Chapter 92: You Know Nothing of Power

Soul and body switched places, and a slightly chubby young Chinese man appeared behind the elite New York socialite. Then, he extended his panda-like hand.

It was as if Alexandra had eyes in the back of her head; her whole body surged with true energy, forming a shield of qi around her. She bent forward, reached out, and tucked her neck in—ready to perform the world-famous martial arts technique, "Rolling Donkey."

However, an aging and dying lady could hardly match the speed and strength of a young, robust panda man. Removing his titanium alloy gauntlet, his left hand shattered the qi shield; his pale, slightly reddened palm landed squarely upon the white dress covering her back.

“Madam, would you like a cupping treatment?” His deep, magnetic voice resonated.

A thick wave of true energy poured into her body. Immense power penetrated through her back. Crack! A series of crisp sounds rang out—seven vertebrae fractured, then her internal organs followed.

Alexandra felt a suffocating tightness in her chest, her breath short, the last remnants of her strength draining away. A surge of blood rose as her shattered organs—especially her heart—caused blood to erupt, flooding her trachea and esophagus, rushing into her throat.

Then, it sprayed from her open mouth.

She was sent flying.

At last, a second legendary martial technique emerged: the “Falling Goose” pose, buttocks backward—a perfect wipeout.

With a dull thud, Alexandra collapsed, utterly prostrate.

"This... can't... be happening!" All her internal organs destroyed, her spine shattered, her chest bone broken, and her final reserves of true energy barely prolonging her life. Alexandra knew she was doomed, but what filled her heart was not the fear of death, but the despair of her careful schemes collapsing: “You... are not... Iron Fist!”

No one understood Iron Fist better than she did. She had used the ancient dragon bone for over a thousand years; the power in her and the other four fingers actually shared the same origin as Iron Fist. One source was from a dead dragon bone, the other from a living dragon’s heart—fundamentally different.

Thus, one could only sustain life, while the other granted its bearer power far beyond ordinary humans.

And now, feeling the qi surging into her body, Alexandra was certain: the person behind her was not Iron Fist.

“What?” Sowan, Murakami, and the Gambler, who were about to act, froze for a moment.

He’s not Iron Fist?

If he’s not Iron Fist, he can’t break Iron Fist’s seal, and he can’t claim the dragon bone fossil below. The last bit of dragon bone brought from Kunlun had already been given to Black Void.

So, what now?

A sense of ruin and absurdity gripped the trio, making them forget the threat of death for a moment.

Hearing Alexandra’s words, Old Wang instantly became unhappy.

Wait a minute.

Look at my fists carefully—aren’t my gauntlets made of iron? Aren’t my fists even tougher than iron?

Why am I not Iron Fist?

Not only do I have an iron fist, I also have an iron staff—would you like to try it?

His soul floated from the ruins; Old Wang’s spirit merged with his body. He donned his titanium alloy gauntlets, hoisted his titanium staff, and sighed, “I really am Iron Fist!”

You must be some clown hired by a monkey… Sowan, well versed in Chinese culture, was the first to snap out of his shock. Clenching his fist, he shouted, “Don’t just stand there! Attack together! If we don’t kill him, we’re all dead!”

The underground area was not completely cut off from the upper levels, and there was more than one entrance. But Old Wang’s sudden, miraculous appearance convinced him: escape was impossible.

The only way out was to eliminate this person!

The Gambler gripped his sword, Murakami wielded his blade, Sowan came with bare hands.

One was the world’s greatest sword master, one Japan’s top blade master, and one a master of acupuncture points (as the TV series says).

The three, leading their surviving subordinates, charged forward.

The bullets were nearly spent; even if a few remained, they wouldn’t be enough. Besides, so many grenades, rocket launchers, shotguns, heavy machine guns, so many bullets and explosions—none of it had killed the man before them, not even wounded him. They had no faith that hot weapons would help now.

In the end, cold steel and “qi” would decide.

This impostor Iron Fist was far too cunning, far too treacherous—when he fought Lady Gao, he hadn’t shown his full strength, pretending to be only slightly stronger. Now, his true power revealed itself, easily killing Alexandra, a foe not inferior to Lady Gao.

Not only was he not Iron Fist, he wasn’t even from Kunlun.

People from Kunlun never leave their homes; they’re all reclusive shut-ins without guile!

Crack!

Old Wang planted his titanium staff into the hard ground.

The screech of metal piercing and scraping made the three men shudder.

“You know nothing…”

He released the staff, clenched his fists, and stood like a mountain.

“…of true power!”

…

…

Black Widow lay on the ground, unsure whether she should curse or not.

Lately, she’d been getting injured far too often.

She was a legendary agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., undefeated in missions for years—until she took a bullet to the waist.

Shot by the Winter Soldier.

A month ago at the Roxxon Power Plant, she was riddled with bullets; had it not been for Master Wang’s timely intervention, she would have died then.

Hydra agents had fired together.

Now, she hadn’t been shot, but had been utterly beaten—with bare hands, no less. Her assailant wasn’t even a burly man, but a boy barely as tall as her chest. And not in bed, either—who would believe it?

She’d used every trick in her Widow arsenal, yet was thrashed, pinned down, unable to resist.

Utterly humiliating!

“I need backup!” Seeing the boy approach step by step, Black Widow lay on the ground, pushing herself backward with elbows and legs, shouting for help.

Suddenly—

A gunshot rang out.

Then a barrage of shots followed.

Dozens of bullets poured into the boy at breakneck speed, forcing him to stagger backward, evoking the spectacle of a blockbuster action film.

Erica had arrived.

Wearing the standard S.H.I.E.L.D. field agent gear, she wielded a submachine gun aimed at the boy, her face twisted, movements wild, her demeanor… fierce?

She was like a goddess of vengeance.

Beside her was Matt Murdock.

The blind lawyer also gripped a submachine gun, his bullets joining the barrage.

“Agent Romanoff!” The last member of the trio, “Stick,” rushed to Black Widow’s side, unhesitant. Extending his index and middle fingers, he jabbed her repeatedly—including certain crucial spots.

It made Black Widow feel pain in some places, soreness in others, unbearable itching in a few, and warmth in others.

“Acupoint manipulation?” Black Widow thought of some mysterious Eastern power—the Hand had practitioners of such arts, it seemed.

Stick nodded. “Master Wang taught me.”

With over a dozen acupoints sealed by qi, the injuries inflicted by the boy eased a little. Stick dragged Black Widow backward, tossing a grenade ahead.

Boom!

A violent explosion resounded, but Stick showed no joy.

Instead, his heart dropped.

The boy emerged from the smoke, his clothes shredded and blown apart, nearly naked.

Yet completely unscathed.

Youthful perfection stood revealed before the two men and two women.