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When Davos was a child he knew his destiny was great. He didn't understand why no one else recognized his potential. Not the Yu-Ti. Not the Thunderer, his own father. At every turn he's been held back. Is it a wonder he has a problem with authority? He takes what little they have to offer. These insect. These ants. He rips their life force from their bodies and heals his wounds. Flesh bubbles closed. Blood coagulates. Bones fuse. He takes it all so that he may stand while they fall. If he had enough of it, the Chi of Shou-Lao... could he heal his heart, too? And if he was simply given the love he needed in the first place... but K'un-Lun was never a place for love. All it offered was fire and blood. Can you blame him for accepting?
There is a lot going on here. I get that. But I have a responsibility to the other worlds, too. There are parts of the Book of the Iron Fist that are unwritten. And right now, I'm the only guy with the pen.
I made my choice a long time ago. I stood in front of the tree of life and traded away the fruit of immortality for vengeance. So why has it started to feel like I'm still stuck in eternity? Is this my penance? My purgatory? Are all of the other poor souls just to scared to admit we've fallen into a lake of fire? So why can't I feel the heat? Pills won't help me sleep. So I try something else. I tell myself I earn it. But it's just an exercise of forms. One cold, dead thing imitating another. Training. Regime. Routine. I stare out the window and the dead corpse of my father stares back. A grave maker in a field of 8.25 million dead souls. I remember the screaming. I thought it was my mother at first. And then I thought it was myself. A high-pitched desperate skrill. It wasn't either of us. I remember seeing my father for the first time just then. For what he truly was. He wasn't afraid of dying. How could he be? He was already gone. A dead man walking in my father's skin. The look in his eyes said it all. He was insane. had been for a long time. And then he was... I have my father's eyes. That's what she would tell me. Before she kissed me on the cheek and tucked me in for bed. She smelled like rose petals. Like baby powder in the rain. And she loved me because I had the eyes of a madman. We all chose, didn't we. We all chose to pretend... To ignore... We chose to see what we wanted to... Not what was really there. I'm so sick of choosing. I've been avoiding the past for so long... Afraid that if I was to turn around... I'd see what was coming for me.
The monk shouldn't be here. K'un-Lun appears on Earth once every ten years. The next cycle isn't due for some time. When I left, I was told I wouldn't be able to return for a decade. But like so much of what I was told, it was a lie. There is a way back. And it's here in this very building. Just down the elevator. All the way down... Twelve stories underneath a seventy-two floor skyscraper... Four city blocks across a labyrinth of underground access tunnels... And I find myself underneath Rand Tower. If this building was a tombstone, this would be its buried corpse. Nineteenth century engineering, kept running through pristine neglect. There are a lot of questions that come with a device like this. I'm sure there are answers. I'm sure there are lies. It's been so hard to tell the difference, I've stopped asking. My father had no idea the doorway to K'un-Lun was literally at his feet. If he did, maybe they wouldn't have had to die. Cold. Death is cold.
My name is Danniel Rand. After watching my parents murdered in cold blood, I was taken in by mystical monks. They protected me the only way they knew how. They turned fear into rage. To focus my rage, they promised vengeance. They turned me into a living weapon. Trained for ten years for the sole purpose of returning to Earth and killing Harold Meachum in the name of my dead mother and father. And then they acted surprised when I left. I returned to the world of men and found Meachum waiting for me in Rand Tower. A paraplegic, reeking of bourbon and fear. In essence, he was already dead. Guilt, reject and terror had already taken him. I looked into his hollow eyes. It was like looking into nothingness. I had become a weapon without a target. A worthless exercise. A lie. My fist wasn't forged in iron... But irony. An orphan of two worlds. Two families. Stuck in that place in-between. Now, where's a good place to catch up? Should I start with the metal monster standing over me? My dead father's face bolted onto it like a cheap Halloween mask... Or should I begin with the broken mess of bones I once called fists? My chi, the source of my power, cut off at the source.
Your old mentor has given you a clear ultimatum. This mess we're in today, the one you created by stealing this eye from its rightful owner... He said, and I believe him, that this fight we had today -- this was just a taste. This was just a sampler. So I'm going to ask you again, Stephen... Whose is this, really?!
The sky goes red as a troupe of marionettes is pulled off the stage. And through it all, father's watching me. With those crazy eyes. I couldn't bring myself to repair Rand Tower. Engineers declared it structurally sound enough to keep standing. Maybe one day I'll be ready to bring it down. But for now... I'll leave it alone a little while longer. A reminder of--
Is that what he was for you? The Thunderer raised you as his own. Led you to the dragon Shou-Lao and fitted you with fists of iron. He became the Yu-Ti so you wouldn't have to. He gave you all the power in the world and shielded you from any of its responsibilities. And you turned your back on him. Left him in a icy grave. Any of this sounding familiar?