Modern day, Australia
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The leather inside the glove.

The routine forever revising.

The pain, the smell of blood and sweat.

Every second staking everything I have, every movement vital to the game.

Counter to Counter.

Fist to Fist.

Mind to Mind.

Every second...vital until a blow is struck, then it plays itself out again like some freakus circle of destruction, until
one falls and doesn't get up.

You try to become that bit better with every win and every failure.

You push youself to the top of your game.

But what happens when you face down the wrath of Mars himself, the God of fighting, as the spirit of vengeance, to find yourself no better that before.

What happens when you are the King of the Iron fist, the best to ever exsit.

What becomes of you.

To have everything that you ever wanted and to relaise that it was nothing.

Whose life has lead to this moment, to the second in which the best becomes second to me.

The answer to a question that only I can discover.

"The punching bang explodes in one almighty kick...."

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End of Introduction.