The Colour Purple Chapter 144: Separation, 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.

ORIGINALLY CHAPTER 42 - Orochi's Haze.

"I am having difficulty sleeping. It is really worrying me."

"I see… you need not be worried. Insomnia is perfectly normal for a large part of the population, and people your age."

Sometimes, I wonder if this entire real world is an illusion and instead, I am in a dark room somewhere, just dreaming, and can't wake up… as a punishment for all the things I have done wrong, and for everyone I have hurt. Eventhough I know that decades later, my apology does not even matter.

…

Wearing a perfectly pressed dark navy blue suit, the older gentleman sat alone in that room, looking outwards through the window with his mind lost, in the wide beautiful world outside - staring at a single distinct point. Though, by now, he was not sure anymore why he was staring at that small stain on the glass.

"Hello Mr. Heidern. My name is Johan Brahms." The doctor entered the room, fashionably late as always – I never understood why they made it habit, perhaps purposely, to let already anxious patients stew in their own troubles in such a small, enclosed space.

Heidern sat uncomfortably in the chair in front of the doctor, fidgeting in place but still keeping perfect posture. The office was well kept, with ample sunshine coming through the window. "Dr. Brahms," Heidern greeted in a flat monotone. Though it wasn't the atmosphere that made the old German gentleman uneasy.

"Relax, relax. Is there something bothering you? Do you not like seeing the doctor?"

Heidern did not respond for a long while, and his silence was clear and concise confirmation of Brahms' suspicion. When Heidern finally spoke, he looked Brahms firmly with both eyes with a stern gaze. "Rugal Bernstein told me you can help me."

"Do you know Mr. Bernstein well?"

"No, not particularly." Heidern answered.

"I see… though… do you really want to pay $40,000 for such a simple problem?"

"If you can help me sleep again," Heidern said with utter seriousness. "Then I will."

"How long have you had this issue?" Brahms asked.

"For many, many years now, but it's become more acute as of the past 2 years."

"That's a problem. Even a few days of no sleep is enough to drive a grown man insane." Brahms mused. With pen and paper in hand he tapped the tip on the paper to collect his thoughts. "So, do you have any issues with stress? Your occupation, family… were you in the military?"

"Yes, I was in the war."

"Ah... the war. Yes…" Brahms begun to scribble some notes in a quick pace, but after a deluge of words abruptly stopped. The doctor twisted his brow in confusion and looked back up from the paper. "W… which war are we talking about again, Mr. Heidern?"

"The second world war." Heidern said bluntly and without fanfare.

The year was 1985.

"The… second? World war 2?" Brahms was completely perplexed, that he had to measure his next words carefully. "Mr. Heidern, if I may ask, exactly… how old are you?"

"54."

"54?" A rapid succession of answers he did not expect took the doctor off guard. "If you're 54 years old, then… it means…" Brahms paused to make sure his mental arithmetic was indeed correct. "That means… you were THIRTEEN in 1944!?" As hard as he tried to hide the surprise in his voice, his sudden through slightly repressed inflection was clear.

Instead of matching Brahms' stunned tone of voice, as he always had done, Heidern replied with a plain "Correct." Just as plain and simply as if you asked him to confirm what he had for breakfast that morning.

"Oh. I see." Brahms exhaled deeply. "And, what do you do now?"

"I own a private military company."

"Well, I suppose that answers any and all questions regarding the degree of stress in your job." Despite the gravity of his diagnosis, Brahms patted Heidern on his knee, to Heidern's immediate and visible discomfort, "Don't worry Mr. Heidern. I will do my best to help you…. And…" The doctor flipped through his clipboard and ran his finger down to the upper third of the page. "If I may suggest, perhaps you should consider some adjustments to your lifestyle, for…" Brahms paused, "Your family – Sandra and Clara. If not for you, do it for them."

If something happens to you, it is your family who will suffer…

Brahms beamed a wide, reassuring smile.

Heidern.

The BEAST – part 4.

…

1990.

"A… Agh…. GUUGHHHGGKK!" Brahms coughed a gush of warm red blood out his mouth that sheet flowed down his neck and chest.

Brahms stood in disbelief, as Heidern had suddenly appeared and was not but a few inches from his face. Heidern's right arm penetrated Brahms' chest, Heidern, a whole decade older a man, his entire forearm had impaled Brahms' midsection elbow deep. Emerging from Brahms' back, Heidern's hand grasped a knotted mass of the good doctor's intestines in his grip.

"Hei…. Heigghhh…" Brahms wheezed as he desperately forced himself to exhale but at the same time his body had gone into SHOCK, and unable to reciprocate, the doctor was now unable to inhale. "H… Heidern… HEEEEIIIDERN!"

Brahms' wild scream blared and echoed but fell in vain to a large and empty room only filled with the unmoving company of dead, deaf bodies. The reply was just a hollow and cold snarl that emanated from Heidern's mouth, the old soldier's mouth was caked with a disgusting concoction of foam and saliva. All that was left of Heidern was empty stark white eyes that glowed in the darkness only interrupted with the momentary flash of red lights in between.

HEIDERN. With what little life he had left Brahms wailed his fists down on Heidern's monstrous, ghoulish face. Two hammers beating down wildly, frantically… desperately – as the fading breath slowly and surely left him pale. Rage, turned to denial, then finally it became a bleak acceptance. Brahms' attacks were of as little consequence to the BEAST as from a newborn babe hitting his father. Then as he wheezed, he let his curled fists slip from Heidern's petrified arm, when he realized that even if he tried to push himself free from that spear, the act was as futile as a frog trying to free itself from the tightening jaws of a snake.

Your wife, Sandra, and your daughter Clara, are dead. I have taken down that FENCE. I've solved part of the divine clue; And even a nobody like me, THEY will remember my name, and FORGET YOURS. My ONLY regret, Heidern. Was that… I was not able to take you with me, as REVENGE. Utter and complete revenge!

"FOR WHAT YOU DID!"

The faint sound, the constant beating hum of a helicopter came to their ears - the sound was slight, but for sure it was real, not a hallucination and not a product of endless dreaming.

The sixth commandment; 'Thou shalt not kill.' In reality it is more accurately translated as 'Thou shalt not MURDER.' So when a man knows death is a forgone conclusion, is the desire to kill no longer for self preservation, and instead, a vanity?

The Browning Hi-Power. A favoured sidearm for the Allied Powers. Brahms' trembling hand pulled up and pointed a blued metal pistol straight into Heidern's eye. Brahms exhaled one last time, pulled the trigger, then the hammer slammed down.

Even when deprived of natural cognitive ability and intellectual rational thought, deep down inside even the MONSTER knew the implications borne from the sequences of frames, images that seemed to flow in slow motion, one picture at a time.

HHHRAAAGHHH!

Heidern PULLED back his right arm, tugging back the knotted mass of internal organs reversing back through Brahms' body and then out the front in an explosion of sludge and grime that stuck to the ceiling above. Then, in the same centrifugal motion stabbed FOUR FINGER of his left hand knuckles deep into the doctor's neck with such tremendous force it easily snapped the vertebrae that once earlier held his head upright.

Difficult to follow with simply the normal naked eye, the Beast's arms flailed in a chaotic pattern, though, as splits of seconds passed in an instant, with each turn and slice, mayhaps, perhaps – those random sequences of wild events when monsters danced, when broken down into distinct sections and then carefully witnessed as a whole, seemed to slowly come to focus and to an order amidst the disarray. When the concept of MEN and BEASTS converged in a way – that was indeed – NOT part of God's great plan.

With cathartic exclamation. A prisoner, raising his arms, a conductor lifting the world on his shoulders, and a puppeteer's fingers out stretching each digit far and wide, splayed the strings to control the serendipitous wills of the time. Heidern curled his spine back so far, almost 90 degrees backwards in an impossible angle as to meld his completely black face into the waiting shadows behind him.

…

"Yoyo." She huffed. "It's late, didn't I tell you that you have to sleep early?"

Yoyo… the voice faded. It was sweet, it was lonely, and, as I turned over to the darkness, a soft warm candlelight began to glow and DRIVE away that black cloak of fear, of regret, of that bitter and sour tasting sadness… Yoyo! She smiled. A 3 year old child looked up and finally, at long last, the light finally gave me a slight glimpse of her face. A memory that I once thought I had lost; Because, even in his greatest gifts, the God was indeed kind, yet cruel at the same time.

…

Chapter 144: Separation

Hidden between dream and wake, lies the Separation, between Men and Beasts.

Brahms huffed with his last and final breath, and ironically was able to crack a smile, just, as a sliver of bubbling red blood traced a thin line diagonally across his face.

With a silent explosion, with no sound to taint the moment, Dr. Johan Brahms' earthly body separated far and wide into 47 distinct pieces across the dark, crimson sheeted room.

"I'm sorry… Good night, mama."

…

The Browning Hi-Power is a single action, semi-automatic handgun popularly chambered in 9mm and was based on a design my John Moses Browning, Browning, considered by many as a great pioneer and genius of firearms. While Browning died in 1926, the design was adopted for use during the second world war.

The pistol skidded on the ground, rotating on its center axis, and what was once pristine had now become scuffed and marred by the mortal coils of the Earth. The deafening scratching sound came to a halt when the metal pistol was stopped by a man's right boot.

The pistol's slide was forward, its hammer down.

The man leaned down, picked up the handgun. He looked at the open, empty magwell under its grip and pulled the slide back. The chamber was empty and no magazine inside. For all intents and purposes given the clues, the pistol was distinctly, to anyone educated as much, hardly able to pose a threat and had not even been fired.

The man sighed, throwing the useless gun to the side and ran his right hand through his dirty blonde scalp in frustration.

"It seems I've come too late." Rugal said.

...

THIS IS A SAD DREAM.

…

"Mazel tov, Dr. Brahms." Rugal Bernstein took slow but purposeful steps towards the monster in front of him. A wild beast with a completely black face hidden in the shadows with only two red points where its eyes were. It's knuckles on the ground to support itself on all fours. It snarled a low guttural growl while a thick warm mist seethed out the sides of its mouth in, visibly thick in the terribly cold room.

To be able to create such a foul beast, to step closer to the place of truth, where other men would have been scared to tread. WILLING to exchange for the FRUIT of knowledge, their own humanity. The Germans took you far Heidern, but I wonder, how much closer did Brahms carry you?

[TO SEE A HEAVEN ON EARTH?]

"An irony, indeed," Rugal walked by a cold metal desk and gently grabbed a small object without slowing his pace. "In the search for THE truth, only the truth, and nothing else BUT the TRUTH, without questioning how many doors, how many moral barriers he had to break… and how many fences he had to take down, Brahms took the achievement of his enemy, and made it even MORE VICIOUS."

Tell me, WHAT WOULD POSSESS A MAN, to make even HELL shudder in fear.

Rugal, absolutely indifferent to the fact that he was locked in a cold dark room with a savage demon, continued to muse absentmindedly to himself, as only a sociopath would – totally enamoured by sound of his own voice, he was oblivious to the likely ramifications of his wandering ponderings.

"We are going to have to fight each other now. But you bring me one step closer… to GOD, Heidern." Rugal chucked a single syllable. He rubbed his fingers up and down the stuffed bear in both his hands, its fur once plush had now lost its luster and still had remnants of dried blood. "Heidern, do you want to know how your family die…"

When I first met God in 1980, I was arrogant and a fool…

Rugal couldn't even finish his final thought because when he tilted his face up nonchalantly, Heidern leapt up in mid air, spanning 25 yards easily – his spear tipped hand was now less than 10 millimeters from Rugal's eyeball.

…

Perhaps by now, or not, you may have slowly figured out what my true purpose is? If I cannot physically make HIM appear, then I will cause much chaos and disarray; HE will have no alternative but to face me, again, as I turn his creations into MONSTROUS abominations.

In 1980, I did it for my friend.

"RUGALLLL BERNSTEEIIN!" Krauser pulled both his enormous arms under their enemy's armpits and locked his fingers behind the back of HIS silver haired head with a full nelson.

"Rugal!" Saishyuu Kusanagi ran full speed, wrapped his arms around Rugal's bloody chest and rushed with his entire bodyweight to hurl his friend away to safety.

"Ivan…"

But the sound shrieked and faded into an indiscernible high pitched wail. Until it was white and all that was left was nothing – when white and black was blinding just the same.

…

1990.

"Huhn!" Rugal scoffed. "Did you think…"

{DID YOU THINK, that TEN years would pass and I would not have made myself STRONGER? GOD OF MAN!?}

Heidern leapt up in mid air, spanning 25 yards easily – his spear tipped hand was now less than 10 millimeters from Rugal's eyeball. A black spectral bullet darted through the entire room, leaving a small divot on the opposite wall behind Rugal.

"GENOCIDE!"

A heavy boot slammed squarely under Heidern's skull, crushing his jaw. Rugal had tilted back almost perpendicularly, completely avoiding the attack and from the contorted position executed a spinning back kick from below, launching Heidern up into the air.

"You've entertained me, quite well. Heidern."

Reflected on the plain wall were dark shadows only slightly interrupted by a quick flash of light then by a screen of momentary red, only to repeat to infinity. A cold prison where men wondered to themselves, where in life, just when, did they go wrong. On that blank indiscriminate wall I asked myself often as I wondered to myself… and sometimes in my loneliness I wondered if maybe the wall would one day answer back.

Heidern's skull crashed with the full impact of a meteorite embedding his head into the crushed wall. On the ground were wide, gray streaks, remnants that were instantaneously scorched by a white hot flame. Rugal's right hand outstretched upwards, lodging Heidern's head firmly into the concrete behind him.

Even with Heidern's jaw shattered and his body floating in mid air while the back of his head remained fused into the wall behind him, the monster let out wild guttural wails as his hands flailed, slashing, jabbing digging into Rugal's forearm that would not let go and continued to increase the pressure.

Rugal paid no heed to the savagely random attacks to his arm and simply focused intently at Heidern's eyes. Heidern's mouth clamped open and shut desperately trying to bite outwards just missing Rugal's hand that precisely gripped his face at precise points. In between the spaces of Rugal's fingers, Heidern's red pupils tracked in random patterns up and down, around side to side. Yet, the blonde haired Rugal did not let go and wordlessly stared at his enemy's face, drawing attention to himself, because NOTHING else mattered. Because now, it was all about fighting, and even you, beast, know it to be true. Face me! I am your enemy.

Heidern's pupils splayed out, moving independently at opposite axes, each with a mind of its own. Then. They froze in place, slowly both tank turrets turning in unison downwards towards Rugal, finally meeting the man face to face with grave and clear intent.

"Graaaghhh…" Heidern snarled.

Heidern's elongated right arm swung wide whipping out and around just past Rugal's blind spot and launched his bladed fingers – HUNGRY nails into Rugal's left eye.

Wordless, Rugal immediately released his grip on Heidern and his left hand caught the old soldier's right wrist in mid flight, twisting it, hyperextending, locking it out, before driving a HARD right uppercut under Heidern's elbow smashing the joint into small fragmented pieces.

Under normal circumstances. Under normal circumstances, this would have ended it. The demoralizing paralysis, and the excruciating pain would have rendered any normal man unable to continue and would have likely sent their brain into sudden and irreparable shock.

However, just as one monster exists, then it so follows another must meet its existence to maintain equilibrium. He was a monster now. Or had he always been a monster? And, this monster feels no remorse, feels no fear, and feels no PAIN! FREED from mortal coils of regret, agony and desperation, IT is no longer able to even begin to understand the petty and now irrelevant notions of such whimsical concepts.

And in certain moments, when driven to the edge of despair – does not each one of us, weak, pitiful human people, wish… at least one point in our lives, wish the same liberation from regret?

Which one of us is evil, and is it so different from another fool's righteousness?

DIE!

Heidern's left arm whipped from the opposite direction at the same instant, with full intent to pierce his hand right through the back of Rugal's head.

"You took…" Rugal whispered, first softly, then, his voice began to boom – "…my friend away." …into a building orchestrated roar… "SHOW…"

To defy the clear and simple plan of destiny… I dare you. SHOW.

"SHOW YOURSELF TO ME!"

[G_O_D!]

Cold aluminum chairs momentarily rattled in place as the room shook from the sudden, short and instantaneous TREMOR. Then silence.

Rugal's right arm was folded in a firm L shape, blocking Heidern's attack just by the crux of his bicep, petrifying it in place. A drop of black blood fell to the ground, and above it Heidern's feet convulsed uncontrollably before finally slithering to a calm stillness, the monster's toes floated unmoving now, floating just an inch above the ground.

…

One day, decades and decades, and until even half a century past [now]… they may call us… EVIL [PEOPLE].

But… it is too late now… for us.

"If we survive this… why don't we be friends…?"

"No…" I have wronged far TOO MANY people in the world, and this is my just punishment.

{I am sorry, Knight.}

I wasn't able to fulfill our promise, after all…

…

Rugal's left index and middle finger impaled itself knuckle deep into Heidern's right eye socket, crucifying him at a singular point.

"Your family awaits you, Heidern."