The Colour Purple Chapter 139: the Nine Vectors, 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]

The BUTTERFLY RETURN, is an ancient technique, aptly renamed in the mid to late 1970s. Conceptually thinking, the most optimal defense relies on the ability of meeting an attack at the last possible split second, thus rendering the option of retaliation or retreat from the aggressor likely improbable – and this defense relies on an inhuman sense of focus, 60 seconds / 60, a 3,600th of a probability. As it should, because executing it a moment too soon or an instant too late, leads to failure, with devastating consequences.

TO be able to clap your hands JUST as a butterfly closes its wings, and have the ability to capture it, without killing the butterfly. This is the fundamental concept of [it].

…

On the wall, random words were scribbled hastily. 'An evil even more vicious than yours.'

Fighting since birth. While unreasonable, you are certainly a magnificent animal. Whether indeed you choose to accept it or not. Is this the [treasure] that waited in the ROOM?

EVERY THING.

+ Force. x Mass. = Velocity. Distance /. and. - Time. All were simple, easy to understand words scribbled with hastily written, dirty white chalk on a blackboard. There.

But combined in sequence, perplexed the mind.

Clark sighed out loud, his shoulders fell limp at the immense weight of it all.

Over the dark, wide, lonely COSMOS.

Random letters and numbers, symbols he did not clearly understand – lines and arrows intersected, even criss-crossed one way and the other. From one point. [A], marked with a single large '.' Then [C] at the far side off the board, '.' Two POINTS connected with multiple co-directional lines, all intersected at two separate points, made to look like a convoluted egg beater. Straight lines, crooked lines, curved, parabolic arcs, dashed lines – then – even a wide bar drawn by a short piece of chalk laid vertically flat on its lateral side.

Clark's left hand floated over to the bottom left corner of the blackboard, passing by the number 0, and when it settled at the edge it revealed the words hastily written as 'Ha. .nly …S. qnec.' in cursive. "I am in the darkness AGAIN aren't I?"

The END of La Bizarre Love Pentagon – part 53.

IF imaginary beings wish to be real – is it possible for imaginary numbers to exist here too?

In this small ROOM, a place that may have been the SMALL separation from God. There it was. Only kept company by wails of despair – IT – wanted to be free. DESPERATELY. LOVINGLY. HUNGRILY. [I] wanted to be free. "I needed it, and I know…" You need this as much as I do.

Clark looked up – in the ROOM – was a chalkboard filled to the edges with random letters, numbers, words, symbols, clusters separated only by short vertical lines, linked together to fill equations. This is insanity! This is real and true INSANITY.

Equations should not matter here. But, back then. IN 1944 or 1964 or 1977. Back during a simpler time, I did not fully comprehend, that men could hurl fireballs from their palms and fly across the air – or walk on water. So maybe, your genius is not so unreasonable after all.

At the center of the chalkboard, and equation, were 3 letters I did not understand at first.

Speed = Distance / Time.

…

THIS blackboard was what laid in wait at the FAR side of the room… isn't it?

…

198X.

"Clark Steel."

Clark did not reply audibly, and just nodded his head slightly.

"You are talking to Doctor Robert Chan." The doctor said.

Just what… Clark. Just what sociopath refers to himself with his title in third person?

"So, tell me Clark, what exactly did your parents do for a living?"

{…}

"Excuse me, I didn…" Dr. Chan began to…

"I said." Clark interrupted. "I said they were missionaries." The boy said firmly. "South African missionaries, and we went to that country…"

"Oh… okay. What happened in that country?" Chan continued.

I was in a grocery store. I {remember, I looked at some candy, then lost sight of my mother. Everything changed then.} And before I knew it… "I was in a dark ROOM. Staring at a blackboard."

And I UNDERSTOOD what could have been, what separates MAN from GOD.

…

1977.

With a mind clouded by a thick heavy fog, the boy stared at distinct spot in the center of the pitch-black void in front of him. Despite the cavern spanning an eternity, he blankly focused at a distinct imaginary point with great care, wondering, what exactly was happening.

How long has it been? A steady beat of droplets collected above from an unknown source, then dropped down to the shallow black pool of water 2 inches high that surrounded Clark who sat limp and weak with his back to the wall.

A year? A month? A day? An hour?

{Ah.} Clark mused. {I'm here again, aren't I?} This is all so tiring, and so very, very tedious.

The visions of pitch black were sometimes disturbed by erratic flashes of gray and white static. HSSSGGHHH…

Clark wrapped both hands over his knees, plunging all ten fingertips into his flesh and tendons in a valiant attempt to keep himself conscious despite the fear of the pitch-black darkness. I think I understand this… solwly.

To some varying degree the CNOEPCT is sound.

BERAK it down, one thing at a time. The BIASC fundamental of your power, is this [Sequence of Nine]. Why is it so hard to defend? Why is it so difficult to predict your next course of action? It is because you disappear in between the start and the end of your actions. All actions are made of line segments, and all line segments can be simplified to 3 points. From the point of origin 'A', then the course of trajectory 'B', and finally to the destination 'C'. If you remove 'B' then it is impossible to defend – given infinite possible flight paths - even if you know where the endpoint 'C' most logically has to be.

. .B1.

. … … … …

. A. _ _ _ BX _ _ _ .C

. … … … …

. .B2.

BUT WAIT. Even if the sum of permutations and combinations are infinite – [It] isn't really INFINITE.

Just as the [name] suggests, at a higher level, only to a fighter who absolutely understands every fiber his own body, and possesses absolute FAITH in his own ability, optimistically, action can be simplified to just 9 vectors. Back, back left, back right, left, right, forward, forward right, forward left, and… stationary. 9 vectors.

Aoccdrnig to rscheearch at Cmabrigde uinervtisy, it deosn't mttaer waht oredr the ltteers in a wrod are, the olny iprmoetnt tihng is taht the frist and lsat ltteres are at the rghit pclae. The rset can be a tatol mses and you can sitll raed it wouthit a porbelm. Tihs is bcuseae we do not raed ervey lteter by it slef but the wrod as a wlohe.

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 contortions over his folded legs. What happened? Just now?

A revolver's hammer, from 10 pounds of spring weight…

{I don't care, I'll KILL you now.}

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

…

First the tip of her nose, then her cheeks then when her eyes came up to view…

What will come next is a SOLID hit into Clark's left temple, but he is unable, or UNWILLING to defend – that much King understood. At this trajectory, it would surely be a fatal attack. The impact, if undefended, will impart enough force to swing the mass of his head and surely snap his neck easily. The equations…

The [equations] said so.

…

Mathematical equations.

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.

Why? Why are you looking the other way?

HOW do you solve an equation with multiple variables? Infinite outcomes.

{It does NOT matter.} King snarled to herself. {Don't think about it… It's just…}

IF you do not have multiple equations, or otherwise, are unable to create new RULES.

It's just your time to die.

STOP.

"Simply…"

…

"Simply said…" Clark smiled. THIS TIME, the Cheshire cat's grin was superimposed over the boy's face that mimicked a monstrous doll. Lifting his nose, jagged fangs interlocking, with an evil grin that spanned ear-to-ear splaying wide lips that were once sewn shut.

Clark's left hand clawed out with all five fingers outstretched, floating low height to meet King.

OSOI! "You're too slow!" King was perplexed at first, but with multiple commands, infinite possibilities running through her seasoned mind all at once like a super computer, she was immediately, instantly able to calculate the most logical and probable result. It was easy to understand that at her speed, at her trajectory, Clark's weak feint was meaningless. The boy will be unable to defend if he refuses to look this way.

KURAYAGARE! DIE, JUST DIE CLARK STEEL!

King's right hand released her right foot just as it reached the apex of its arc, and that hammer drove itself to it's target with blinding speed.

WHY?

{Defend yourself.} She pleaded. WHY? Given any other situation, any other opponent, it would be so inconsequential, but this – these confusing equations – written on blackboards now near 3 stories high – written hastily with dirty chalk – randomly appearing – letters scribbling themselves into existence and rising up to the sky on that black slate - could only happen here. {WHY. Won't you DEFEND YOURSELF?} Why won't you look at me?

G_O_D WAS CONFUSED.

"Haaghhh…" Clark gasped for air, filling his lungs with a deep breath, slowly and calmly. His lips parted, and while his extremities trembled in a slight fright for a split second – the boy leaned forward, forcing himself to stay conscious – to stay focused. Despite the fear that was the result of a quotient of fear.

DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND? I AM ABOUT TO KILL YO…

Logic. Logic is like long, strong arms, with sharp claws, digging nails into your face, forcing you to look at the most logical path. The question becomes, what is it that you trust and understand more? Just as you slipped away into madness…

If you will not. Then you MUST have given up. THEN. IF.

IF. IF you have given up.

King… "THEN, DIE!"

…

Even then, even if I kill you in front of my father – as you wished – I do not think your death can give back even a small fraction of what you've TAKEN from me.

King sighed. It was over.

…

The spaces in between had now been reduced to 6 millimeters, and King' right foot, all it had to do was punctuate the END of this long, drawn out arduous romance.

…

Clark's left hand clawed out with all five fingers outstretched, floating low height to meet King.

"Simply said…" Clark's voice repeated, echoing into an empty bottle.

A fighter, fully in control of his body, must have absolute TRUST in his own ability. At the same time, in order to win, he must TRUST… in the ability of his [ENEMY]!

In order to become STRONGER, there are times you have to make your ENEMY stronger.

Caheptr 139: the Nnie Vcoters

…

1993. (105)

King turned back and locked her vision down to the sleek, shiny wooden bar in front of her. Smiling a bit weakly, she took a long breath. "It's been a long time, Clark Steel."

"A very long time. Pops told me to find you." Clark replied flatly.

"I know." King placed her hand squarely on top of the two page handwritten letter in front of her and pushed it to the side, knowing full well…

"I know what it says." Clark said. "This makes it easy, then." There was no need for explaining, no need for thinking. King of kings.

…Then, if you KNOW how this story ends, then…

Clark let go of his bag, and in the same moment his duffel bag hit the ground, Clark hunched back, bouncing on both balls of his feet, bobbed back and forwards, his fists floating up and down waving in erratic patterns from his jaw, to his temples and back again.

SHOW ME.

…

IF YOU CAN SEE THE FTURUE. You konw I cnat die hree.

…

Kamisama wa, ningen wo tsukuitai to omoteita.

God wanted to save mankind.

Dakara, te wo sashi nobeta.

…and so he reached out.

Demo, sono tabi ni, ningen no naka kara, [jyama] mono ga arawetara.

But there were some who did not [accept] God's offering…

Kamisama no tsukurou to suru tsitsujyou wo kowashietshimau mono.

…they intended to destroy the order that God sought to create for mankind.

Soitsu wa,

They say…

…

If I cannot create rules, then the next logical step is to remove lines of probability by brute force method.

Clark's left hand clawed out with all five fingers outstretched, floating low height to meet King.

Just by this simple action, from an original of 9, 3 sequences immediately disappeared.

WHAT!

King's foot faded into translucent colours. Just at the precise moment she was absolutely sure the precipice of her attack would separate Clark's head from his body, her foot, as easily as a specter fell into pieces and passed through Clark's neck.

Wait… what just…

Chapter 139: the Nnie Vcoters

A convoluted sound of gnashing, swirling garbled sequences filled both their ears when time began to skip in an order it was not supposed to. And now… The sequences of frames repeated without her permission.

That heavy metal box, the Betamax video cassette player had eaten the magnetic tape – crumpling it into an indiscernible ball of CHAOS.

The colours of King's body had slowly become faded, dithering and clouded with static. She was confused. SHE was confused.

GOD was CONFUSED. WHY did man not want to be saved?

Absolutely perplexed, and utterly unable to understand why her sure kill attack passed through Clark and now hit the ground, thought, WHY, why was she – why was King staring at herself across this room. King's body cocked her kick backwards just before she, at the opposite side was about to attack Clark's right side?

…

I have removed 3 vectors. FORCED you down a pre-determined path. And it has made it all less confusing, my friend.

{Why? Why am I attacking from Clark's right side now?} King thought in a crazed panic. And, as her thoughts slowly faded into nothingness, King realized in some way, that the remnants of her original thought, had become imaginary.

Somewhat difficult to explain – when high level athletes cultivate their mind to be able to solve complex equations at light speed, when they are able to race past time – so much that time seemed to revolve backwards slightly – the problem – is that…

Their mind outpaces the connection to their human body, and their body's muscle memory reacts on its own and their brain is unable to stop it.

King's consciousness, even at light speed, had effectively lagged two steps behind; was now a just ghost, powerless, and watched her body move instinctively on its own, unable to stop it.

…

Chapter 139: the Nine Vectors

The damage of the attack still remained the same. Like a sharp sword, even if you put your forearm up, the blade will easily cut it in half.

The Butterfly Return. Spaghetti samurai westerns. Silly movies. What's a movie? It's something people create to make believe things that are unreasonable in the real world. Regardless.

That was the only way to stop a sword.

Can you catch a butterfly without killing it?

3600th of an instant.

And if in this world, it is entirely possible for men to walk on water – then I can do THIS too.

Clark did not break his gaze and continued to focus to the right at the center of that void.

Multiple variables, if forced by brute force method into one path, all converge, funneling, single file into one line.

"AARRGGHHHAAGGHH!" FUCK YOU! CLARK SHRIEKED.

Two open palms swerved inwards with concentrically opposite arcs to meet at a single point.

Two twilight stars spiraling in mid air, like wisps, like fireflies from different single origins – MET at the FINAL single destination.

It's simple, now.

Clark clapped both palms, with a monstrous opposing lateral force, with his entire might, a might that could only be brought about by the extreme fear of immediate death, and the absolute trust in his own body – and the unshakable trust in his enemy – A LOUD THUNDERCLAP when two points converged from the origin to the destination - Clark trapped Kings fatal kick at the ankles, from 60 miles per hour to an immediate zero, the SWORD had stopped in mid air.

I hate you. I HATE you so much.

I know. "I know." THEY said.