PROLOGUE

Gurang gulped down the water. He was dripping with sweat; blood tricked out of his nose and fell to the ground, where it condensed into small liquid puddles. Gurang was 19, a native of the Rango Village along the Tuul River in Mongolia. His master, Hyu, had shown him the martial art of Fir-Xian, or the art of fire, as many called it. This fighting style was ancient to the Rango People, and Gurang was quick to overestimate his knowledge of it and sneak away to a rope-boxing match in Ar-Gasat. His voracious opponent, Crest, was in his mid-twenties, and was from Tibet. He was laden with muscle and bulk. With one whip of a fist he had crushed Gurang's delicate nose and simultaneously had thrown him across the platform. Gurang was barely fit compared to this monster. As soon as Gurang finished his brief refreshment in the corner, Crest threw himself at Gurang. Gurang quickly remembered a lesson where Hyu taught him the sky leap.

"Heat is continuously moving skyward. If you want to ever learn how to really leap, you must imagine yourself as weightless, with one desire - up." Gurang had regarded this as one of those worthless lessons whose purpose was to teach patience, so he zoned out while he listened. "You must push with the balls of your feet, but do not bend your knees, that will waste time. Push with the balls of your feet, and ascend, but do not curl, that will make you dense and fall like a weight." Gurang honestly hadn't know why such precision was put into jumping; you just jump. Hyu had turned to him. "Try to leap." Gurang had failed to leap; always a foot below what Master Hyu required.

Now Gurang didn't have a choice. Jump, or die by being rammed by the mad Crest, charging as a bull. Gurang bent his knees and jumped, not bothering to follow Hyu's precious instruction. As Hyu had warned, he was not agile enough. Crest' body slammed full force into his thighs and knees, flipping Gurang off the platform and into the crowd, which automatically parted like a sea of fish. Gurang had the wind knocked out of him and a black eye to go with the pain. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Crest; he was luring Gurang on, shouting insults that were so taunting that no man could not continue to fight. Gurang always had a low tolerance level; he took the bait, running back and climbing over the rope. The crowd went wild. Crest lashed out with his left leg, and reflex forced Gurang to grab it even though his palms were badly bruised and pained. He struggled, but managed to toss Crest around himself using massive torque. The rope broke Crest's fall, ramming in between his legs. Crest's face of pride instantly morphed into one of great pain. Gurang assumed this was his chance, rushing forward and thrusting his arm at Crest, waiting to feel the impact of his fist. He felt no such thing. What he felt was a hand grasping his, iron-like, and twisting it hard, throwing Gurang to the ground and breaking 3 bones of his. Gurang realized that Crest had cajoled him into believing that he was hurt badly, but this was not true. Crest was a severely quick recoverer.

Gurang knew that Crest was the superior opponent. He knew Crest could have killed him at that moment if he wanted to. Instead, Crest had thought that it was innocuous to spare his kill for a second for the spectators. The bulky man raised his arms in triumph and smiled. As he turned to kill Gurang, Gurang jabbed with his fist upward,moving with great celerity. Crest was not ready for this; as the fist impacted the lower portion of his chin, his neck bent backwards and snapped. Blood instantly spewed out with a line of saliva, seemingly suspending in slow motion. Crest tried to retaliate, but Gurang was inexorable. Crest fell to the ground. Gurang continued to batter him with insidious strokes of fist, like a flames licking a pot, but not as jaded. He continued to deliver this until the body below was limp.

It was his first kill.