In his glory days, the "Last Emperor" Fedor Emelianenko was the most feared man in the world's most violent sport. Standing just a shade under six feet, love handles jiggling, he terrorized kickboxers, wrestlers and jiu-jitsu stars alike, decimating faces and bodies with winging sledgehammer punches from all angles.

Save for a cut stoppage, he was undefeated for nine long years, stomping a vicious path through five former UFC champions and the best fighters Pride had to offer. Even as he slowed down in later years, Emelianenko remained capable of the astounding, like catching a leaping Andrei Arlovski in midair with a one-punch knockout.

When Fedor was in the ring, those kinds of things happened routinely. His offensive prowess was matched only by an ability to survive the unthinkable. Emelianenko would occasionally wobble in the face of whatever juggernaut was across from him. But his humanity was temporary. Within seconds, his stoic mask would be back and he'd return fire without ever once changing expression.

That unstoppable Fedor has been more myth than man for nearly a decade, his spirit and aura of invincibility shattered by three consecutive losses in Strikeforce, each more devastating for his substantial fanbase than the last. After a handful of feel-good wins and a vain attempt to stitch back together his tattered legacy, Emelianenko retired quietly in 2012, taking on the mantle of elder statesman.

If only he could have stayed there.

Instead, his countrymen and loyal fans around the world were forced to endure a comeback that was every bit as brutal as it was embarrassing. Demoted to an internet stream instead of worldwide television, with chatterbox announcer Roman Mazyrov providing commentary every bit as surreal as the fight itself, the 39-year-old Fedor struggled mightily against an underwhelming former light heavyweight gatekeeper named Fabio Maldonado.

In the early seconds it looked like it would be a short fight. Emelianenko entered the cage slinging heavy leather, and Maldonado seemed content to absorb it. I counted 28 consecutive punches before Fedor finally took a step back to observe the carnage.

Maldonado, however, was still standing.

When his turn came, it didn't take a storm of punches to drop the former champion to the mat. Just two were required, a right followed by a left. What happened next was not for the faint of heart. From the top position, Maldonado, the man who'd lost more fights in the UFC's Octagon than he'd won, proceeded to beat the tar out of the best heavyweight of all time.

"What is going on?" Mazyrov, alone in the broadcast booth, asked rhetorically. "Fedor Emelianenko concedes these punches. He is stunned. I can't believe my eyes."

By the time Emelianenko struggled to his feet, stumbling across the cage in a desperate attempt at self defense, the fight would have likely been stopped multiple times by most American referees. Russian official Viktor Korneev, appointed by Emelianenko himself in his role as president of the Russian MMA Union, allowed the fight to continue.

That was a blessing to no one, least of all Emelianenko himself. Both men looked exhausted in the bout's final 10 minutes, Maldonado from the punishment he dished out and Emelianenko from the beating he'd absorbed. The remaining intermittent combat was often sloppy, resembling the kind of low-level slugfest you'd expect from the regional scene, not the best heavyweight to ever compete in the sport.

Though he would go on to win a questionable judges' verdict, courtesy of yet more officials he had personally selected, Emelianenko couldn't have possibly felt like a winner. He looked sloppy, physically and technically, and left the cage with both battered face and pride. He fought his heart out and held his own. But when you're a living legend, that's not nearly enough.

Before the fight there was talk of Emelianenko, finally, assuming his rightful place in the UFC. Afterward there were mostly just sighs. All men age—fighters just do it right before our eyes. Fedor's is a name belonging to history now. Let's hope someone convinces him that his fighting career should remain firmly in the past.

Jonathan Snowden covers combat sports for Bleacher Report.