The Colour Purple Chapter 120: the Second Children, 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]

{Did I not give you what you wanted?}

Footsteps, walking through the darkness, the sound reaching outwards to eternity as it echoed eerily, slowly approaching, that was every day.

{Had I not given you want you needed?}

This is between you and me, you know. "Thishh is whhahyyy I… Thisssshhhh is wh... why I [exist]. For [you]." IT said. "Nho ooone can, noh, no one can… enter here." Slowly ITS voice evolved from beastial to a more calm and civilized manner as the seconds passed.

Her friend mimicked her actions and posture, finally looking to its side and straight at King. Cocking its face, tilting it in sincere, open-minded confusion.

"I thought that, if I became STRONG, like Papa wanted…" King bit her lower lip to keep it from dislocating at the jaw because she feared it would fall to the floor if she did not stop. She convulsed so hard she began to hiccup and could hardly breathe. Clawing cross armed down her triceps, leaving bloody marks.

I remember it too. The panic, my extremities became cold and numb, the panic was so VIOLENT her entire body trembled and she felt faint. Though, do you remember… we held a fantasy in our minds while we hid in the dark that your heart would just STOP and you would just spontaneously DIE, so you did not have to entertain thoughts of killing yourself.

Why won't Papa be happy? WHY won't I just…

"Die." It completed her thought.

Hey. A sequence of meaningless events linked together by night and day – only to end with death. Was our childhood meaningless, then? And now, our suffering would be replaced with APATHY? Was it all, meaningless?

The Prince, leaned over while still keeping its knees close to its chest, and let its clawed fists touch the ground. "This is why I exist… but… but what if?" It tilted its face up, in fast forward and fast rewind – all the time frames convulsing, omitted from the animated video – static – erratic - spastic - while still nestled in between his legs in a demonicly contorted posture.

"There is MY Ultimate truth. Do we have to die together now, my King?"

…

Clark's thoughts were immediately interrupted when two strong arms wrapped themselves over his shoulders, suddenly taking him off balance and pulled him tight. The young boy's arms were still hanging limp by his sides and he could not understand what was going on. The Knight curled his arms around Clark and held him there.

Our lives are simply sequences of apathy and worthlessness, until the last moment until death comes to us. The release, there is nothing sweet, romantic or noble about it. But in between are bits of ULTIMATE truths.

…

"I am afraid. Of you." Clark whispered under his breath, wheezing.

King remained silent, his damp shirt and pajamas sticking closely onto his small body that had just walked out of a steamy shower. King simply sat next to the blonde haired boy, Clark. He tucked his legs in and pulled his knees into his chest with his arms wrapped over it.

ALL I WANTED. I JUST WANTED A NORMAL LIFE.

"King I… I've wasted my life." Clark bit down hard, but he could not stop his voice from cracking shamefully. You don't understand, I've wasted it ALL. "If only," Clark's throat tied into knots, his words could hardly come out coherently, "If only there was no war… if only…"

"IF…" King interrupted, his face was so cold and frigidly uncaring, rising up from the perch of her knees. IF. "What if I said to you, that fighting, could end WAR." Would you? "Would you…"

"Would you lay down your arms for me?" A wide triangled fanged tooth smile gleamed, but now the hideous pierrot smile was painted directly on King's face.

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

The END of La Bizarre Love Pentagon – part 34.

…

"I'm better off dead." King stared at the scars on her wrists then cradled her forehead in her hands.

Die if you want to.

"But what if, we're wrong?" The Prince asked.

…

The Seventh Day. December 25, 1977.

The boy weaved all ten fingers into a loose ball over his forehead as he hunched forward with his elbows on his knees. He took a deep breath in through his nose. Held it, then exhaled slowly through his mouth. He sat in a wooden chair at the far end of the impeccably kept dojo, too early in the morning, still cranky and fatigued from a night devoid of sleep. A guttural groan from the bottom of his stomach, the curling of his shoulders – the boy sat there moaning in a helpless rancid pain.

If I'm not alive, how can I be dead?

The sound only the two of them could hear, the crickle crack and pop of a hot pan filled with cooking oil.

"Hey. Clark!"

Clark relaxed his shoulders and looked up, "A… Pops."

"…p…Pops?" Heidern looked sidelong, awkwardly, towards Knight with both eyes.

Knight coughed, cleared his throat, and as he was about to make a retort, he looked back at his friend… he turned away, thought better of it and remained silent instead.

Heidern grinned and just let it be – he called out, "Merry Christmas boy."

"Sir…" Clark groggily put both hands on his knees, trying to stumble to a stand.

"It's okay." Heidern said, putting his open palm out. "At ease."

Clark wheezed, falling back into his seat exhausted. "Thank you sir…"

Knight fixed gazes with Heidern then looked back at Clark. He was about to say something, but held it back, instead just looked at the tired old boy who looked as if he had not slept in days.

"Well," Heidern broke the silence. "I trust my boy was satisfactory?" Heidern smiled.

"Yes." Knight flashed a look melancholic. A peculiar smile and frown, a grueling bitter scorn and snarling gnash all at once. Just like it had been decades ago. "Yes. He did well, my friend." Knight sighed.

"Thank you for not killing my boy, Knight." Heidern chuckled.

Knight responded with an equally hearty scoff punctuated with a silent, wheezing laugh. Knight closed his eyes melodramatically, straightening his posture before grinning in tune with his cheesy yet nostalgic expression, nodding repeatedly. "He did good… he…"

The space between Heidern's shoulders LOCKED into knots, just as a sledgehammer slammed into the back of his skull. DONN! Barbed razor wire curled around his heart – squeezing tight. The blood had nowhere to go but rise up his throat. Knight felt it too – a cold frigid sensation that slowly filled the spaces in his lungs with flowing concrete that hardened immediately as it filled his arteries.

A small body silently stood behind the two men, by the door of the dojo separated from the main house. With loose polyester jogging pants and a matching loose fitting white high neck tracksuit, King cleaved the entire room that Christmas morning.

"Oh, master King." Heidern greeted.

"King?" Knight sighed.

King looked through the two men in front of her who, to her, did not even exist. All she could SEE was that boy at the other side of the dojo sitting on the chair.

If you really want to END all war…

"King, Clark is…" Knight, sai…

"I am NOT going to lose to a FUCKING girl." Clark snarled.

Heidern turned his face to Clark, but, utterly stunned, then swiveled to Knight, who, was absolutely frozen and petrified. The world had become a large concrete block and had come down all at once to crush him neck down. And even if he desperately pleaded it so – no sound came out his mouth.

Then prove to me… how far…

Curling two fists into hard balls, so hard that her fingertips dug deep into her flesh without any concern to pain. {Ah… I see. There you are.} The shadows under her feet slowly came to life, a demonic miasma that ran up her ankles, up to her knees, flared into a backdrop of slowly emolliating black flame

A dark shadow, slowly giving itself form from a black mist into a fleshy shape of a small body stepped back and to the right side behind King. With slit eyes, dark pinpoint pupils in a sea of white. Clarkie…

Clark looked up slightly from his downcast gaze in a nonchalant response.

Like a mental illness if transformed into physical action, the Prince jolted his head up and down, his face side to side in fast forward and fast rewind. Convulsing – seizures. Frames removed from the animation. Rewind, then pause, then forward.

"A. Yes. You can see me Clarkie?" The pierrot faced small boy swung both arms wide in a makeshift cross, pumping its chest forward, then let his fists drift into relaxed positions by opposite sides of his thighs. The 1st CHILDREN cocked his head almost completely 90 degrees to the right; It tilted its face, in fast forward and fast rewind – all the time frames convulsing, omitted from the animated video – static – erratic - spastic at Clark perpendicularly on its dislocated neck. "DO you enjoy fighting, Clarkie?"

"Ahhh…" Clark grunted in the affirmative. Clark put both palms on his knees now. Finally. Maybe the world we hid in when we were sad, and lonely, had in fact, had enough room for two. Clark smiled wildly – because his world was at long last, finally going to END.

I SEE you [CLEARLY] NOW.

…

"What, if we were wrong, my friend?"

EVERY [QUESTION] MUST HAVE AN ANSWER. OR ELSE, [it] CANNOT EXIST.

…

"You can't kill me you know…?"

A dark shadow, slowly giving itself form from a black mist into a fleshy shape of a small body stepped back and to the right side behind King. With slit eyes dark pinpoint pupils in a sea of white. Clarkie… with a jagged, triangular fang toothed grin.

"Oh really?" Clark pushed up with both palms to a stand in equal response. Even devoid of sleep, spending the last 7 hours staring at a dark ceiling. The last bit of resentment, the last bit of regret, and the last bit of fear aside. Tell me… Clarity through pain. Tell me… boy. "Tell me, Prince." Clark asked and said. "Yes." Clark answered immediately.

How does an imaginary being REPRODUCE?

When faced with a tremendous trauma, some people devolve into a carnal being, an imaginary thing, invisible to the world. But when faced with a paradox… how can you make amends and resolve two CONFLICTING, ULTIMATE TRUTHS?

Do you believe YOUR way is RIGHT? What if, I say, IT is NOT?

How do we decide which one to choose?

The CHILDREN finally, after years and years living in the darkness, invisible to everyone, finally a sense of rapture enveloped its body glowing brightly in waiting orgasm.

A bullet shot from one end of the room to the other, screeching into slow motion just before finally hitting its target.

Clark stood up from the wooden chair, from the far end of the large [room]. "Yes I can."

…

YES.

I can see you… Now.

..and… so, let us kill each other, now.

Chapter 120: the Second Children.

…

HHHHGGggghheeghhyyyy….. finally IT spoke with a high pitched gurgling voice from the sewage ridden gutter. Now IT hunched wildly BACKWARDS from its dislocated waist.

…

I know this feeling.

Twenty years had passed between us; it was ten years since you left me.

…and now, this familiar sensation that I thought I had already long forgotten, has come to visit me again. Hello darkness… my old friend.

It had only been barely an hour since King laid her head down on her pillow. Clothed in a white long sleeve shirt half buttoned, her body flailed lightly back and forth. The night was hot earlier, so she cracked her window and slept on top of her white cotton sheets. The short, sudden spasms of her body, and the gnashing of her teeth reflected the nightmare that had come to visit her this early morning just half way through 3 A.M.

1993.

A ripple erupted within her white sheets, a cartoon gopher the shape of an arm and a hand torpedoed under the cloth, leaving a bloated tunnel of upheaved cloth, then it wrapped its four fingers over her left bicep.

Her mind wanted to scream "Who are you?" but instead her mumbled voice said "You… What are you…" while still locked fast asleep.

Jyuu nen. It's been 10 years.

I thought you had left me… No.

Silence, like a cancer, grows…

This unmistakable… this reprehensible, evil presence that made King's spine twist tightly and her abdomen constrict. Unbeknownst to king and anyone else but the monsters who watched in her dark room as she slept, King begun to spasm when her body understood – and reacted violently to the THING that sat with its legs curled in fetal position at the far corner of her pitch black room. The storm had suddenly calmed to a stop, and the eerie, supernatural silence that filled the world deafened all with its shrieking scream of voicelessness.

No, there is. There is ANOTHER one.

The red font digits on her LCD clock clicked from 3:41 to 3:42 A.M. Suddenly the room was filled with white light. In tow, the savage roar of thunder rocked her sleeping body.

Like a cancer, it grows.

This reprehensible, vicious miasma she felt was UNMISTAKABLE, except, it was EVEN MORE evil – even MORE despicable and RELENTLESSLY more savage than THAT THING that kept me warm during cold nights. An ANGRY spirit, a VIOLENT spirit, and an even more VENGEFUL, MERCILESS DETERMINED WILL.

"Tell me, do you know? How does an imaginary being reproduce?"

"What are you doing here?" King jolted up in a groggy, Novocain laced voice, but her body was only half awake, her mind was functional but her body was lethargic and bloated – it did not respond to her commands. "What are you doing here?!" Trapped in a dream state her mind was lucid yet her body was still very much asleep, the synapses of her brain would not connect with her body.

King lifted her left arm up, but at 15 degrees it stopped, her muscles creaking and gave in to weakening atrophy. She could not even put her right hand on her face to help wake herself before both appendages dropped into her mattress once again as if pulled back by rusty chains.

One by one. A second hand gripped her right forearm and pulled it down and tight into her bed. In La Bijoux. The Jewels.

I thought that you had left me, a decade ago. When I thought I was freed!? From SADNESS! From MADNESS!

An unknown force, a 200 pound weight placed itself over King's chest and pushed her down helplessly back. The vicious intruder put one arm over her face then the other over left shoulder, trapping her, pinning her helpless body down. King's eyelids blared open in absolute fright at the mortifying situation that unfolded. But her eyes were cloudy and her irises were still completely dead and black. Unable to move, a slave to a world between sleep and wake.

"Insanity. This is my gift to you." Its stale breath smelled of rotting meat.

Her body, conditioned, and perfected, pumped up, her pelvis twisted violently to throw her enemy aside, but it was indeed futile for just half way through her sudden thrust, her left calf had stopped, cocked a strange way and folded within itself when it atrophied to a stop.

Another one. Why here? Why now?!

HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN? Forgotten, your promise? We will defeat the world!

…and if it dares RESIST, then we would DESTROY IT!

Hello darkness, my old friend… I've come to talk with you again…

A young teenage boy's lips placed themselves next to the ear of its petrified victim – his face rising up from under the sheets. "Did you miss me, King-chan?" The next instant two, four, eight, then nineteen arms sprouted up from her white sheets like plants freeing themselves from the Earth. Those fingers infinitum clawed her biceps, her thighs, shins, neck then finally the top of her forehead, pulling her deep back into the pillow she slept on.

"Didn't I tell you, King-chan?" The ghost continued to whisper, both his arms around her neck and behind the back of her head. "That I will always be here. Here. When you need me the most." Just as you face the most bitter of despairs. I will come to you, and SAVE you. That monster hugged her tenderly, pressing his cheek against King's.

LIKE STARDUST. I WILL FIGHT THE ENTIRE WORLD WITH YOU.

…

An imaginary being is infallible, and absolute. But, sometimes, very seldom but there is a slight chance, could an omnipotent being be wrong, in the ever changing rules of the world? Or is omnipotence and arrogance sometimes confused with one another? During these times, a celestial being has only once recourse – to resolve these two conflicting TRUTHS that spawn cognitive dissonance. The same rules apply, in order to prove one concept it RIGHT, then it must prove the other theory WRONG. Therefore IT must create that conflict from whole cloth and shear it into two.

[I have to kill myself to be free.]

NO.

[You have to kill EVERYONE ELSE!] For there to be peace.

…

[NOW.]

Now, consider for a moment, if you may. What. What would be the expression that plasters itself on your face. IF. For the first time in your life, you witnessed a man, on his own, WALK on water?

The tension on your face – imagine for a little while, the space in between your eyebrows curl and furrow as an invisible nail drove itself into the area above the bridge of your nose. Then, as you felt every blow of that hammer drive the point of that spike deeper and DEEPER into your brain… Tighter and tighter the knots, the swirling, bitter vortex that collected in the back of your skull only to drip like viscous poison to the bottom of your stomach.

Your diaphragm would harden and atrophy. The pain reflecting itself on your curling frown just under your nostrils that were now expanding, at the same time you gnashed your molars together, wanting to crush it. A fire from the back of your neck, down your spine – an electric shock to the carnal place, a dark place at the small of your back.

Then, like a flower blossoming, it erupted a sour, bitter, rancid taste. Seething from the spaces between your teeth. And as best you tried, you could hardly keep the poison from creeping past the edges of your lips and down your chin to the ground.

"You could not answer my question, so…"

[EVERY]

question MUST have an answer. Or else. It cannot exist.

…I made an answer present itself.. to US.

…

Now, imagine back to your face, the face of bewilderment, only to devolve into horror!

That was the look on King's face. The girl repeatedly told herself this was indeed impossible, but as clear as day the visions that screeched across her said otherwise. Her mouth agape in disbelief, a slight pang of reassurance was replaced immediately with utter and unquestionable HORROR.

What if, you were presented with a question, then an answer.

[Must I have to kill myself to be free?]

…

The sound only the two of them could hear, the crickle crack and pop of a hot pan filled with cooking oil. One arm, as if giving birth to ITSELF, ripped up, unearthing itself from the vagina of the ground, from a black hole as thorny sinews clung tightly around its forearm. Then a second arm appeared from that hole, like disjointed wings, arms and elbows folding the wrong way, IT pulled itself up, all the while popping and cracking shards of ash floated up with the sound of crackling cooking oil.

Giving BIRTH to itself, a round head of another small boy ripped out from the abyss. Its eyes sewn shut with dark thread. A prehistoric beast, once hunched over then slowly evolving to a stand. A steamy fog seething through the spaced of its lips sewn tightly shut. The monster's eyes were shut tightly with dark threads, but its gnashing grin couldn't be contained when its mouth sneered open, pulling at the tightly sewn threads – stretching its fleshy lips that spaced itself into a smile, just as it stood upright proudly to face its accuser.

HHHHGGggghheeghhyyyy….. finally IT spoke with a high pitched gurgling voice from the sewage ridden gutter. Now IT hunched wildly BACKWARDS from its dislocated waist wobbling back and forth – a pendulum connected with a single thin steel thread.

…a life filled and determined to follow a SINGLE CAUSE. There may come a moment when an ultimate TRUTH is questioned. And, during this time,

I thought I was RIGHT. If I can prove everyone else WRONG… then…

And, during this time, when insanity riddles a mind. There is only one way an imaginary being can resolve this paradox.

Tell me, do you truly believe in your crusade? If so – JUST how FAR are you willing to take it? Just how IMPORTANT is this little dream of yours to you? Are you willing to FIGHT someone who is going to combat you to the very end?

THERE…

Eyes sewn tightly shut, and its mouth bleeding as it valiantly smiles. The vicious Frankenstein face copied itself onto Clark's – a triangular smile splayed wide despite it being sewn together with bloody cats cradle thread.

There is, a SECOND CHILDREN.