The Colour Purple Chapter 114: Restitution, 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]

"Good morning, Clark." King wobbled slightly when she pushed herself up by her elbows and covered her face with both hands, massaging her forehead. It was an awkward silence to everyone and anyone of us who would watch, but for some peculiar reason both of them seemed perfectly at peace. Clark opened his hand - dropped his duffle bag on the ground, stood with his hands at his sides, saying nothing, and in response King continued to force herself awake, or perhaps she was trying to convince herself to return to an eternal sleep.

{It's been a long time.}

King turned her face to the left – her forehead was still perched on her right hand, her right eye covered by her palm and the clumps of blonde hair that seductively fell interwoven in between her fingers completed the picture.

{I did not know what I would find. But I was looking a very long time.}

SO much time… and so hard…

"Do you know how long it took me to find you? A nightclub? Was this where you've been hiding all this time?" Clark said – somewhat lacing his voice with a tone of disappointment.

{I've been searching for you – long and hard - since 1986.} Not one, but TWO voices seemed to cross wires on the telephone and say IT at the same time to each other.

You know, pretty soon, if you keep me waiting, I'll turn 40 years old, and still have nothing to show for it. Are you telling me that everything we suffered for was useless after all?

Let's end it.

"How… how can you forgive me…?" King pleaded. "After… after what I had DONE to you." She planted her elbows into the wooden bar in front of her and nestled her forehead into he waiting palms. Back then – and now both you and I have to live with this sin?

{Things have changed. It's all different between you and me now. Clark.}

"It can be said, that it is an honour for a slave to sacrifice his life for his master… BUT that is only so, because he BELIEVES that his master is willing to offer his own life for his people." We have a responsibility to each other. You and I – and the wish we promised to fulfill to the entire world. "My King." Clark said under his breath, though for some reason he understood deep inside he did not even have to speak those words out loud, as he looked hard and straight at King – not once faltering in his hard gaze toward her.

Had our roles REVERSED now? {I REFUSE to accept that I have somehow become a Master, and YOU are now a Slave.} To DO so, would mean…

…that EVERYTHING I BELIEVED IN up until now, was WRONG.

…words and thoughts existed in synchronicity in 1993.

…

Synchronicity:

1. The simultaneous occurrence of events that appear significantly related but have no discernible causal connection.

2. The notion of a God speaking through the result of meaningful coincidences.

…

"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.

1977.

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 back 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.

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

"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 face 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.

How did you avoid the second La Guillotine?! Clarkieeeee?

…

First it was a face bloated with an expression of shock – of fear, but as the realization seeped into his bloodstream, his face slowly changed even when he did not realize it, into one of confusion. Until finally the warmth filled his heart and indeed it was reflected into his face when the stone faced middle aged man was now flashing a doofish open mouth grin of utter disbelief.

Radiating with a complex miasma of colours the Knight remained standing with both fists at his sides in a silent glee. It was that absurd cheerfulness grown men have on their faces when they once again witness the same baseball team they had rooted for with their father decades ago – finally win the World Series - after 30 years of straight losses.

FINALLY!

…I don't know…

…and he HATED it. He did not know why, he did not know why he cared. It did not matter to King what his father felt. He had convinced himself so long ago that he was sick and tired and done with caring about what the Knight thought. That hard and fast cornerstone in King's mind was what held him up, but for some reason… seeing his father this way, seeing that smile he had NEVER seen before…

…know why…

"Clark… you did it, boy!" Knight cheered.

I DON'T KNOW, WHY, I… I AM… SO… ANNNNGRY!

Clark remained on his knees, his buttocks rested flat on his heels on the ground. You know that moment? When you realize your mouth was faster than your brain and you say things you regret later? When your body starts moving as it was trained before your mind could evaluate that incoming threat? Muscle memory. Or when different parts of your body move out of sync with each other. It was the opposite. Sleep paralysis. Just like that. When your mind is vividly lucid but then you realize that even when you were conscious, your body was utterly unable to move.

Clark stared outwards with his eyes wide open and face glared in utter horrid shock because his mind could see in slow motion – understand – what was about to happen clearly - but his body was unwilling, or unable to respond, despite his repeated, feverish commands.

"A." Clark knelt with arms wide open.

The split second later King appeared in front of him with his right foot implanted deep, directly onto the bridge of his nose, driving the force like a speeding car square into Clark's face. Crack! The sound that started from the back of Clark's neck bounced around like a rubber ball within the cavity inside his skull. The young boy now felt as if his brain was floating outside his forehead when it made the sound like a baby rattle in between his ears.

"AFTER… All that I had DONE to you…" How can you FORGIVE me?

What was most horrifying was that Clark could see it all happening but now in normal speed, like a lazy stroll in the park, eventhough in the real world each action happened in a matter of a hundredths of a second.

When the entire impact of King's kick fully imparted into Clark's head, King followed through and completed his push kick a final inch to drive Clark's upper body back.

Why.

Why can't I even hate you properly?

I understand now, that both you and I. We fed on these small scraps, subdivided them, into small insignificant pieces that now could no longer even be considered as any semblance of dignity.

As Clark's torso fell backwards, King vanished yet again – this time the afterimages rabidly jumping back and forth like a swarm of small insects driven mad and were now flying chaotically - disappearing and reappearing erratically within your field of vision when your mortal eyes were unable to track them. A left foot planted itself now to Clark's left side mid-height in soccer striker attack – King's right foot swung back like a pendulum, cocking back so far it seemed as if his right heel was touching King's left trapezius muscle.

KILL YOU.

King gnashed his teeth sucking hard to fill his lungs after being submerged in dark water for what seemed like tens of minutes. He bit so hard his molars slipped from the strain and made a crunching sound that deafened him.

The sound – like an automobile rushing at full speed, its brakes screeching a high pitched squeal when the rubbery space in between them had already become worn slivers and now only steel on steel rubbed each other to stop that machine from 60 miles an hour to 0 in a second.

Clark could SEE it.

It was a lie. Clark's body fell backwards but he understood that the ghost on his left side was a lie. He could no longer swivel his head on his neck and instead his pupils rolled to the right side of his body. It's a feint, King WILL attack from the opposite side.

King's mid height left roundhouse kick hit his right eye, and Clark swore he could feel the eye socket of his skull give way with a forceful crunch.

{If I would fight,} I thought. BRAVELY, SELFLESSLY, VALIANTLY, VIRTUOUSLY, maybe, GOD would take pity on me and grant me mercy…

King swung a waist high roundhouse kick with his entire strength. The comet was difficult to follow and disappeared mid stroke – only to finally impact Clark's right temple and eye socket.

Clark was unsure if it was just his imagination but he could hear and feel the side of his skull shatter and the small jigsaw pieces float in a pool of black, the white plates overlapping each other when the world was now a dark photo negative, an x-ray picture of his skeletal head took the full brunt of King's bony foot.

The doctor flicked that large x-ray plate up and into the clips over a plastic box that housed cool, white halogen lights, and on that plate was the picture of a cracked human skull. That large x-ray negative film was illuminated by that bright white backlight. Then, with a sudden click, an invisible God switched that light off – and in doing so once again.

Darkness.

The END of La Bizarre Love Pentagon – part 28.

Chapter 114: Restitution

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

{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.

Eventhough I try to deny it, it's true… I've simply lost my purpose.

…

The descent into HELL, is brought about by a life that has experienced a loss of meaning.

The sun had set and the evening had already draped the world in a dark, quite likely very soon the mosquitoes would come and Eiji Kisaragi sat on the lawn chair outside their house, pulling the collars of his flannel shirt up his neck as if it would dissuade the small vermin from sucking his blood. Just for a little bit he would enjoy the cool breeze before he went back indoors.

"Hey old man!"

Eiji did not respond and sighed under his breath still looking outwards to the slight gleam of light that was slowly fading. This was probably the last thing he wanted, and right about now he wondered which was worse, those voracious insects or that oaf that had pulled a chair from under the table to take a seat with a cold beer in his hand.

"You don't mind if I sit here do you old man?" Billy jeered.

"Ughhhh!" Eiji groaned loud and long, dragging that painful grunt as long as he had air in his lungs to support it.

"What's up with you man?" Billy said, raising both arms, taking care ofcourse not to spill his drink when he planted his bottom into the chair like a pair of comets. "Hey, look… Eiji…" Billy breathed out and spoke softly to appease his senior, "You want me to go back and get you a drink?"

Eiji did not reply, he did not even bother to turn back to face Billy. Quite honestly, Eiji was absolutely gifted with his mannerisms, you would think that he purposely snubbed the British boy who talked to him – but quite frankly it came naturally to the middle aged man and he thought nothing of his actions – he simply did not give a damn as he crossed his arms and legs simultaneously looking outwards to the dark abyss as one by one he could see the light gleam off twinkling stars that studded the sky.

"Okay… WHAT everrr!" Billy huffed and looked away and over his shoulder.

"Why do you do that?" Eiji asked.

"What?"

Eiji did not say anything, even further infuriating Billy and pulling him closer to his trap.

"WHAT!?" Billy said again in a terse voice.

"These hands!?" With Eiji's back to Billy, the Ninja raised both hands over his shoulders, twisted and shook them rapidly at the same time as they rose. "What does that even mean? What EVER?" Flailing your hands like rattles – only cabaret whores do that.

"What? Whatever… It means, what ever you say… I mean like, like, don't you even know what… I mean.., Look! Whatever!"

"Billy." Eiji sighed. "Do you know that expression has been around since 1965?"

"What? What do you mean that it's…"

"Just shut up Billy."

"Uh…" Billy finally understood he had been ensnared by that old man's fucking trap. "RRuugghhh," Billy groaned and just leaned back into his chair, bending that backrest as far as it would go in frustration.

"Billy…" Eiji said.

"WHaaaat!?" Billy heaved out, pushing both arms out, his fingers splayed with just two fingers pinching the neck of his beer bottle.

"Why are we here, Billy?"

"We're going to win – win the King of Fighters 1995." Was the obvious and quick reply from the boy.

"Why?"

"Wh… why." Billy slightly stammered and held his reply for a moment. "Cuz… Cause we are… we have to. That's why we're here."

"Is that why? DO you really believe that?"

"What are you talking about old man?" Billy's face was now contorted and absolutely confused, and it was only the next swig of beer that cut the strange taste in his mouth and kept him in the moment.

"To win the KOF95, and then what?" Eiji leaned back, and though Billy had now become silent and did not understand why exactly, Eiji just remained in place and looked out to the darkness. "What meaning is there in that?"

What meaning was there in that?

The reason the world is in chaos, why people are enslaved by sadness - is because people descend into madness. All of this is caused by the fact that society has lost all meaning and purpose.

Billy took another sip, but indeed he regretted his actions – he always did when he was placed within striking distance from this old fucker, though he found himself time and time again here… he took a sip and bit down on his lower lip. He understood it well enough.

I am sure you and I had purpose, we had meaning once… but why are we still here?

…

1984. WHY, are we still HERE, Billy?

"It's so nice to see a visitor…" The old man put both hands on his lower back and knotted his fingers. "It's been a while since he'd had a visitor."

I believed that I had meaning once. …and that meaning was supported by hatred.

"What is your name again, son?" The white haired Oriental man chuckled as he walked in front of the ninja.

But HE took it away.

"Eiji." He replied flatly. "Eiji Kisaragi." He was quick to append. "…of Kusanagi Palace."

"Ohhhhhh." The old man bellowed heartily. "Then I am sure he will be happy. It's been so long and Saihyuu Kusanagi never had a visitor. Come come, I'll show you to him…"

Saisyuu. That name. The mere mention of that name…

…

"Devoid of meaning…" Eiji droned on, not even caring if no one listened. "That is why children turn to vice, and adults to tribal politics… and even to false religions. They hunger for something to absolve them of their apathy. SO they could live for the illusion of a TRUE purpose without question." All because of the loss of meaning.

"Whatever old man…"

"Huhn…" Eiji smiled under his mask when he was sure, that as the rules decree – that no one could see. They have been saying that since 1965 – do not even try to fool yourself. "Whatever you say…"

…

In a slow pace, Clark – the boy, he walked up the stairs of THAT HOUSE on the 6th day. Not knowing not even caring about anything and anyone, his mind was enslaved with a cold void. Slowly and even surely two splices of time – where nostalgic flashbacks from Eiji's 1984 and in Clark's 1977 had become intermingled all at the same time.

Clark lifted his right foot up the carpeted staircase.

A humid heavy steam escaped the front of the bottom of the crease and floated in the air with every step he took toward that door.

Even slivers of memories of 1984 spliced themselves into our memory.

"…It's been so long and Saihyuu Kusanagi never had a visitor. Come come, I'll show you to him…"

The mere mention of that wretched NAME, it made Eiji's stomach curl – it made him want to take a shard of glass and stab it DEEP into his stomach and twist It back and forth for good measure. But he had to endure, Eiji clenched both fists – driving ten fingers into his palms, twisting them into curled barbed wires only to leave his hands into remnants of bloody pulps.

…

When did you lose meaning Billy?

The glass of that skyscraper window shattered – and she fell… all because of HIM! Hungry Wolves did not care.

…

Saishyuu Kusanagi killed the only woman I loved. After she was gone, HE had become my reason for being.

"Saishyuu will be happy to meet an old friend." The old Asian man smiled at the end of his journey. "It is good to see a friend come visit him." A wide toothed grin, a warm feeling. "He's over there…" the man pointed to THE HOUSE.

No…

"Ruuugaaaghh,…" Clark groaned in disgust, laced with a weak sense of apathy – he scratched the top of his head furiously. The beat of rushing water hit the ground filling his ears with the sound the running shower deafened the world with the pitter patter of chaotic static.

"King!" Clark shouted over the noise. "Hurry the fuck up, your Papa said…"

…

{No… NO!} The spaces in Eiji's mind faded into white.

…

Like a swirling stew, with different and distinct flavours mixed in a flavourful dish. 1993, 1984… and even 1977…

They all became distinct yet indiscriminate. The EXACT time interwoven together….

"KING! Can you hear me!?"

In 1984, Eiji was 31 years old. Now, he had fallen to his knees. NO.

In 1977 Clark was 13 years old – the world had CEASED to become rational.

I had lost all meaning then. That was the exact – distinct moment.

"Let us win this King of Fighters in two years, boy."

A peculiar smirk ran past Billy Kane's face, he was unsure what had just happened.

Let us win the KOF 95.

Clark put his hand on the doorknob.

…

At three instances, separate and distinct from each other; the world had chanced.

…

Restitution:

1. The restoration of something lost or stolen to its proper owner.

2. Recompense for injury or loss.

3. To restore what was once yesterday – to today.

…