The Colour Purple Chapter 112: Seed of Darkness, a king of fighters fanfic

The Colour Purple... The King of Fighters '95

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]

"You know… what you're doing is really sad." Clark said with a face twisting itself in a sour scowl. "…and I wish you would just stop!" Your life is a lie, no matter how much you try to justify it to me, to yourself, and to the world.

Wordless, as she always did – King twisted her hand into a hard knotted fist – a reflection of the barbed razor wire that enveloped her heart. That was enough. HHAGH!

MURDERS. While the world - to everyone else, remained quiet for a slight moment, two quick tugs awoke that motor to life – starting with a few sputtering gurgles, then while snapping like a wild beast awoken, a constant hum soon transformed into a roar – the engines came alive. Razor sharp teeth linked end to end a CHAINSAW filled the once empty cup into an overflowing rage, PROMISING to TEAR everyone and all the things into small bloody pieces.

With his chin cocked up snobbishly aloof, a mysterious blonde haired boy stepped out from behind King – subdividing itself mystically from King's silhouette – an illusionary method somewhat akin to binary fission - like a single celled amoeba. Mimicking the Prince's stare, King cocked her head back and while she was shorter, Clark did not understand exactly why he had suddenly become the size of an ant and was looking up at a spiritual goliath.

No body wants to die too fast and too soon.

Welcome to Chainsaw Charlie's morgue, asshole!

"Hghm!" Clark's frown changed now when he pulled his lips horizontally, forcefully to opposite sides, almost in cartoon fashion in frustration. The ends of his mouth felt like they were touching his ears revealing deep dimples no one had ever seen before. Clark copied King's stance, gripping tight, driving his fingers into both palms into shaking fists hip height. "Ughhn!" Clark felt the stabbing pain in between his breast, imaginary rusted knives jabbing into him all at once.

The sound only the two of them could hear, the crickle crack and pop of a hot pan filled with cooking oil. As it all burned, bits of black ash slowly rose up around him; gliding upwards with the aura floating over his shoulders… slowly they clumped together, giving itself form.

What was planted in [you], was a seed of darkness - and deep inside you, [it] waited; given nutrients, care, love and finally, a purpose.

…

7 years old.

"ENOUGH! I can't take it anymore, Papa!" I said. With that kitchen knife in my hand, I pulled my head aside by my hair and placed that cold blade next to my neck. "NO MORE! ENOUGH! ENOUGH!" the seven year old boy cried.

But instead, [his] answer sent a cold shock through my already weak body.

"Fine," my father said. Cold and uncaring, he simply turned around and sat in his chair nonchalantly, legs crossed from the far side of the room as I stood by the doorframe, legs shivering. "Fine, if you want to do it… COMEMON, then DO it, but let me warn you," he said, "Let me assure you, that if you do [it], there is NO guarantee…

…that I will be the [wrong] one."

…

12 years old.

"GAUGHHKGHK!" King felt the rancid but now ever so familiar viscous goo erupt from his throat, out his mouth and onto the space on the floor between his two splayed hands.

…a distinct and clear purpose.

"Get up. You can't stop…" he warned. "In the real world, if you STOP, then you will DIE. Do you understand that?"

If a father must suffer to beat his own child. To condition that body, lovingly yet mercilessly. If a child must suffer for the future, then the prince knew what he had to do. Those tears bound him to this world, a world that he stayed of his own choosing.

That baseball bat floated up one last time. You can do it. All ten fingers of King's hands curled inwards – the spikes driving themselves into his palms WITH NO MERCY.

…

"You will be a KING among men!"

…

What is the [effective time]? Intrinsically intertwined with the concept of the [outer darkness], what does it really mean? Do the mathematics of 'time' and its relationship with the physics of 'space' mean different things to different beings? Just as common house flies can easily escape the strike of a rolled up newspaper, could that small insignificant thing be two times, maybe even ten times faster than us human beings?

If so, scientists theorize that to these common insects, with enhanced metabolism, they actually witnesses the rest of the world in relative 'slow motion'.

Though why do we even need to ponder such notions – when in this story, men can soar in the sky and hurl fireballs from their palms? In a world that said that once upon a time, the son of God was able to allow men to walk on water.

…

The END of La Bizarre Love Pentagon – part 26.

In 1976, teens wore clothes that, to people two decades past and two decades in the future, would, as with every otherwardly generation, would consider quite peculiar. As if a rebellious answer to the time of the 50s that passed them, a decade of prim and proper suits and gowns of black – young boys and girls now, while retaining these suits, were unfearful of expressing their mockery for their adult peers - they walked through the streets in pastel coloured costumes of powder blue and pink – mimicking yet mocking the uptight attire that was long past, but instead with vibrant colours. Strange skin tight suits, flared bellbottom pants that ballooned outwards fearlessly at the ankles, and at the opposite spectrum, at the height of its popularity, miniskirts that hid little for the imagination.

"Hey baby, can you dig it?!" A boy with a light purple collared shirt turned his head sideward and simultaneously threw both index fingers forward as he walked. To his left a young girl of similar age curled her right fist over her mouth and giggled. In front of the camera, frozen in place were two teens laughing as they made their way through town. Recording every moment of it, a pair of film reels turned round focusing on their faces, then out, blurring into a gray haze. Three tell tale navy blue stripes came into focus the next instant from the far background as the love struck couple earlier became of little interest. An expression that was difficult to describe plastered King's face – held firmly in place, the boy was dressed in that immortal white Adidas jumpsuit that seemed to exist in all time.

On the rear of his lower bicep, Hiroshi understood plainly that King's left knee had already locked itself firmly at the joint behind his right elbow. King's right leg wrapped over his forearm in between his wrist and the inner fold in between his forearm.

When a reptilian beast grabs a hold of you and is about to tear your arm from its socket just as it is about to devour you – it does not think about the morality of its act. It does not consider your feelings in the equation, nor does it weigh any concept of fairness of opportunity nor equality of outcome. The abstraction of mercy is totally asinine to it. It is a wild beast, A SAVAGE ANIMAL, and what it is about to do to you is absolutely no different from it simply taking a shit.

A pair of three foot jaws jammed down hard into Hiroshi's arm, just over his elbows locking it in place, and the Japanese boy, as much as he valiantly tried to break free, could not escape from that monstrous hundred pound grip wherein there could only one inevitable result.

The wide paintbrush, as wide as the entire world plastered a black opaque tar over the blue sky – and as quickly as it had come, it passed to return it to its peaceful blue spleandour.

On the rear of his lower bicep, Hiroshi understood plainly that King's left knee had already made itself home firmly there. King's right leg wrapped over his forearm in between his wrist and the inner fold in between his forearm. With King's right hand clasped firmly under Hiroshi's wrist and the other over his thumb, effectively trapping his stabbing attack, King overextended Hiroshi's knife wielding arm at every joint.

Two quick tugs awoke that motor to life.

"YOUFUC…" Hiroshi was not able to complete his thought when King, gripping tight with the veracity of of a boy who understood as he hung on to dear life at the edge from a tall skyscraper, tumbled his entire body forward. The same tenacity I felt deep inside as I drowned in fear when hanging by that precipice – in that cold dark snowy night.

That night, we thought, we would be heroes. Lavishing ourselves a tragic hero with clumps of collected snow on our shoulders. We thought we did right. Instead, we were betrayed by the world. Every action has an equal – and opposite – reaction.

Had we become villains instead?

No matter. Perhaps it was my destiny. King tucked his head inwards feeling the hard soil become one with the back of his shoulders. It was a strange and peculiar lock – but it was enough to deal with a weak shit like this for certain.

While snapping like a wild beast awoken, a constant hum soon transformed into a roar.

With both hands on Hiroshi's wrist, trapping it at a locked impossible angle, King tilted his head forward. In a DEATH ROLL. There are fewer things more vicious than what a crocodile does to you when it traps you in its grip. King flipped forward head over heels, while both his legs still trapped Hiroshi's right arm – Hiroshi was unable to fight a 90-100 pound mass twist his right arm into a tight corkscrew. First from his upper bicep, then to his elbow, freezing it with no other alternative than to hunch his upper body forward in pain. Hiroshi's face raked the sandy ground – stones grating his soft face.

There was only so much his torso could twist and turn in order to counteract the weight that locked the right side of his body utterly hyperextended.

90 to 100 pounds of weight rolled over without even a shred of mercy, locking Hiroshi's wrist so his arm could not twist any further and was now locked into an impossibly contorted posture. The hammer of God dug into the ground crucifying the Japanese boy's arm in [an impossible angle].

Razor sharp teeth linked end to end a CHAINSAW.

The painful sound of tearing sinews and shattering bone deafened us all, and none of it mattered at all, for a boy's petrifying shriek was enough to fill the spaces in between the momentary darkness and light – when he was emboweled alive by a violent beast.

WHAM! King felt the ground slam against his shoulders. "AAAAAGH!" Hiroshi's scream was drowned out by the guttural snap and crunch of the tendons of his elbow disintegrating into frail spider webs, dislocating its Olecranon bone from the rest of its neighbours at the same time his forehead slammed into the ground.

Destroy ALL the things.

HHHEEEIIIAAAAAGGHHHHH!

It was an inefficient and particularly strange arm lock but for King who was unfamiliar with grappling, it came naturally, AND it was sufficient in completing his ends.

King twisted his ankles together like black wire ties up Hiroshi's arm and King continued rolling, from a single tumble to a second one. The boy King was small and seemingly of less physical stature than his enemies, but even his less than 100 pound body was enough. King tumbled into a second forward roll twisting his body diagonally then straight, now parallel to his enemy's limb. At this time Hiroshi's chin embedded itself permanently into the soil and his extremities had run out of freedom of rotation. At this point there was, logically, only one thing to give way.

CRACK!

The shriek of terror and immense inhuman pain was so loud it rendered hearing to a static white. The Japanese boy's right arm had been totally separated at the elbow, the shoulder, and broken in two other places. King sat up forward a third time, twisting forward and diagonally in until the distinct moment when Hiroshi's arm finally, ABSOLUTELY surrendered flaccidly and the thumb of his hand touched the back of his skull.

EVERYONE and ALL the things into small bloody pieces.

…

"You…" King snarled, slowly choking in the blood that was collecting at the back of his throat. "You… and you." Slowly, carefully, and purposely twisting his gaze from one boy to the next.

I will DESTROY all of you.

DESTROY your SPIRIT.

What was planted in [you], was a seed of darkness… and soon IT bloomed, nurtured by care and by the woes of time.

Only then.

I can no longer turn back time.

…

"GAUGHHKGHK!" King felt the rancid but now ever so familiar viscous goo erupt from his throat, out his mouth and onto the space on the floor between his two splayed hands.

…a distinct and clear purpose.

…

But instead, I have to destroy ALL OF YOUR KIND.

Under the road built by all of your dead bodies.

And up until when I do, until I can do, then can we walk a road that ENDS all WAR.

…

"HYAAAAGGHHH!" The Japanese boy's right arm had been totally separated at the elbow and shoulder, and broken in two other places. King rolled forward a third time, twisting forward and diagonally in until the distinct moment when Hiroshi's arm finally gave way and the thumb of his hand touched the back of his skull.

…

"Chang!" Futaba shouted, his open hand outstretched. His friend, Chang, perhaps in a moment of indecisiveness held his tracks. Perhaps overcome with the initial guilt of turning tail and escaping, maybe for once in his life of cowardice – in a bout on confusion bolstered by some semblance of bravery turned around and ran back at his friends who were now being slaughtered by this THING that they had once considered prey.

Chang turned around and ran back to rescue his friends.

JYOU… JYOUTOU…

The monstrous rag doll that was King released his grip from the squealing pig underneath him and, while his knees were still bent in contorted manner managed to stand semi upright. Bent at the knees and waist, the monster's posture was twisted and crooked.

Not even close, the beast's stance was two evolutions behind a homo erectus. It was a wonder how it could balance its distribution of weight when its upper body was shifted offset and cantilevered in a way that was impossible for a building to stay upright.

Chang ran. Perhaps the only heroic thing he ever did his entire life.

In between the joints in the Prince's body, small gears rotated – with the same slow motion as medieval catapults twisted and turned – the BEAST'S body slowly evolved upright.

"HEEEEEE…" The Prince's pulled sidewards plastering half its face with a wide grin.

From a wild beast, its knuckles dragging along the ground, its body became more rigid, straight – raising its head upright.

JYOUTOU DA!

Come at me!

What was once an animal that needed its hands to maintain its posture as it moved, it had slowly and eventually tilted its body upright, straightening its spine and locking its vertebrae, and had low rushed forward with the sleek determination of a beautiful beast.

"A!" Chang had not expected these pictures flash in front of his face. A conscious subdivision and understanding of tactical priority – Chang had now become the most important threat.

…

Wait. Why am I even afraid? Chang thought.

I am the strongest in Chinatown. The memories were clearly vivid in his mind. A forceful and solid right push kick sent Chang's enemy a clear 3 feet backwards. The wails and cheers of the crowd in the stands around them.

Chang's right fist cleaved across and flung his opponent's face to the right. Following immediately, Chang leapt up with a jumping reverse turn kick.

Why am I even afraid? I am STRONGER than Hiroshi.

Compared to him.

Images, still freeze frames flashed on the screen in the back of his skull. Of his friend Hiroshi laughing with his hands on his hips. Chang stood behind, though everyone else laughed his face was a stoic snarl.

I am BETTER than him.

Fifteen feet away. That was the formula for his ultimate attack.

While Chang ran, his mind continually and instinctively measured the distance in between them with his eyes. With the precise calm and care as pouring each grain of sugar into a jar. Updating the data that seeped in his brain. It did not matter – it could have been hole punched key cards, or binary digits of information, his mind was indeed was faster.

When his enemy was fifteen feet away he had to carefully measure to assure that his right foot would hit the ground. The next instant he would instinctively command his body to tense – thrusting forward with his left foot and jump up and attack with his right kick.

At the end of it all he clearly saw the boy's face petrify in fright. Chang's enemy leapt in the air, pushing himself at the limits with a flying left jump kick. But. As the shadow loomed the taller, larger Chang jumped even higher anticipating the attack – and drove his own counter flying kick into his face. There is no one in this town that can beat me. The crowd roared in victory with red and gold flags.

Not you. Not anyone.

I can be a hero!

Chang's opponent skidded into the ground, his missile had easily been defeated with a simple and plain show of power. If you make it RAIN, I WILL make it POUR! If you threaten me, I will END this fight.

…

25 yards, converted to 75 feet. 68.58 meters. That disgusting thing came at Chang. He did not even realize it but his brain was measuring and calculating the distance in between them in constant real time. Mathematically understanding how much distance spanned each of his strides, and slowly adjusting it – taking in the variables of time and space, so that his steps could be equally subdivided so the arithmetic sum of his steps would conclude at 15 feet.

Perfected in 5 years, my flying kick is unbeateable. 5 years of determined pain!

HHAGH! With his chin cocked up snobbishly aloof, a mysterious blonde haired boy stepped out from behind King.

King's right foot will hit the ground, 16 feet away… and when he does…

Though, that fleeting thought would be replaced with a myriad of other emotions in Chang's mind, when he blinked once King disappeared.

What?

A second then two passed. King was 57 feet away, 19 yards, and he was gone.

Perfected in 5 years, my flying kick is unbeateable. 5 years of determined pain!

"A!"

20 yards – what was called endearingly 'stabbing distance'. 60 feet was the accepted distance where a criminal with a knife is likely able to kill you before you would draw your gun from its holster and shoot.

5 years of training. 5 years of perseverance. 5 years of reliance and understanding of the logical flow of time. What if suddenly, all of a sudden, the sequence of events you had burned hard and programmed in your mind…

You.

"Haaagh…" The snarl seeped through Chang's ears. The picture of King appeared once again 5 yards away from his face. Just like a long strand of film, and with scissors, we cut out a small piece and pasted it a quarter of its distance closer…

…suddenly the logical conclusion… the law of mathematics momentarily did not abide by its own rules?

But this time, as King reappeared from the still of nothingness; he rushed at a speed 3 times faster. King's left foot hit the ground at exactly 13 feet.

In slow motion Chang's hands thrusted up and down like pistons, on his left side was a wooden park bench that sat in front of a tree.

King had propelled himself in the air, his feet floating, rotating on an invisible bicycle, and hurtling his entire body – just as men allowed themselves to float in the sky – King propelled a forward push kick – a stabbing knife - that SLAMMED into Chang's nose.

"HRAGGGHH!" he screamed stabbing that dagger hilt deep squarely into his enemy's face.

April 1st, 1976.

Chang, a boy who fancied himself the strongest in his small Chinatown, had never felt a sledgehammer hit his face squarely. He never had the luxury of feeling his nose shatter. But that would end today when a hundred pounds of mass drove itself squarely into his face and shattered everything in front of it into small bits of jigsaw-interlocked bone.

…

Here is your free science lesson for the day, asshole.

…

Chapter 112: Seed of Darkness

Here is your free science lesson for the day, asshole.

Newton's third law states, that for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.

Hollywood movies have lied to you. It is absolutely impossible for a villain to be shot and consequently be propelled 6 feet backwards from the impact – because, assuming a human body can completely absorb the entire force of a bullet without its soft flesh giving away, and ignore reduction and loss of energy – if a villain is hurled 6 feet backwards – it only follows that the person shooting the gun has to be thrown back 6 feet too.

King propelled a forward push kick that SLAMMED into Chang's nose. The same instant, King was flung back 8 feet backwards from the sudden impact that rattled his teeth.

The opposite reaction was unfortunately even more devastating. With the same hard grip, Chang's body flew backward in a calculated opposite reaction. HE felt God's thumb and index finger grip his head, and, in a moment he could not understand why, God twisted his wrist, pushed forward and snapped his neck with the same vicious movement to tear a tooth from its gums. The back of Chang's neck hit the wooden tree trunk behind him firmly. A sweet sugary taste followed by a bland bloated sensation filled Chang's mouth.