Orphaned and stranded in the mountains, young Danny Rand was rescued from certain death by the immortal mystics of K’un-Lun. Under their tutelage, he mastered the martial arts, rising to become the lost city's champion. Armed with the chi of Shou-Lao the Undying, he now defends both K’un-Lun and Earth as the Living Weapon…
*This post takes place approximately one week prior to the events of Black Cat #1 --EB
Mott Street
Chinatown, ManhattanMahjong tiles sail through the air as my kick sends a thug crashing through a nearby table. Near as I can tell, this makeshift gambling den was once a storeroom for the restaurant above. Wooden shelves line the walls, and there are a few crates and sacks of rice tucked away in the corners. Even in the best of times, it would never have been called “spacious,” and the surfeit of card tables and folding chairs only compresses the available space. Dimly lit and reeking of old tobacco, it's far from welcoming – even before you factor in the thirty or so triad members trying to take off my head.
Tonight's adversaries are the Golden Tigers, a gang with whom I've quarreled in the past. Judging by the murderous reception, they've neither forgiven nor forgotten. They're no match for me in a straight fight, but the confined space limits my movement and evens the playing field. Fortunately, I'm not here on my own. Across the room, Colleen Wing is dealing with the triads the best way she knows how: by proving that she's as effective with a sheathed katana as any swordsman alive with bare steel. Together, we carve a path through the gangsters, albeit much more slowly than either of us would like.
“Fist!” As she calls out my name, Colleen ducks a switchblade lunging at her face. Spinning under the attacker’s outstretched arm, she rises up with an elbow strike to the chin that does not miss. Locking eyes with me, she shouts,
“Over there!” indicating the direction with a nod of her head. No sooner has she finished than the next contender closes in, only to be rewarded with the blunt end of her pommel.
Meanwhile, I turn aside a telegraphed haymaker to see where she's pointing. Sure enough, I spot our quarry trying to use the chaos as cover to slip away unseen. Sun Feng, as identified by Colleen’s client, is largely unremarkable; in his silk shirt and tailored suit, he could pass for a twenty-something investor if we were a mile further south. But Nightwing Restorations has it on good authority that Feng is a rising player in the Golden Tigers organization, and he's been implicated in the kidnapping of the client's daughter – hence the need to have a little chat. He's the only reason we're here, and I'll be damned if I let him get away.
“On it!” I announce. A triad member goes low, perhaps hoping to take out my legs, so I somersault over his head, landing on the table behind him. The thing wobbles but gratefully holds, and I drop into a spinning kick to clear the surrounding area. Spring-boarding ahead, I land between three goons who thought they had more time to prepare; two quick palm strikes and a roundhouse kick dispatches them easily, and suddenly I've got room to maneuver. I take off running after Feng, ducking and evading errant swipes in my direction.
Feng ducks through a PVC curtain, and even before catching up, I can feel the cooler air seeping through the partition. Bursting through, I find myself in an all new environment; crumbling plaster and old wood are replaced by cold, industrial steel. Raised voices echo off the walls of this cold storage area, easily drowning out the clamor of the other room. Feng looks back at me as he begins forcing his way through a crowd with their backs all turned to the door. Some annoyed Tigers turn to see the cause of the commotion, and their eyes go wide at the sight of the Iron Fist. Distracted and disorganized, it's easy enough to shove past them in pursuit of Feng.
Feng clambers into an open area cordoned off by a wall of wooden pallets. I don't need the assembled crowd or bloodstains on the floor to tell me that this is some kind of hastily assembled fighting pit. Leaping into the pit after him, I grab the end of Feng’s sleeve and pull him close.
“Give it up, Feng,” I warn, but he pays me no heed. Instead, he twists in my grasp, snaking his arm out of the sleeve and stumbling free, leaving me holding an empty jacket. I make a move to go after him, but something takes a hold of my shoulder first.
The next thing I know, I'm thrown through the air, my flight only ending when I crash into an upturned pallet; the wood splinters and cracks under the force of the impact. I scramble to my feet and come face-to-face with a large, bare-chested pit fighter. It's difficult to say at a glance whether more of him is muscle, fat, or scar tissue. Behind his towering physique, I can see Feng scrambling over the barricade, so I can't afford to mess around. The big man must go down.
I open with Viper Strikes from the Grass, a lightning quick stunning strike that the behemoth simply absorbs. As he swings a meaty hand for my neck, I drop into Spider Crab stance and follow up with Torrent of a Thousand Geysers. The man actually laughs at me and kicks out one of my legs with quickness I did not anticipate. As I begin to fall, he lands a blow of his own, connecting center mass and sending me sprawling backwards.
I hardly have time to find my feet before he's on me again; Moonlight on the Pond spirits me out of danger, and I deliver a jump kick to the side of the head that should daze any man. The giant – who I can now see has a full back tattoo of an ox – shakes it off like a bad sneeze and squares up again, easy as that. I've given him a nosebleed, for whatever that's worth, but he pays it as little mind as the chanting of the assembled crowd. <<“You fight well for a little man,”>> he grunts in Mandarin, smiling through a gap in his teeth.
A quick survey of the room shows no sign of Feng. All I can do is hope that he doubled back into Colleen's waiting arms. For that matter, I could really use Colleen right about now. The ox stomps towards me, and I know what I must do. Reticent though I am to resort to this against common foes, I have a feeling the big man can take it – and that it might be the only thing that
can put him down.
Blocking out the noise, I channel my essence… everything I am, every dream I have, every fear… the whole of my chi begins to travel down my arm, gathering in my fist… it begins to glow and smoulder… until it becomes –
like unto a thing of iron! And with the full force of Shou-Lao the Undying, I drive my fist into the larger man's gut, picking a spot that's least likely to cause long-term damage. The Iron Fist sends him careening across the pit, shattering the barricade and bowling over more than one row of spectators.
Panic sets in then, and the Tigers who’d been rooting for their champion realize that the fight has gone the other way. They trip over each other rushing for the exits, as I stand in the center of the ring, fist still cooling off. Moments later, Colleen pushes through the stampede, regrettably all by herself. She scans the faces of the fleeing triads, but I already know she won't find the one we need. Turning to me, she says,
“No sign of Feng, huh?”I shake my head, striding across the pit to where I was first thrown.
“No, but we're not leaving completely empty-handed.” I bend down and retrieve Feng's jacket, left behind when he made his escape.
Courtaud,
Fetzen,
mickilennial,
Retired,
Doughboy,
Half Pint,
nitemare shape,
Sep,
Morden Man
