"Crumble."
Fists hard enough to pulverize diamonds.
Muscles dense enough to stop a falling meteor.
A will strong enough to terrify the gods.
Power. Pure, unadulterated power surged through Ma Go's veins as he stared down the beast that eclipsed the sun.
The Void Dragon. A creature of infinite darkness.
"You… insignificant… ant…" the Dragon roared, its voice shaking the very foundations of the earth.
Ma Go grinned. Blood poured from his seven orifices, his bones were cracking under the pressure, and his dantian was on the verge of implosion.
It was perfect.
"Insignificant?" Ma Go laughed, spitting out a mouthful of broken teeth. "Then watch this ant flip the world over."
He stepped forward. The ground vaporized.
He pulled his right fist back. The air screamed as it was compressed into a singularity.
"This is the end, you lizard!"
Mighty Mountain Art: Final Form.
World-Shattering Meteor Fist!
BOOOOOOM!
A blinding white light swallowed the world. Ma Go felt his fist connect with the dragon's heart. He felt the beast's life force crumble. He felt his own body disintegrate into dust, satisfied with a warrior's death.
'I leave the rest to you… my disciples. Make the Mighty Mountain Sect proud.'
Darkness took him.
Glorious, silent darkness.
…
…
"Hey! Table four needs water!"
…What?
"Are you deaf? I said Table four! And bring the spicy pickles!"
Ma Go frowned in the void. Who dares order the Iron Fist around in the afterlife? Is this King Yama? The Judge of Hell?
"Wake up, you lazy bum!"
Whack!
A wet towel slapped across his face.
"Urgh!?"
Ma Go's eyes snapped open.
He wasn't in hell. He wasn't in the heavens.
He was standing in a noisy, grease-filled room that smelled of boiled pork and stale tea.
"You spacing out again?"
A middle-aged woman with a mole on her chin and a ladle in her hand was glaring at him.
"Auntie… Wang?" Ma Go muttered. Wait, who is Auntie Wang? He didn't know an Auntie Wang. Yet, the name floated to his tongue automatically.
"Don't 'Auntie' me! If you don't get those dumplings to Table Seven, I'm docking your pay! Move!"
She shoved him.
Ma Go stumbled.
Stumbled?
The man who stood immovable against a charging army stumbled from a gentle shove?
Ma Go looked down.
He saw hands.
frail, twig-like fingers. Pale skin that had clearly never punched a rock in its life. Wrists so thin he could snap them with two fingers—if he had his old fingers.
"What… is this?"
He looked down further. A stained apron. Cheap hemp pants. And feet encased in worn-out straw sandals.
He spun around, looking for a mirror. He found a polished bronze platter hanging on the wall.
Reflected there was not the rugged, bearded visage of the Iron Fist Ma Go, a man who oozed testosterone and violence.
Instead, a boy stared back. Big doe eyes, messy soft hair, and a face that looked like it would cry if you yelled at it too loud.
"Little… Pebble?"
The memories flooded in.
This body belonged to Little Pebble. An orphan taken in by the owners of this establishment. 16 years old. sickly. Timid. His greatest achievement in life was carrying three plates at once without dropping them.
Ma Go's face twisted.
"I… am alive?"
He touched his chest. A heartbeat. Weak, fluttering like a dying bird, but there.
"Hah. Haha."
He lived? He survived the Void Dragon?
"Hahahahaha! I lived! I won!"
Ma Go threw his head back and laughed. The customers in the tea house fell silent, staring at the crazy waiter laughing at the ceiling.
"I am alive! The Heavens couldn't kill me! The Dragon couldn't kill me!"
He clenched his fist.
"Now, where is my sect? Where are my disciples? They must have built a golden statue for me! Is the Mighty Mountain Sect ruling the world now?"
He turned to the angry woman with the ladle.
"You! Woman!"
"W-what? Have you lost your mind?"
"Tell me! Where is the Mighty Mountain Sect?"
The woman blinked. The customers blinked.
Then, the woman sighed, looking at him with pity.
"Pebble… did you hit your head?"
"Answer me! The Mighty Mountain Sect! The strongest sect in the world! Where is their main hall?"
The woman pointed at the floor.
"Here."
Ma Go froze.
"Here?"
"Yes."
Ma Go looked around. He looked at the peeling wallpaper. He looked at the drunk merchant drooling on a table. He looked at the menu hanging on the wall: 'Special: 2 Dumplings for 1 Copper.'
"This… is a restaurant."
"It's the Mountain View Tea House," the woman corrected. "And technically, my husband is the 18th Generation Sect Leader of the Mighty Mountain Sect. Though he mostly just kneads dough now."
Ma Go felt his blood pressure rise.
"Sect Leader? Kneading dough?"
"Well, martial arts don't pay the bills, do they? Now go deliver the pickles!"
Ma Go stood there, trembling.
His legacy. His blood, sweat, and tears. The martial arts that could shatter mountains.
It was now a dumpling shop.
And it wasn't even a high-end dumpling shop. It was a budget one!
"Aggggggghhhhh!"
Ma Go screamed.
"Why?! Why is it like this?! Did you all stop punching rocks?! Did you stop training?!"
"Stop screaming! You're scaring the customers!"
"I don't care about the customers! I care about my honor!"
Ma Go grabbed a heavy clay pot from the counter. He needed to vent. He was going to smash this pot to show his fury.
He channeled his Qi. He gripped it tight.
CRACK.
"Argh!"
Ma Go dropped the pot. It didn't break.
His wrist did.
"M-my wrist…"
Ma Go fell to his knees, clutching his sprained wrist.
"It sprained? From lifting a pot? This body… this trash body…!"
Tears streamed down his face. Not from the pain, but from the humiliation. The Iron Fist Ma Go had been defeated by a clay pot.
"I'll kill you all," Ma Go whispered to the ceiling. "I'll rebuild this sect. I'll turn this restaurant back into a fortress of violence if it's the last thing I do."
"Pebble! The pickles!"
Ma Go stood up, eyes burning with the fire of a thousand suns.
"I am getting the pickles!" he roared. "But remember this! These are the pickles of the Iron Fist! Eat them with reverence!"
He snatched the plate of pickles and marched toward Table Four like a general marching to war.