The Colour Purple Chapter 113: Murders, 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]

King gasped out his mouth and stared at his shaking clawed hand. He willed it, made it crumple, then he clenched it into a fist to stop it from shaking. The boy commanded his spirit to come back to his body so he wouldn't give way to the insanity.

He hit me. He HIT me, so… hard…

…

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

…

I have no idea why you want to FIGHT me. But, compared to HIM.

I think I UNDERSTAND NOW. Slowly but surely. That the only way to be free from his endless chain – this reoccurring nightmare.

IF YOU WANT TO FIGHT SO MUCH.

Then it is simple.

King ran, locking his bloodied face to that boy. Your MASTER RACE. I think I understand now.

What?

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

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 piece and pasted what remained together, a quarter of its distance closer…

"Do you know of the darkness? I have judged you as evil, but… I will show you an evil even more vicious than yours." IT whispered.

WILL YOU FEED MY HUNGER!? When I swallow lies right down my throat?

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

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…

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 14.25 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. The mathematic flow of time had been deeply burned into Chang's mind but for some reason it did not go as he had planned – and now he was trapped by the chains of time and space and his body fell into a panic attack – it froze and absolutely did not know what to do when his enemy had given him 2 feet less room.

You must not only destroy their body, but their spirit.

King propelled a flying 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.

…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 – bite sized - pieces.

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.

The boy's body hit solidly on the tree trunk that would not give way and crushed his neck – when he fell downwards the wooden backrest of that park bench snapped his spine like a cleaver, his upper and lower body draped on that bench like wet laundry.

The END of La Bizarre Love Pentagon – part 27.

I look at my face in the mirror, and I don't understand – don't feel like a BOY, it's not getting clearer. I don't feel like a boy – I don't feel like a man…

…

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

The Tiananmen Incident occurred on April 5, 1976. Monday.

What was the weather like then? It was raining.

"I am…"

"Yes sir, Sir Knight." A middle aged Japanese lady dressed in a traditional kimono stood up from the desk and bowed low with her hands on her lap.

"If you know who I am…" A gruff British Caucasian stood tall in front of the woman said while coughing – not realizing that he had somehow convinced himself to do it on purpose. Perhaps it was a dislocation of understanding between cultures, or perhaps a misogynistic preconceived notion. The Knight, blonde haired chiseled man who was for once clean shaven just for this event – he looked down at the Japanese lady without a skip in his step. His expression did not change and his voice did not crack when he said…

"I want to see your husband. I want to apologize." Knight said flatly, his hands neatly at his sides over his pressed black suit.

"I am sorry." She replied. "My husband cannot see you."

WHAT?!

It was drizzling, the sky was gray that day, in NHK. Up on that hill, that temple. A heavy solace loomed in the air when that lady mourned the death of her son, Hiroshi.

"Please, Sir Knight. Please…" She begged, "Please, forgive me when I ask you to leave us. My husband cannot see you."

Chapter 113: Murders

"What are you SAYING!?" The tempo of Knight's voice grew faster, and louder. "I'm SORRY. DO you UNDERSTAND?! DO you understand…"

"Please…." She remained bowed low biting her lip slightly so no one but you and I could see it. "Ple.. Please…"

The Knight's shoulders twisted into hard knots and it took all of his might not to jump forward, grasp her shoulders and shake sense into her. "I'm SORRY. DO you understand? I said I'm…"

"S…Ssst… Stop… P…" She…

"Is that him? His father?" Whispering amongst themselves in the far distance.

"That's that boy's father… That boy."

"They say Hiroshi pulled a knife on his son. But…"

…

"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" The woman screamed, putting both hands on her face.

The boy's father ran up the stairs. "What?! What's happening… What is…" When his father crossed that line, under that doorframe that separated the world from light and dark, he only saw a place so silent and devoid – and in his mind was the static of a television in the lonely filled the spaces in between… that night. Who am I? Cause I am the boy that the mirror sees. IF I am not alive, how I can be dead?

…

"Hiroshi really killed himself."

The orphan son you would never need. Who am I? Cause I am the boy that the mirror sees. IF I am not alive, how I can be dead?

…

"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?!"

There is nothing more cruel than burying your own son.

The thick rope creaked crisply as it waved that small boy back and forth when it hung from the ceiling. Hiroshi's right hand that was plastered in a hard cast hung limply past his waist when his lifeless body swung slightly side to side while a taught noose wrapped itself around his neck.

This is an event when a grown man talks to himself in the pitch black dark. He questions himself. Just where… where exactly did I go wrong? During this time, he wonders, and this is a time when your mind walks on a thin thread across a deep canyon. You ask yourself…

This is something that you can never understand, until you give birth to a child.

"ggggggghhhhhhhgkkkk…" A string of hoarse consonants chained themselves with each other - the dying sound cannot even be described by mere letters alone. A hoarse emotion seeping from your lips as you gripped your husband by his sleeves as you fell to your knees; more devastating – an emotion more terrifying than drowning. She fell to her knees, gasping for breath pleading for someone, anyone to save her as her son swung slightly with a noose around his neck. It did not matter – someone – anyone – she wanted someone to tell her that this was NOT real. That all the things… all the things – like each and every petal from a flower peeling itself from a bud - this was NOT happening.

WHY? GIVE ME MY SON BACK.

WHERE DID WE GO WRONG?

Doushite, doushite kami ga, watashitachi wo basshiteiru yo?

IS GOD… WHY IS GOD PUNISHING US?!

…

Knight puckered his lips, measuring his thoughts carefully before he was to speak next, but just as he was about to take a step forward, a woman, the ONLY woman in the whole wide world, who knew him better than himself grabbed his left elbow and tugged back with her entire weight.

"Papa." She said, her other hand now bolstered her grip.

Knight turned around and she was there.

Wordless, she only looked up at her husband – their eyes met and locked with each other. While she had done what she was taught – a loving, kind and submissive wife as she was taught since she was a young girl. Even when humiliated for stepping back to protect her husband's honour even when her family had been vehemently against their marriage. There was one thing, that only someone of their culture could understand. There was a silent understanding. DO NOT go down this road… please. DO NOT go down there.

…

"That boy, Hiroshi, pulled a knife and I heard he was going to really kill his son."

"There were two other boys too?"

…

"There's nothing more I can do." The doctor said to the couple. His mother placed her sobbing face in her arms as the white suited man walked away. Her husband hugged her tight.

In that dark room, filled only with the beeping and ticks of a machine. In between the sound floating in silence the deep whirrs helped the boy breathe artificially. Chang…

Chang bandaged from head to toe laid on that bed, paralyzed from the neck down.

…

"He's dead." Eagle Eye said when he withdrew his index and middle finger from Futaba's neck, the boy's body was surrounded by a pool of crimson blood. "Shit. Shit. SHIT SHIT SHIT!"

…

The Knight put his opposite hand over his wife's grip, easing the tension on his elbow that had become sore from the trembling grip of her fingertips driving into his flesh. "It's okay mama."

In front of the couple was a black 1971 sedan, protected and away from the loom and gloom of the temple behind them.

"You don't understand…" She said.

"It's okay, we don't belong here. The man probably hates me." Knight replied defeated.

"No…" She sighed.

Had you walked forward… had you walked forward and forced him to show his face...

You do not understand, I am sorry but you will never understand our culture.

Despite the heavy weight on her shoulders, his wife put her hands crossed over her stomach and looked up to the man she loved. "If you forced his father to show his face… I promise you…"

He would have killed himself in front of you.

"His son tried to kill ours. DO you understand?" She said. "And now… you are going to apologize to him." Do you know how heavy that weight is to our culture?

This is an event that would force a grown man to talk to himself in the pitch black dark. He questions himself. Just where… where exactly did I go wrong?

…

"I don't really understand, but you know, mama." Knight crumpled the right side of his face in a strange exasperated half smirk. "Why are you always so melodramatic…"

The rain began to drop more forcefully now. Down at that 1971 black Bentley. Knight ran his hand across the rear passenger window. From the hazy vision clouded by the wet rain, a small blonde haired boy sat there; An ugly thing, with short buzz cut hair looked to the right – staring back at the Knight, his hands obediently on his black pinstripe lap.

Knight leaned forward and opened the door slightly.

"We're going home, son." Knight said.

…

Feeling the creak of his joints, King pushed his body up from his crouch and rotated his shoulders back – cocking his bones back and looked over his back to the last boy. …AND LIKE THAT BEAST IN MY SOUL IN THAT RESTLESS TIME… he stared down at the one last thing.

"HHHEEIIIHGGGH!" Futaba screamed.

"Futaba! Wait!" Eagle shouted.

Running so hard, for all his wasted years, there was only one thing that ran across his mind. That young boy Futaba ran with all his might when his body convinced him that he had to flee away – he had to get away – so far away from that THING. Whose triangular grin filled the small crevices in his mind now with the sound of the roar of a CHAINSAW.

"Futaba!" Eagle…

He had to get away, he had to escape. Please! Get away from that THING!

His right foot hit the hot black asphalt.

"A!" A wall of white plastered every inch of his vision – and now, a bland taste in his mouth was all he could remember…

…

"We're going home, son." Knight said.

King did not reply and rotated his face back on his lap in silent penance. The door shut again…

…

A high pitched screech displaced the air around him, but Futaba could not remember it anymore because it was all meaningless.

A white pick up truck's grill embedded itself into his body – his body, that had instantaneously become the viscosity of malleable clay.

…

"We're going home, son." Knight said.

King did not reply and rotated his face back on his lap in silent penance. The door shut again… closing that wide divide, the car door swerved shut, pausing only slightly at the last quarter of its metered journey.

Then.

On his left side, next to him at the passenger seat, no one but you and I could see another blonde haired boy imitating King's posture hunched down with his hands too on his lap, but on his face was a sneering grin. An evil, reprehensible snarl when his triangular fang toothed grin spanned from ear to ear. The door shut.

and soon IT bloomed, nurtured by care and by the woes of time. Into a flower…

A flower bloomed in that dark space in between light and darkness.

…

"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!"

…

"We're going home, son." Knight said.

Then. A Prince.

On his left side, next to him at the passenger seat, no one but you and I could see another blonde haired boy imitated King's posture hunched down with his hands too on his lap, but on his face was a sneering grin. An evil, reprehensible snarl when his triangular fang toothed grin spanned from ear to ear. The door shut.

In order to not go insane – you have to JUSTIFY your existence. April 5th, 1976. Which [Character] were you?

…