The Colour Purple Chapter 137: the Fighting, 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]

One day, decades and decades past [now]… they may call us… EVIL [PEOPLE].

In 1972 – in the unrecognized country of Rhodesia.

"This war isn't going to stop, boy." Marcus lectured sternly, "But, war is good for business." He broke out from his lecture and smiled. "The ONLY way this fighting is going to end, is if someone shows up, someone stronger than EVERYONE else…"

Someone SO MONSTROUSLY STRONG, no one will want to fight anymore.

"Uh…" Clark grumbled silently. "Just like… 1968." Phrases with large words a small 8 year old boy did not completely understand yet, but a concept that can be easily grasped lingered in his mind - A nuclear deterrent. Then, unilateral disarmament. The boy gripped down and wringed the wooden furniture of the rifle in his hands like a towel.

"HAGH!" The dark skinned mercenary laughed loudly. "Nah, nah boy." He paced lazily in circles. "There's a monster, trapped in the other side of darkness. If he appears, like a GOD of WAR. Then, immediately, people will simply stop fighting. Because, there will no longer be any REASON to fight."

When a KING appears, everyone will IMMEDIATELY lay down their arms before HIM.

"Ohhh? You're not as dumb as you look."

One then two, steps from leather boots rustled, rudely imposing into their private conversation. A stranger's voice stepped into their camp unannounced. Unfamiliar footsteps making itself known - plowing the soil and sand. "That's interesting," he said with a slight German accent. Grinning with a wide smile. "After all this time, I believed," he bobbed his head up and down, taking in the bit of knowledge he recently absorbed. "I truly believed that the only solution, was mutually assured DESTRUCTION… but…"

But I think I like your answer better, nigger.

Heidern threw a child's body between Clark and Marcus – and that young soldier fell with a hard lifeless thud into the ground.

Without thinking, as he was viciously trained, Clark swung his AK-47 rifle straight at the enemy's center of mass, with only so much mass an 8 year old boy can muster, Clark hunched his entire weight forward, as he was trained, up to the point that he was about to fall over, letting loose a controlled burst of 5 rounds at his target. Barely recovering from the onslaught, he swang his barrel to the left side, trying valiantly to keep up with the unbelievably quick movement of erratic shadows, so fast, disjointed pictures from a skipping mangled videotape, that there was not enough time for his eyes to refocus, and Clark had to rely mainly on instinct.

"A!" Clark grunted in anger and fright. But.

Heidern was already behind Clark, and in front of Marcus, Clark's commander, Marcus's thigh had been butterflied open like a raw piece of chicken breast. By some magical technique, Heidern's hand was stretched out erect, five fingers parallel to each other mimicking a Sieg Heil salute. The bright sun in the background.

Just before a rain of blood showered all of them with a clear realization.

Unknowingly, at first it was fear, but as the viscous crimson slowly coated their hair and sheeted down their faces, they realized, this, thing, was not the sensation an animal feels, when faced with a predator.

This was the feeling…

"YOU FUCKING…" Marcus screeched as he desperately pulled out his Tokarev pistol and pointed it upwards.

Not bad. Not bad at ALL!

"Verdammt schwarzie!" Heidern cussed, pulling both arms back like a deadly spider, twisting his joints to limits a human was not designed, with the entirety of his devilish wingspan.

…the feeling you feel, when you come face to face…

The angel of death – her dark wings stretching outwards, so wide it blocked out the rays of the sun until all that was left, was the darkness.

GO! 8 fingers, four from each hand stabbed knuckles deep under Marcus arms, TO! weaving precisely through the spaces between his ribs. The bloody sludge tickled the valleys in between Heidern's fingers… GO! TO! HELL!

WHHHPHFISSHHHHH! The sound so hard to hear, mixing wails of pain and a dark devilish reptilian scream. A punctured balloon, when the pressure in Marcus' body met equilibrium with the outside world. WHGHEEEEEEREIIII! The sound that made you cover your ears until finally your brain shut itself off in shock.

…

"Because, there will be no REASON to fight."

…with a SUPERIOR BEING.

The END of La Bizarre Love Pentagon – part 51.

"Then show me… SHOW me – and perhaps the CHILDREN can give you purpose."

…

"AAA…aaa… aghhhaagh…" Clark whimpered to himself, the pace of his soft voice began to speed up and become more desperate. "Aaaaghhkkghh." Clark tucked his forehead into his palms and began to want to tear his hear from his head. Desperation. Dread. Confusion. Agony. All were precursors to the grip of DENIAL that overcame him.

WHY?

December 26, 1977. The sixth day.

Why?!

With such fervour, Clark wanted to drive all ten fingers into his skull. Do you remember how you felt the first time your mother slapped you in the face? Do you remember when your dog died as a child? Do you remember when you parted was with childhood sweetheart that snowy evening? Do you remember how you felt when you first, slowly understood the permanent concept of death, and how no one will remember you?

Those things – those mortal chains.

"GHHHHGHKaagh! RAAAGHHH!" Clark wanted to vomit all his internal organs out, pleaded begged so deeply – so he could DIE. He banged his head backwards and forwards into an imaginary wall.

WHY! HOW?

All those feelings, imagine all those feelings – in a cold snowy night when you were left alone. Wadded up in a tight dense ball – then increase it a hundred fold all in an instant. That.

That was what this 13 year old boy felt just fractions of a second from him gouging his eyes with his fingers just so – the pain would stop. All alone. The loneliness of agony.

What once was seen. Can never be unseen.

On the second floor of that HOUSE. Clark sat on the ground, hunched back on the wall. Wham. WHAM. WHAM! Repeatedly, the boy slammed the back of his head on the wall behind him – up until – the numbing euphoria momentarily suspended his cognitive ability into a white wash.

"Now that you know the truth."

The sequence of time was jumbled chaotically.

Clark's hands slid down the front of his face slowly, and he looked upwards to a silhouette illuminated by the lights above.

And a strange pop music song from the 1980s, taken outside of time filled their ears. They took notice. They were confused.

King stood over Clark, her damp shirt and pajamas sticking closely onto her small body that had just walked out of a steamy shower

"Now, what will you do? How will this change you?"

With feelings of total defeat, the boy Clark leaned back and rested the back of his skull into the wall behind him and let out a weak sigh.

Both hands in between his legs, streams of tears streaked down his face, beyond shame he could no longer control his breathing – he had now begun to hyperventilate and hiccup uncontrollably from crying.

How could I lose… to THIS?!

King simply sat next to the blonde haired boy, Clark. She tucked her legs in and pulled his knees into her chest with her arms wrapped over them.

Was EVERYTHING I lived for, FIGHTING SO HARD. Was it… useless?

After all I've suffered. Eventhough I TRIED so HARD.

HOW, could I LOSE?

Silence. Cutting a piece out of time. Between two Children.

"You…" King said.

A vortex sucked in all the sound and sucked in ALL the light from all around when she said those words.

"You…" King said. "You simply, were not strong enough."

A beaming white smile from across the room, amidst the darkness – the triangular fang toothed smile from a Cheshire cat reflected in the strange darkness.

…

"EACH CHILDREN HAS ONLY ONE [PURPOSE]."

King, she tucked her legs in and pulled her knees into her chest with his arms wrapped over it. "What if I told you, I could END all our SUFFERING?" Would you – lay down your arms for me? King turned to Clark longingly, her expression cold and bland, but the tone of her voice was so sure, as if she had thought of these sequence of words for a hundred years.

"What. How?"

"Clark." King gazed into the boy's eyes intently, firmly, refusing to let go, until the last moment when she had begu…

YOU KNOW, AND I KNOW, THAT WE ARE MEANINGLESS. WILL ANYONE BE SAD IF WE DIED? IF WE DID… THEN, WE WON'T HAVE TO FIGHT ANYMORE.

WITHOUT A HIGHER PURPOSE. It's meaningless to live. As much as you deny, CERTAINLY, every child at least once had thought of this. Don't you grow tired of this… None of this will ever matter anymore, "it won't matter to anyone."

The camera of the world, once again, our familiar friend, zoomed out then reversing its course, dove down deep into Clark, his body, his face, then both his eyes that were now pinpoint specks swimming within white pools. In fright, and in agony, then in desperation.

December 24, 1977.

Life has no purpose. Life has no meaning. Especially to people like us. Especially to YOU. "I proved this to you today." She said.

Clark silence was just and enough affirmation.

King stood up and turned to look down at Clark with an indifferent look on her face.

Breathing out a long sigh, Clark gripped both his knees, realizing that she was indeed correct. On the ground, in between King and Clark was a bloodied, splayed open pair of scissors. I am TIRED of this GAME, "and it's irrelevant to me what YOU decide."

How many lives have I taken, and in the end, it was all meaningless. THIS must be what THEY felt, just before IT.

…

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.

…

December 25, 1977.

NO.

From across the hall, Clark stood momentarily frozen – his left fist outstretched, while his right remained tucked firmly by his hip. His knuckles curling, the picture perfect moment moved from his frozen left array of knuckles – down his forearm, up his bicep – over his shoulder, his neck, his GRIN then to those same eyes that gazed outwards longingly. Clark Steel gnashed his teeth hard, interlocking into each other.

Clark's left fist floated up high SPANNING THROUGH TIME.

Don't you realize it by now? THIS IS WHAT DESTINY FEARS THE MOST.

The greatest wish a human desires is not to live FOREVER. Instead, what every boy DESIRES the most out of all the things in the entire world… IS… the ability, to TURN BACK TIME

Because.

It will make THIS, the concept imposed by the chains of REGRET powerless. In so doing. It will render the fear of death TRULY irrelevant.

NO. YOU ARE WRONG!

…

December 24, 1977.

YOU ARE WRONG.

King didn't completely understand why a small boy leapt up next to her with its clawed hand cocked back, its attack poised to tear her throat at the next instant. The monster's eyes and mouth were sewn shut with thick thread.

If the 1st Children has a purpose, then the 2nd must have one too. "You have…?"

The second Children's mouth snarled open despite the tight seams pulling taught and making the sewing machine holes in its lips bleed from the cat's cradle tension. The Second made itself appear – launching its invisible body into the air towards King whose shoulders hunched down lethargically.

Absolutely and completely devoid of feeling, King let both her hands fall to the side, not even considering the implication of ANOTHER imaginary being revealing itself to her and simply wondered, if, this time – this strange flash of insanity would just end her suffering.

THIS IS ALL MEANINGLESS ISN'T IT?

With a sudden impact, a left hand jabbed with a vice grip into the Second's face, its fingers digging in between the threads, in between the spaces of the Second's mouth and eyes. The First thrust its thumb deep into the Second's throat. As he always did, for 13 long years, time after time, the First Children leapt up, making itself real, and made its presence known. Its left hand on the Second's face in defiance, and with its right hand held the aggressor's left claw at bay. Two FORCES meeting each other at the precipice of two ultimate truths.

The First Children's chainsaw smile beamed wide - the triangular teeth spanned a grin that filled its entire face. The First Children turned to Clark, in a slight, maybe even warm approval, then immediately back at its enemy, bashing the Second's head into the wall – then - both of their imaginary bodies disappeared into a black smoky mist.

How does an imaginary being reproduce? Why does it do so? Why do humans procreate? Unable to fulfill its destiny in the past life, it is unable to withstand the desire to selfishly thrust this responsibility to something else. Then so, a Second Children has meaning.

Mayhaps…

All of it happened in a flash, and with all of its complexity, hard to parse logically. King looked down at Clark, taking a deep breath and holding it when the boy, Clark tilted his head up. Half disappointed, half frustrated and all of it, completely enraged in anger.

Chapter 137: the Fighting

This was the exact time – IT was born.

Breathing in the cool air through the spaces in between her teeth, King sat up, supported with both hands on teetering aluminum, chairs. I've never been hit this HARD before.

King's mind was jumbled in disarray from Clark's hard punch that made itself known to her and momentarily dislocated her brain from her consciousness.

Haagh,… Agh… King's mouth curled in crooked shapes, and behind her lips were the wailing and gnashing of teeth. The girl simply, juggling a confusing miasma of feelings could not understand, why she was so sad, sobbing to herself, YET… So SO ANGRY… at the same time. I just CANNOT understand what's going on!?

I simply cannot understand why I HATE YOU so much! I HATE you so very much.

"Hagh.. Hagghhh…" She can't tell the difference anyways. Clark let his hands float down slowly by his sides. Breathing deep, in and out. In a final understanding, and in a final peace…

Clark sucked a deep breath of air though his nose then exhaled out his mouth. {I was stupid.} "I was stupid." He said. But, I think I understand it now, talking out loud.

Clark looked at the ugly girl, with short buzzcut hair – a girl so horrendous to see, and that, no one loved. But, just at this moment, he thought he understood it.

King tilted her head up and looked up to Clark.

"I think I understand. …and I see…" Clark said. The deeper meaning of it all.

I have fallen in love with it.

As much as he wanted to look away, the boy forced himself to stay still and trap himself at that one sincere momentary time when the WAR had stopped – when King reflected the smile on his face with her own. Both of them, slightly, CONFUSED as to what was happening.

I will never allow these sequences of events to end. I have fallen in love with your FIGHTING. Clark smiled meekly wishing no one could see it. BECAUSE, [IT] is the most BEAUTIFUL THING in the entire world.

IT is the most BEAUTIFUL thing in the ENTIRE WORLD.