWAYS was.

Chapter 108: Lost in the Abyss

"Hey! KING!" Hiroshi shouted, both hands in his pockets. In tow, two of his goons flanked the 15 year old boy left and right.

King did not even give him the luxury of acknowledgement and simply stood in place, back turned visibly annoyed at being interrupted from his afternoon walk.

"Yeah, I thought it was you." Hiroshi droned on. "You're that asshole with that school that has no students. That's cause your dad's school is SSSSSHIT!"

The two goons behind him laughed in chorus.

Immediately King looked all the three boys up and down with the precision of a guided missile. Committing to memory, all the trees, benches, garbage bins, the lay of the land around them. Looking outward from over his shoulder, his mind was able to quickly transform and convert these variables into distinct constants, place all of these things like chess pieces as if gazing up in the sky from a floating satellite.

"Yeah you fucked, man." One of the boys said.

They all wore dark gray bellbottom pants and similarly tight dark jackets over white shirts. They were Orientals, and King knew them well enough but cared enough to not give a damn. All of their hive minds were supported by the least common denominator.

"My father said your school is shit, and all you do is fucking dance. Your fucking chickenshit GAIJIN fighting." Hiroshi jeered yet again.

…

"Your body may not be as large or as strong as most fighters," his father said, never slowing his barrage. The right mitt swung around before stopping mid flight, retracting and changing course from a feinting hook to now shooting directly forward mimic a cross to his son's head.

{Why did I have to be BORN this way?}

…

King mumbled something indiscernible and began to walk away.

"Hey don't you walk away."

Hiroshi, that boy, his face was what King saw when he turned around at the feeling of a hand pull him back by the shoulder. You're too slow. Hiroshi pulled King's small body around and cocked his fist back in what felt like slow motion.

…

The boy switched sides and attacked with his other hand wildly, blindly, this time, to make the child UNDERSTAND his wasted movements that did nothing but insult the grown man, a merciless spinning back kick from the Knight made his son fold in half and propelled him to the concrete wall with no apologies.

…

His enemy's hands were much, much too slow, frame by frame King could easily further subdivide each picture into four smaller sections without much effort. When Hiroshi's fist was just 3 inches from King's cheek, King's hand was already up rotating counterclockwise to meet that bony wrist like a blade – edge on edge. King looked outwards with a nonchalant gaze firmly carved on his face, as insignificant as if he was about to swat a fly away.

…

"I wish you weren't even BORN!" Knight snarled in disgust as he began to walk away.

…

You are a shit!

King's body did not move and Hiroshi's fist embedded itself full force into King's nose.

The pain shocked his body all at once with a cutting, buckling wave of nausea. No, wait, perhaps this wasn't pain anymore.

A! Why did I have to remember THAT now?

…

"Hhhhey... HEY!" At the edge of his abilities, the constable Eagle Eye fell off his bicycle and was barely able to push both arms forward to keep his face from grating the flesh off his cheeks from the pavement. The old fat man collected himself and tried to prop his bicycle up, but when it was obvious that it was a lost cause he pushed it aside, put his right hand over his blue hat and began to run as fast as he could, only to be stopped by the red flashing signal that stopped him at the crosswalk. "Hhheee.. HEY!" the old man screamed between heavy pants. He ran in place begging for the signal to change – watching as the horror unfolded in front of him 5 blocks away when people around him wondered what could agitate old Eagle Eye so.

…

The two other boys held King's arms down with their entire weight while Hiroshi straddled King wailing with his fists left and right over the younger, smaller boys face.

King could recall their names – I think the one on the left is Futaba, the other was Chang. Two of them were sons of fighting schools that neighboured England.

"Your fighting is worth SHIT!" Hiroshi jeered punching left and right, only to lean back easily winded from only a few seconds of punching at a small boy who was pinned down by two goons.

Hiroshi punched right, twisting King's face to the opposite side. Hiroshi was already breathing heavily now. What a piece of garbage. King bit down HARD, tucking his chin down, sucking in a mixture of spring air and blood that tasted like fresh iron through his teeth.

…

I wish.

…

King twisted his wrists vehemently defying the 100 and 200 pounds of weight over them, when two boys pinned down each of his arms and the third straddled him across his waist. He clenched his teeth, locking his jaws in rancor in tune with each punch. All five fingertips digging deep into the soft flesh in his arms.

"You… and all you half-breed White trash." Hiroshi said. Punching again, now slowly, weakly…

YOUR PUNCHES. –WHAM - YOUR INSULTS MEAN, - WHAM! - NOTHING. Each blow resonating between every syllable.

"You white trash, you GAIJIN!" Hiroshi snarled. Punching left. "Get out of our country!" Hiroshi leaned with his entire weight, twisting King's face to the left hand side.

"Hhhhsssshhh." King sucked in the air through his teeth, tasting that familiar tinge of iron. Compared to HIM. Tasting that rancid blood. Why won't you LEAVE me ALONE. I don't care about you. I didn't do ANYTHING. Compared to HIM.

To HIM, your blows mean NOTHING. To. Me.

…

"You must endure," his father begged. He swung the bat down again. This time the prince, perhaps out of savage determination, perhaps out of fear, commanded his body to tumble and roll between his father's legs.

…

One then two drops, the thick viscous blood littered the soil. A stream of crimson escaped from a Hershey's chocolate jar rippling from the sides of his lips. King's face was now a patchwork of red coloured dirt smeared over battered flesh that had already begun to turn black.

HHHAAAGHHHHHH!

A collage of dirt, stone, grime and sludge was left like a mosaic on King's face that remained turned to its side.

"O.. Oi.. Hiroshi…" Chang looked over to his friend who wailed incessantly at King - who refused to fight back. "Hiroshi…" Chang said again, now feeling his stomach curl into knots. The earlier feeling of violence and arrogance in his heart was now replaced with a taste of bitterness and nausea. "HIROSHI!" He screamed again. If this continued, he was going to kill the small boy.

Hiroshi leaned forward with every attack, his pupils now small beads absolutely focused in an uncontrollable rage as he continued to destroy King, as he straddled the object of his hatred.

"Hiroshi…"

…

"HIROSHI!"

"Eh? What do you want?"

Hiroshi's answer was a firm right cross on his face that toppled him to the ground.

"You USELESS piece of shit son! Just how long are you going to fuck around with your friends?!"

"Hey old man," Hiroshi slowly composed himself and stood up glaring back at his father. "I don't have time for this. I'm better than ANYONE in this country."

His father slapped him across the cheek, "Shut up!" He screamed. "You're no good! You understand?!"

"I…"

Hiroshi felt another slap across the other cheek that silenced him immediately.

WHY DO WE FIGHT? WHY MUST WE CONTINUE TO FIGHT?

"You're an idiot. Compared to that white bastard. You can't even compare to him."

"…" Hiroshi was about to speak again, but thought better of it and diverted his eyes away from his father's face, watching as now a fist was about to launch at him at the slightest provocation.

A trembling finger drilled into his forehead in absolute rage. "You are a DISGRACE to this school. That HALF-BREED from that shit school may be shit, but he at least listens to his father. Not like a shitty son like you!"

In due time his father's bellowing voice that seemed to grow louder and louder had soon become a blurry sequence of roars he could no longer understand. It was as if his blood was rising up his neck, filling his skull to the brim and the pressure had caused the crimson to seep out his ears. The booming sounds had transformed into a high pitched static – nails impaling themselves into his brain. His fists clenched at his sides, about to explode.

…

I wish you were NEVER born!

…

Hiroshi slowly tilted his upper body back, now his emotions swirling with thoughts of confusion – when the boy trapped in between his knees looked back fearlessly. Just as he was about to unleash another punch there in waiting was King's mauled, contorted face that replied.

He could not look away and now their pupils locked forcefully against each other, screwing to the last bit, its threads seizing. King's face battered and bloody turned round ever so slowly, with soft, lethargic eyes. Looking back at him – and despite his high perch, beneath that Oriental bully, was a face that simply… DID. NOT. CARE.

…

"Clark…" Knight said.

1977.

Will you be another stone that litters this path? AM I to blame?

"…" Clark said nothing in reply.

"OR, was I wrong?" Knight asked; perhaps to himself.

…

Don't look at me like that.

…

{Don't you DARE look at me like THAT!} Hiroshi's gasped for air when his mind had begun to drown from a whirlpool that sucked him deep down, slowly, surely, bit by bit, he was losing all his mental facilities and unable to think rationally.

"OI! HIROSHI!" Futaba looked at his friend now in fright while still holding King down. "OIII!"

With his right hand, Hiroshi drew a switchblade, flicking the silver blade at the press of a button. The look on his eyes was clear and plain, he had now lost the ability to hear and was only focused on the boy trapped between his thighs. While locking his gaze directly at King's right arm, Hiroshi flipped the knife though his fingers and now held the weapon in icepick grip.

He wrapped his left hand on King's right elbow, poised to strike at an obvious target.

…

"Oh MOTHERFUCKER!" Eagle Eye now screamed, utterly surprising the handful of pedestrians around him who all simultaneously froze in place like a kindergarten game, and that was likely the logical response when one were to hear the virgin Mary swear out loud.

There was no more time and against his better judgment, Eagle placed his right hand over his hat and leapt into traffic, wobbling clumsily as cars screeched to a halt, blaring on their horns when this overweight senior traversed erratically through a maze of aluminum and metal to get to the other side of the crosswalk.

…

He had lost all ability to think rationally and now only a savage, murdering beast ruled.

I am going to CUT your ARMS. I am going to CUT your LEGS! YOU HEAR ME!?

I am going to STAB and CUT you so bad – You won't be able to wipe your own asshole.

Do you understand me?

…

Tell me, why do we fight?

The END of La Bizarre Love Pentagon – part 22.

"Hi... Hiroshi STOP! STOP!"

…

Minutes from the house, was a crisp green grassy cliff, with absolutely nothing around to impede the imagination – at the very edge, overlooking the clear blue bay was a solidary wooden chair taken out of context. In a plain, white sun dress King sat calmly looking out to the horizon, her one hand over her thighs and the other on her wide khaki hat to keep them in place as the wind blew a cool breeze.

What a beautiful day.

King sat peacefully in a wooden chair, looking outwards into the calm water of the blue bay in front of her. It was a beautiful sight. The water seemed to go on forever, the peaceful waves pulled her mind in tenderly. "A sight fit for a Princess..." The sweet cadence of her words caught between question and statement. Mocking, yet envying the time that had long passed, and left her in this world alone as the dead had been already set free. "What day is it… today?"

"It's Sunday." The voice of a boy replied, putting both of his small hands on the backrest of that wooden chair, joining King as they watched the clouds float across the sky at this time disjointed from reality.

"Oh. I see… Ofcourse." King sighed. "Then… Let's finish this." King closed her eyes, leaned back into the wooden chair, put her open palms on her skirt and pulled her gaze from the water up, up into the clear blue sky.

Let's destroy everyone. Each. And. Every one of them.