The Colour Purple Chapter 138: the Eternal 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, it's really awkward. The time between Christmas and New Years. I often wonder what the proper greeting is. Is it Merry Christmas – or is it Happy New Year? Back in 1984, I could never even predict the preposterous things that would happen today. If you told me that the concept of a consolation prize would one day become the norm, so much so that the term ITSELF would be abolished as taken for granted – I would have laughed at you.

I would have laughed at your idiocy without a second thought! And I would have commanded you to return to the dark hole from where you once'st came.

In 1977, after ALL that SHE and I had gone though. I would have laughed at your face.

…

{I know.}

…

1977. New England. Christmas day. (127) 7:15 PM

"Time to go, Clark." Heidern said flatly as he walked away back to the truck, leaving his dog soldier a few more moments to say his goodbyes. But, instead of sadness, there was something else painted on the young Boy's, Clark's face. His forehead was completely wrapped in white bandages – bandages that spilled outwards and even covered his one eye. Battered and destroyed, both arms were now flaccid and broken. Even with one arm in a cast, Clark did not even pay heed to it all, and he just smiled. With his other good arm he scratched his forehead timidly, beaming a wide grin that brought a bright happiness to the world.

Knight's face bubbled up with the building pressure as he was confused as to what he was feeling. Puckering his lips, "I'm sorry, for, hurting you… son."

"Hey." Clark said again now laughing. His shoulders slumped down with a sigh. "If given the chance…" HE said. "I have no regrets. I'll come back. Again and again. I will FIGHT your daughter."

The Knight's wife smiled with a hint of melancholy. Her deep dimples beamed brightly but her downcast eyebrows somehow betrayed her. She lovingly wrapped her arm around her husband's bicep and squeezed his forearm with her other hand, as if to hold back her body's natural response to a situation that overwhelmed her self control. The following, ongoing silence that followed only served to make it all even more uncomfortable.

"Ne!" She exclaimed. "Shashin wo torimasyou yo."

"Excuse me?" Heidern walked up behind the Knight.

"Let's take a photo together, Heidern." Knight offered. His sideways stoic look begun to curl up slightly.

"Dear, how do you do this so it takes the photo by itself? I want everyone to be in it." She said helplessly and growing more frustrated in her meek mannered way.

"I... I don't know."

Jumping down the truck, quite visibly annoyed, Ralf took the camera from her hand and took a few strides back. "Okay okay, I'll just take it - let's get on with it. It's a long drive back."

"Ralf," Knight was about to say.

"It's okay let the boy do it." Heidern said, putting his hand over his friend's shoulder.

"Thank you Mister Ralf." Knight's wife said, pulling her face closer, lovingly to her husband's arm. "Come on King-chan. Hurry, it's getting dark."

"King!" Knight commanded forcefully. His voice pulled King in and she had no choice but to walk back to the group apprehensively.

…

Even after all that had happened these last 7 days. Eventhough he had been so close to death multiple times, so much so that the adrenaline had completely shocked his body, rendering Clark absolutely Novacained and only now was the boy's circulatory system and nervous system fully catching up. As it slowly came to equilibrium, the feeling of pain and the realization of the amount of damage his body had succumbed to become frightfully clear.

Clark did not let it show, but as his breathing slowed, his denial faded away into a grim and dire acceptance. In a cast, he curled his hand into a hard, painful fist.

{There's not much time left…} All of this – was a cheap currency.

…

"Was I selfish?" He whispered to himself. Certainly you had every right to kill yourself, if that was what you wanted to do. If freedom from suffering was indeed the TRUTH [your] Children believed in, yet instinctively, in a paradox, tried so hard to prevent. Was I correct if I wanted to take that right away from you?

{I just can't let someone like you die.} Someone so gifted, such a thing could only come about maybe once in a hundred thousand lifetimes.

There are actually some human beings, often ironically said to be afflicted with a mental sociological condition, who are unable to tell a lie. But perhaps in the same selfish way these who suffer from 'illness' are indeed the most PURE.

The Children, imaginary beings cannot experience 'DOUBT'. A product of humanly narrow-minded convictions - the Children are unable to harbor such thoughts. But, when a conflicting truth crosses their mind, even for an instant, AS A NATURAL DEFENSE MECHANISM - they subdivide, reproduce, and create another. Schizophrenia. Multiple personality disorder.

That is the how and why the Second exists. "Was I wrong?" Clark asked. I realize that there are two ways for me to CHAIN you to this world. One, was to make you realize, and understand, a fate WORSE than death; and two…

…was to sacrifice my body.

…

"You were not wrong." The small, awkward, girl's voice replied; it was so slight, so weak, and so timid – it came preposterously contrary to her strong body and fiery conviction. Even after all that, SHE refused to say 'You were right.'

Awoken from his trance, Clark stared down at King. Her mouth was crooked, lips puckered, hiding no doubt savagely grinding her teeth into small nubs underneath. Yet amidst all that, was a strange veil, and ambivalent expression, caught between the crossroads of sadness and anger.

Clark's head throbbed in pain, 7 days of pain came rushing back to him as if the painkillers ebbed away just this instant. There was little time left. Clark clawed his forehead with his good hand, desperately digging into the seams of the bandages that covered his head and one eye. Pulling back and side to side he frustratingly untangled the web of fabric that covered him all over.

Even at the Knight's wife's opposition, Knight's arm held her back silently.

A spiral ribbon of bandages twirled and collected in between his feet, finally exposing both eyes to King.

King looked back up at him. What reflected back on his eyes was her own face – and in that instant…

I HAD BUILT A WALL.

Clark breathed out a slow calm breath, and in that precipice between denial and acceptance, he came to a resolution with what had been locked inside him for so long. I had built a wall, a hard and tall wall; and as time went on, I grew comfortable living on the other side of that wall.

…and in that instant, all emotion, all colour had been completely flushed out from King's body. A liberating feeling – it was not indifference, it was not ambivalence, and it was not even the white washing of maddening rage. It was simply, and absolutely, nothing.

You crossed that wall, with me. And now, TRAPPED ALONGSIDE EACH OTHER HERE, we have to choose, if we are to remain here together, or, if we should destroy that wall. …and make an enemy of the entire world.

Clark looked down at King, an in response, King stared back sternly at Clark.

The lights flickered, white and black, until… this was the last thing I saw.

The END of La Bizarre Love Pentagon – part 52.

…

"Okay okay! Let's get this over with you squares!" Ralf screeched with his annoyingly raspy voice, hoisting the camera in front of his face.

Knight's wife pulled on her husband's arm and nestled her face on his shoulders lovingly. Knight, in response, put his hand over hers. Heidern, typically uncharacteristically of him, put his hand over his friend's shoulder, already posing for the picture.

"Okay you jagoffs. You ready?" Ralf jeered. "I don't have all night."

"You need to kick his ass, old friend." Knight whispered from the edge of his mouth.

"I will." Heidern mumbled through his smile. "Old friend."

King ran her hand over her face and dug her fingertips into the inner creases of her eyes. She took a deep breath and replaced her expression with a stoic look.

Ugh. Clark swiveled his head back and forth until finally settling onto the short wooden table next to him. With his one good hand he lifted up a pair of shades that laid in a center of an array of empty glass beer bottles. He perched them over his eyes and looked forward.

"Say CHEESE!" Ralf said.

…

FLASH.

…

I HATE the FIGHTING SO MUCH.

…and in that instant, all emotion had been completely flushed out from King's body. A liberating feeling – it was not indifference, it was not ambivalence, and it was not even the white washing of maddening rage. It was simply nothing.

But, nature abhors a vacuum – into that emptiness, into that hole in her heart came flooding in a deluge, a whirlwind, a power so strong it effortlessly lifted up the roots that had anchored themselves so deep into the petrified soil for so many years. The burning emolliating sensation filled her chest and with mounting pressure, King bit down hard with her teeth, clawed both hands into fists but it was not enough – and after all this time, after all of this, that one thing the :y8irl had tried so valiantly to protect for so long had slowly cracked then shattered. That petrified heart. King gnashed her teeth so hard the edges made a grating sound carnally unbearable to hear. The cracking of that concrete was so tremendously, unbearably painful.

And neither of them could look away because perhaps if it was all so confusing, or perhaps it was because this deep cathartic [feeling] was also simply, very easy to understand. Then, the emotions came flooding in to devour everyone who stood in its way.

I HATE YOU! I hate you so much…

{I know.} Clark replied silently. With slight streams of tears down Clark's cheeks, he shifted his body so Knight would not see. It had become a bit heard to breathe now. Clark cracked a slight smile and like a prisoner's last meal he took in every bit of King's face. With his one good hand, as if reaching towards a viper, once apprehensively, but now absolutely unafraid - as ridiculous as it was, Clark put his one good hand on King's cheek and ran four fingers across her short hair. Her ugly hair, the scowl of her mouth now so helpless to the emotions that had drowned them both, every crease, the shape of her nose, cheeks, and her eyes that refused to give in. By all means and measures, indeed an UGLY girl. All with careful and loving detail, as if it was indeed the end of the world. {I WILL BIND YOU HERE, with CHAINS… because… I…}

[ONLY you AND i EXIST HERE. NOW.]

The lights began to flash black and white, on and off, it felt like an iron spike jabbed itself repeatedly into the upper backside of his skull. THERE ARE ONLY TWO WAYS TO CHAIN YOU [HERE]. Because, I can't ever repay you for setting me FREE from that PRISON.

It is so wonderful that it is likely that only humans can experience this profound feeling.

Clark opened both eyes again, and this time, with a defeated sigh, gazed far outwards.

Mouth agape, King had been underwater for 13 years, holding in her breath and now the uncontrollable emotion gushed out her mouth and her eyes, in the final realization, she shut her eyes, bit down hard on her lips and looked down. Wailing silently. Hiding in the darkness.

Clark only sighed weakly, an open mouthed, weak, crooked sneer, looking outwards to the horizon – thinking – how it was unfair. So FUCKING UNREASONABLE. That a cruel God would not even grant him the luxury of seeing the tears of the [GREATEST] woman in the entire world.

…and two, in order to prevent God from taking YOU, was to SACRIFICE my body.

…

A moment trapped in time. Just like our conversations all alone in the darkness, behind that wall where only the two of us held a luxury to. The lower corner of the picture was dated December 25, 1977, because pictures back then were typically annotated that way. At the center Knight and his wife curled arms, on the left, Heidern stood proudly next to his friend, two of them who withstood the test of time, and rendered irrelevant the irony of the world. In front of all of them was King, and even when their elders smiled a jellybean plastic smile, her face seemed like it was taken from a listless 1920s photograph. Next to King, shoulder to shoulder Clark stood straight, one arm in a cast, his face hidden behind deep black sunglasses.

…

What would happen if.

"We destroyed EVERYONE!? King?" The (fsirt) second CHILDREN wondered out loud? (121) What if I can BREAK you? Could the possibility of that CONCEPT frighten you?

Chapter 138: the Eternal Darkness

December 25th.

The aluminum folding chair wobbled on the ground. With its legs beaten and battered, each one now at asymmetrical lengths; The metal chattered on the ground. King pulled herself up, gazing forward to commit to mind the exact trajectory to her intended target. The breath escaping the spaces in between her teeth seethed in anger.

In 1977.

In one freeze frame, King sat up and stared forward with a hard intensity at her target. Steadying herself with both arms on the backrest of two disfigured chairs, Clark was sure, he was sure that something, something was going to happen. SO much so that the boy refused to turn away, Clark desperately forced himself not to blink, because if he let his consciousness lapse for even a moment he would…

A soft, singular DING sound of a dinner bell filled his ears. Then, concentric circles spanned outwards from the center of the dark pool.

The next freeze frame, when her picture was instantaneously cut out from a magazine. King had disappeared, leaving the chairs rattling slightly in its wake.

Clark lifted his hand up over his left temple on instinct. Over his left shoulder the video camera strafed horizontally, recorded every single frame but could not entirely capture it, in that distinct moment.

7:49:16 AM.

King had disappeared once again. BUT this time, it was DIFFERENT.

From a SITTING POSITION? "You FUCKING…" Clark leaned to the left side, so sure that he…

The sound of a right foot hit the ground, splashing into the shallow black water.

A RIGHT foot? Wait, wait a moment. This distinct sensation, it was somehow different, and the thought confused Clark for an instant, only for him to unconsciously realize another of her secrets. IT was something he had ignored all this time but…

WHAT DID YO...? D…? O?

With her left hand as a swinging counterbalance, a hard, high left kick DROVE itself like an ax into Clark's right temple. How can this…? 90 pounds, even 100 pounds maximum he asked himself… In an instantaneous moment a left kick drove itself like a .44 magnum bullet into Clark's temple – so quick he was not even able to react – and, bit by bit – the boy felt the bone in his skull flex then crack, a negative x-ray snapshot - sharp fissures expanding outwards then the jagged points stabbing inwards into Clark's brain.

"…even after all I've DONE to you." King's voice cracked, holding back tears valiantly as best she could. WHY!?

…yet somehow, this time, it was different.

King's face, that was once lethargic and bare, was not at all indifferent… because apathy was replaced, for some perplexing reason, with something else.

In truth, humans are only built with two hands, and a pair of feet. So, just how far can a normal human take these limited sequences of attacks?

…and then, a wild explosion. 1, 2, 1, 4, 3, 4, 2, 4, 1, 2, 4, 3. All at once twelve hits, a mixture of punches and kicks rendered Clark's brain into a pile of mush. Absolutely unbelievable, the split times between King's punches and kicks were absolutely identical, not much more difficult than how anyone would tap their finger on a wooden table as fast as possible. It didn't seem to matter if they were coming from opposing sides or from the same hemisphere. Her kicks were just as fast as her punches – and – it seemed like they all impacted at the same time – like a machine gun.

Clark SLAMMED, twisted backwards and to the left side, his entire body flattening into the wall behind him with the same force as if a giant had slapped him aside like the insect he was. Succinctly speaking, this was different. This time it was very different.

Clark felt as if he was hit full force by runaway truck. Your outer darkness, that trick you do… The [sequence of nine]. Isn't it just a vision trick? By removing the middle part of an action from the sequence of pictures, you are able to attack freely, making it impossible to predict, impossible to defend? But this time, it was DIFFERENT.

Clark's vision began to flicker uncontrollably, and it wasn't some sort of magical sleight of hand – quite simply – it had, had enough, the boy's body had begun to rebel, at the full impact of that kick and that barrage. Clark's body had begun to fail. Blood streamed down both nostrils. The world was flashing off and on, making it hard to see. Rendered inebriated from the massive attack, Clark's knees wobbled and now felt soft and weak. He turned and put both palms on the wall, somehow believing he could steady himself – but despite all his best efforts, his cheek dragged on the wall as he crumpled into a cold mess. A small trail of blood was all that was left.

It's DIFFERENT, like a mathematical clue. King traversed a DISTANCE almost INSTANTANEOUSLY. Instantly – as if to render time irrelevant.

…

"Haaaggghh…" The hoarse dying knell escaped Clark's wide gaping mouth. Now his arms laid in unnatural, twisted manners over his folded legs. What happened? Just now?

{From sitting position, was it 15, was it 20, or was it 25 yards?} She spanned that distance INSTANTANEOUSLY. That is NOT how this was supposed to work. The distance here, was supposed to be the same as, there. Her magic trick – I thought I understood it. All the DARKNESS did was allow you to jump from one place to another. Nothing else was supposed to change.

But why did THAT hurt so…

Clark's feet shuffled back and forth like pistons, but devoid of strength, the soles of his feet skidded across the ground utterly unable to grab ahold of friction. Clark slapped his right palm on the soft feeling wall behind him. HE turned around and leaned back, the warm embrace of darkness whispered to him. The boy wondered, if it would have been better if he cut his arm with those scissors instead. With every last bit of his strength, Clark's shaking hand clawed into the wall behind him as he teetered to a fragile stand. Because, at this point in the game, loss was unacceptable. You… You BITCH!

…why did that HURT so MUCH?

YOU ARE WRONG!

Instantly appearing in front of Clark King drove a solid side kick into Clark's diaphragm, the impact weakening him at the knees. Another sudden flash of black, just under Clark's white ribs, his internal organs twisted and gushed in wild motions to places it was not supposed to go. Clark did not have enough time and awareness to tighten his midsection to absorb the blow at all. In a desperate plea, the boy threw both hands forward targeting both sides of King's head in a grab. It was much too slow, King put both hands up in front of her face, and the flower of evil bloomed. Both her hands swayed wide in an outwards parabolic pattern blocking Clark at the wrists, and instead of Clark grabbing King in a counter, King instead grasped two full fistfuls of Clark's hair and FORCEFULLY pulled his head down. King bent her legs, pulling Clark down into the depths of the undertow of darkness where he could see nothing.

With her entire body weight, King jumped up, bent her legs, folded her elbows and dragged Clark down as she descended. When her heels hit the ground, she lunged forward and SLAMMED her right knee into Clark's crotch.

Without any sort of respite from the pain, King continued to tug down, interweaving her fingers locking themselves hard behind Clark's neck. Momentarily paralyzed when that switch was flipped, Clark floated down only to be met with another full force blow square on his face from her opposite knee.

…

…perhaps, this place could be the small separation from GOD. (110) …all alone as the dead had already been set free…

A crying baby on that cold, so very cold hospital floor did not realize it just then – but another [boy] - just 10 years older than him, even then, existed, helplessly and could do nothing but stare, from the far wall, looked over that baby on the ground. Even if he was an invisible, imaginary being, [it] could still understand. I am here. Even back then. ONE DAY, will you give me [purpose]? Will you allow me to EXIST?

…

"In just one or two short years, had you forgotten our promise, back then, when you were at the edge of your sanity and saw the fleeting end of your days? My ONLY purpose was to keep you alive."

THEN, let this DYING STAR, fulfill it's one and only WISH! Sayeth the First Children.

How long had it been? A year? A month? A day? An hour? With a shrill, high pitched shriek in my ears, it seemed like even 2 seconds felt like an eternity. Crumpled and utterly defeated on the ground, Clark's arms laid in unnatural, twisted manners over his folded legs. What happened? Just now?

The hollow sound, 'WHOMP' dropped in a deafening low bass note. First the tip of her nose, then her cheeks then when her eyes came up to view, King's body emerged from the vertical wall of viscous dark goo to appear in the REAL WORLD. King cocked her right foot back as far as it would go targeting the left side of Clark's head in a final sure kill blow. AFTER ALL THIS – is this ALL your Second CHILDREN is capable of? IF SO, then your existence was USELESS.

…

A crickle crackle, then pop. "Finally… Tsui ni… tsui ni.. kitta ka?" Have you finally come? A second Children put both palms over his eyes over his dark maw that pulled apart its lips once sewed shut.

…

A! A dark being stood behind her.

Clark was facing to the RIGHT.

"Wait!" The First Children…

This type of fighting can ONLY exist at a higher level.

Why? {Why is Clark facing to the right… instead of…?}

…

A revolver's hammer, from 10 pounds of spring weight was more than adequate to launch a 44 magnum bullet 1400 feet per second to result in 900 foot pounds of energy and can easily decimate any creature walking on two legs.

Other than the Prince of the World. HE did not believe. SHE did not believe. THEY did not believe. And now, I know YOU did not believe either. What say you now? This Girl is going to defeat you, Clark Steel. Didn't you say… that you wouldn't lose to ME? Even…

Even as you took EVERYTHING…

…

Clark's thoughts were immediately interrupted when two strong arms wrapped themselves once again over his shoulders. They took him off balance and pulled him tight. Clark's arms were still hanging limp by his sides and he could not understand what was going on. Lost in an endless loop of events that were repeating and repeating, in an endless cycle of suffering. (117) "Let it go, son." Knight smiled hugging the boy tightly, uncaring to anyone else's judgment.

…

EVERY THING FROM ME!

A small finger pressed the silver plastic button on the Betamax video cassette player from the 1980s. The pivoting button seemed soft and weak, it did not even have enough feedback. Yet despite its flaccid nature, two parallel lines "=" but turned vertical was powerful indeed.

PAUSE BUTTON.

The air that surrounded the girl instantaneously because viscous, like a sludge, like glue, it immediately concreted her body and mind frozen in place. King's right foot was cocked back as far as far as it would go, floating shoulder height – and its target was the sitting Clark's left side. The behind the left side of his skull – his spinal cord.

After all this time… there is finally something I hate more than I care about myself. Something I HATE more than FIGHTING.

A! King froze in place just at the precipice of her attack, before that glass trigger break. She could not understand. Even as she came at his left side – Clark… with calm demeanour and with focused intent ignored her, and instead of facing his head towards King, Clark's face looked to the opposite right side.

…

As the tension builds, so too did the shrieking, ear piercing sound ebbed to a halt.

You have taught me so many things these past 7 days, King of Kings. Now, I find peace in having taught YOU something too. A twisted scarecrow – the Second Children stood aloofly in place, it curled its smile so viciously upwards in rapture that the edges of its stitched mouth was just about to touch the sides of its eyelids.

{At last.} He thought. {At last, I have made you care for something… for something even greater.}

…than yourself.

…

I hate you so much.

{I know.}

Just like it did for YOU. That was the last thing I saw, before the Eternal Darkness came for me too.