The Iceman melted last weekend.

The Last Emperor, meanwhile, appears poised to extend his reign with ease later this month.

At this point, a comparison between Chuck Liddell and Fedor Emelianenko would seem completely inappropriate.

But, to me, there's one haymaker of a difference that stands out when considering the respective reigns of these two MMA titans. It revolves around a curious concept that's fervently bandied about in regards to Fedor, a concept that's totally foreign when discussing Liddell's legacy.

It's the idea of mystique.

Over the past few years, the idea of Fedor's mystique (which sounds like it could be the name of some cologne) has been peddled by promotions, gullible media and Emelianenko's exploitative management company, M-1 Global.

If we are to believe them, the reserved Russian possesses an aura of invincibility that's been magically constructed through his stunning ledger of 28 straight victories (minus one no-contest).

Mystique? That's a mistake.

I prefer to think of it more as a facade from the truth.

The concept of mystique is troubling when referring to supposedly superior athletes. Even if they remain guarded individuals like Emelianenko, their athletic dominance should be revealed with clearly defined skills and consistent performances against - most importantly - the highest possible competition.

This is where we can utilize a comparison such as Liddell, even though The Iceman, 40, essentially has been reduced to a puddle on the canvas.

There has never been much mystery about Liddell (other than the meaning of those Asian symbols tattooed on his head). We've always known him as a knockout artist with an impressive wrestling base.

Chuck Liddell stood for bank-breaking main events and KOs against big-name challengers. Plus, he built his reputation in the sport's defining company during MMA's most meaningful growth period.

That's The Iceman's legacy in a nutshell. It's easy to peg and simple to understand.

With Fedor, though, there has been an unknown air about the legendary heavyweight since the dissolution of PRIDE.

It could be because his success came in Japan, thousands of miles from the crucial U.S. market, and took place before "The Ultimate Fighter" boom.

It might be because he doesn't speak English, prefers to share little, appears stone-faced in and out of the cage, and may actually live in some sort of remote cave.

But it's most likely because, after coming to fight in America in 2008, his opposition has been overwhelmingly underwhelming.

When we see Emelianenko perform in the cage, we wonder how this nondescript, almost pudgy man continues to claim dramatic victories despite moments of great danger and uncertainty he endures in nearly every bout against ho-hum foes.

Since he remains outside the sport's premier league and seems unconcerned (or unable, due to the M-1 handcuffs) with cementing himself as the clear-cut, undisputed king of MMA, we're left to consider the possibility that Fedor really isn't as good as billed.

That's not a mystique - that's a valid doubt.

By no means is this discussion meant to slight Fedor's terrific repertoire of skills or demean his amazing in-cage calmness or sense of timing. It's just that, since those prime PRIDE years, it's hard to determine how much greatness can truly be ascribed. And that's unlikely to change June 26 in his Strikeforce fight against Fabricio Werdum.

Of Fedor's last four victims - Brett Rogers, Andrei Arlovski, Tim Sylvia and Hong Man Choi - none were considered...