Damon smirked.
This was what he wanted.
A real fight.
Rairo had no plans of slowing down. He pressed forward again, launching a short left hook that clipped Damon’s guard, followed by a quick inside leg kick. Damon barely registered the strike, bouncing on his feet, staying composed.
Then, as Rairo lunged in again, Damon fired.
A perfectly tid check hook smashed into Rairo’s jaw.
The Cuban stumbled, his montum halted for the first ti.
Damon saw the opening.
He didn’t hesitate.
A sharp right straight crashed into Rairo’s nose, followed by a brutal left body kick that echoed throughout the arena.
"Damon’s starting to find his range!" one comntator called.
"He’s making Rairo pay for every step forward!" the other added.
But Rairo wasn’t backing down.
Blood trickled from his nose, but his expression remained stoic. He wiped his face with his glove before stepping forward again.
Damon feinted a right hand, baiting Rairo into reacting, then slamd another body kick into his ribs.
This ti, Rairo grunted, his posture shifting slightly.
"He felt that one!"
Damon grinned.
The fight was shifting in his favor.
But Rairo was still dangerous.
Damon knew it.
And he wasn’t about to let his guard down.
Damon saw it now.
Rairo was still dangerous, but he was predictable.
The mont Rairo stepped in again, Damon made his move.
He feinted a right straight, forcing Rairo to flinch just slightly, then, before the Cuban could react, Damon shot in for his own takedown.
It was effortless.
A quick level change, a deep penetration step, and in the blink of an eye, Damon had scooped Rairo off his feet. The Cuban’s eyes went wide, realizing what was happening just a second too late.
And then—boom!
Damon slamd him to the mat with authority.
The crowd gasped.
"That was huge!" one comntator shouted.
"Rairo never gets taken down like that! Damon just ragdolled him!"
But Damon wasn’t done.
He imdiately transitioned, moving like a machine, securing a deep crossface to keep Rairo pinned. The Cuban thrashed beneath him, trying to buck his hips, trying to explode back to his feet.
Damon shut it down.
Rairo tried to shrimp, Damon flattened him out.
He tried to turn to his knees, Damon hooked a leg and stuffed him.
He tried to create space, Damon drowned him.
"Damon’s control is ridiculous," one comntator marveled.
"This is insane," the other added. "He’s making a world-class wrestler look helpless."
Damon tightened his grip, pressing his full weight onto Rairo’s chest, making it harder to breathe. He could feel the Cuban’s frantic energy, the frustration in his movents.
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Rairo was strong, but it didn’t matter.
Strength only worked if you had space.
And Damon was giving him none.
The Cuban tried again, straining, twisting his hips, using every ounce of his power to break free.
Damon responded by effortlessly stepping over and sliding into full mount.
The arena erupted.
"He’s got the mount!"
"Damon Cross is dominating a forr world champion!"
Rairo’s arms shot up, trying to fra, trying to push him off.
Damon smirked.
He grabbed Rairo’s wrist and pinned it to the mat.
Complete control.
Rairo had nowhere to go.
Damon took a second to look down at him, their eyes eting.
"You ain’t getting up," he muttered.
Then, he postured up.
And began raining down hell.
A sharp elbow sliced down, cracking against Rairo’s guard. The Cuban grunted, twisting to cover up, but Damon stayed on him, adjusting his position, throwing another hard shot that snapped Rairo’s head sideways.
The sound of the impact echoed through the arena.
"Damon is mauling him!" a comntator yelled.
Rairo, for all his experience and toughness, was in deep trouble. He was used to being the one controlling positions, dictating the pace. But now, trapped under a relentless force like Damon, he was drowning.
Another elbow ca down.
Then another.
Each shot forced Rairo’s hands higher, his body curling inward. His legendary durability was keeping him in the fight, but there was no doubt, he was losing.
Damon grabbed a wrist, pinning it to the mat, and smashed another elbow into his exposed temple.
Rairo bucked wildly, trying to explode out.
Damon anticipated it.
The mont Rairo bridged, Damon rode the movent, floating over his hips and smoothly transitioning to side control. The Cuban grunted in frustration as Damon locked him down again, pressing his shoulder into his jaw, keeping him stuck.
"Damon is bullying one of the most dangerous middleweights of all ti," the other comntator said in disbelief. "This is a clinic!"
Rairo tried to roll, Damon shut it down.
He tried to fra and push off, Damon yanked his arm away and smashed another elbow down.
There was no escape.
For the first ti in his career, Rairo looked helpless.
Damon could feel it.
The breaking point.
But instead of rushing for the finish, he took his ti.
This was about making a statent.
He let Rairo struggle, let him burn energy, let the frustration set in. Every ti the Cuban thought he had an opening, Damon shut it down with ease.
It wasn’t just domination.
It was humiliation.
The crowd, once deafening, had quieted. The Irish fans were roaring, but even the neutral spectators were stunned.
"Rairo has nothing for him!"
Then, Damon moved.
He faked another elbow, making Rairo flinch, then slid into mount again.
This ti, he didn’t posture up.
Instead, he grabbed Rairo’s wrist, forcing it across his own throat, pinning it there with brutal pressure.
An arm triangle.
Simple. Efficient. Inescapable.
Rairo’s legs kicked against the mat as Damon squeezed, cutting off his blood flow.
The Cuban twisted, fighting to break free—
Damon tightened the grip.
Rairo’s eyes flickered. His movents slowed.
Then—
The tap.
It was over.
Damon let go imdiately, standing up, arms raised as the Irish crowd erupted.
He turned to the caras, smirking.
The comntators were in shock.
"A first-round finish against one of the toughest guys in the sport! This is insanity!"
The ref lifted his hand.
"And still undefeated, DAMON CROSS!"
The mont was huge.
But Damon wasn’t done.
The real show was just about to begin.
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