Prologue
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There was a man who lived a remarkable life.
His fist could move mountains.
His face was a heart-throb.
And his power was to be feared.
From a small, nameless village, he grew up around a family of deteriorating people.
His blood held a powerful illness that, by the time he was 18, would inevitably kill him.
Yet he never feared death; he made his moments count.
At age 10, he met a wandering martial artist, his entire family dead.
The man saw the unwavering, fiery will inside the sickly boy.
By this time, the boy had forgotten his name, and the man gave him one.
"Your name is Kang. Strong and unyielding, even in death."
The wandering martial artists refused to tell Kang his name.
He preferred to be called 'Sensei', and nothing else.
The man used a 3rd-rate martial arts, 'The False Dragon Fist'.
A copy of the original, something that is refused by many.
Yet the man claimed it was his, that it was stolen by those called the "Martial Alliance".
The man taught all he could to Kang.
Just 3 months into training, he realized the genius of the sickly boy.
At 5 months, he mastered half the technique.
A full year into training, the man had nothing else to teach the boy.
Sensei, now lying on a rough straw mat, coughed up blood.
He finally professed to the boy that he had been dying, and eagerly wanted to pass on the true mastery of the "Dragon Fist".
"I... I don't have much time, boy."
He continued, his voice strained from age and pain:
"Yet, your hard work and willingness to learn from this ruined stranger... It makes me tear up, that I couldn't see a talent like you shine... even if just for a bit."
He violently coughed up more blood from his bruised throat.
"You wanted to know... my name, didn't you, boy?"
Kang, still young and ill, was eager to know the name of the man who wanted to save him.
"Ryu... There, are you happy now?"
Kang smiled, tears welling.
"Sensei Ryu... thank you, for everything!"
Kang bowed, showing his immense gratitude with a simple gesture.
But this gesture, though small for others, meant everything to the man who had lost everything.
"You... are my legacy."
"Live well. Be strong. And never.... yield."
Those were the last words the man ever spoke.
Ryu's words sparked an even stronger fire inside the sickly Kang; he ascended the mountain of Hell, said to harbor demonic beasts.
From the age of 11 until the age of 15, he stayed there.
He defeated the beasts of the forest until they submitted, and ate, slept, and lived like animals.
He punched boulders until they shattered.
He punched thick trees until their bark couldn't withstand his fist any longer.
Kang descended the mountain and quickly gained notoriety.
He defeated many martial artists, either older or of his age, hailed as "geniuses".
He defeated the bandit group that terrorized a single region.
He then went on to defeat a pavillion leader in the capital of a giant city.
His name quickly spread; whoever challenged him lost.
The spear, the sword, the bow, any weapon, failed to ever contend with the powerful fists of Kang.
At age 18, he thought he would die, yet he lived.
By age 21, he was a top 10 martial artist on the continent.
Women loved him, men hated him.
He was rich, handsome, and strong.
By age 30, he was the strongest man on the continent.
He created his own sect and had refined the "Dragon Fist" to the point of its peak.
He destroyed the Martial Alliance by himself, stripping them of the technique.
He honored his sensei, Ryu.
Kang walked the path of a powerful, unstoppable being, both loved and hated.
He was the ruler of a large portion of the continent.
A title, both arrogant and deserving, was ushered in:
The Fist God.
By age 50, he was the most feared and renowned man in the world.
His sect was a part of the great 5 sects that ruled the continent.
Hardly any challengers came at this point in his life.
He was bored, and the world of martial arts became boring.
So he left, ascending the mountain, where it all started.
He punched.
He punched until his bones ached.
He punched until his knuckles tore open.
He punched until his hands were numb.
At first, he asked himself why he was doing this.
But before he knew it, 20 years had passed.
At age 70, a realization came to him.
The way of the fist, he truly understood it.
And thus, he punched.
The mountain he once knew was blown to oblivion.
He could hardly be called a man.
His title with 'God' in it was starting to truly shine.
He descended the mountain, putting the annoying brats who dared to challenge him in their place.
He punched.
His fists were invincible.
The Fist God Kang moved once more, now living in a volcano.
He trained his body to the utmost extent.
He thought he had reached the peak of physical form, but he was wrong.
His goal was unclear, but to him he wanted to reach a place that he believed was impossible.
So he punched.
Again, and again.
His skin was gone, and his bones were being melted.
But he punched.
He had reached a new realization.
His skin was healed, and the lava felt like a cool river.
His blood was molten, and his bones were sturdier than the strongest diamond or steel.
Thus, he punched.
The volcano, gone.
He moved forward, never stopping.
At age 80, he felt age catching up to him.
Though his body was powerful, death was fair to everyone.
And yet, he moved.
Unyielding, even in the face of death.
At age 90, he rested.
The illness that he thought was gone came back.
It turned out, the illness was afraid of his strength, and waited until he was weak.
At age 100, he lived despite his sickness.
12 years passed by in a blur.
And the martial arts world was in shock to hear that the Fist God had died in his sleep.
'I have no regrets...'
'I lived a life worth mentioning.'
'I trained until there was nothing left.'
'I used everything.'
'I am satisfied.'
He descended into death, a darkness.
Yet no fear swept him.
His will was felt even by death.
[So even this... cannot shake you.]
[It's fun to see.]
[A man like you should not die from such a weak sickness.]
[Let's see how you reign... over this world.]
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An end came, and yet a new beginning awaited.