The referee called both fighters to the center of the cage.
Damon stood calm, chest rising steadily, gloves loose at his sides. Desayen stepped forward with dignity, bruised but composed, his breathing still shallow from the final exchange.
Referee Samuel Cortez took each man's wrist, one in each hand, as Deuce Baffer stepped into position.
The lights in the arena dimd slightly, focusing on the center. The roar of the crowd dipped just enough to hear Deuce's voice as he lifted the mic.
"LADIES AND GENTLEN…
REFEREE SAMUEL CORTEZ HAS CALLED A STOP TO THIS CONTEST…
AT ONE MINUTE, THIRTY-EIGHT SECONDS OF ROUND NUMBER THREE…
DECLARING THE WINNER BY KNOCKOUT…
AND STILL UNDEFEATED…
DAMON!! CROSS!!"
The arena exploded.
Damon nodded once, expression tight, he didn't celebrate wildly. He just raised his arms, turned to his corner, and hugged his team.
He had done it. Again.
The crowd roared like they didn't already know.
It was the mont. The formality. The exclamation point.
Jon Goodman leaned forward in his seat.
"Every ti this guy fights… it just feels like sothing bigger."
Rich Alvarez followed up.
"They knew he was special when he won the tournant. But now? No more doubt. Damon Cross isn't just the future, he's the now."
Marvin Duke chid in, voice full of admiration.
"He walked into that cage with pressure, legacy, and a retiring legend in front of him. And what does he do? Controls every second. That's a statent."
Jon Goodman nodded.
"Ismael Desayen didn't co to lay down. But Damon shut it all down, round by round. The striking, the pressure, the grappling. That was a complete performance."
The cara cut to Damon standing next to Victor and his team, arms over shoulders, sweat glistening under the arena lights, still breathing steady.
Still undefeated. Still evolving.
Jon Goodman, now inside the cage with a mic in hand, walked over to Damon Cross. He shook his head with a smile, clearly impressed, and gestured to the crowd to keep the energy going. The arena responded with thunderous applause.
He turned to Damon.
"Damon Cross, another win. Undefeated. This was a legend's retirent fight, and yet you made it look like just another day at the office. How does it feel to get the job done like that?"
Damon, still catching his breath, nodded with a small grin.
"It feels good. I've got nothing but respect for Desayen. He's done so much for this division, for the sport. But tonight wasn't about the past, it was about where we're going next. And I made sure to remind everyone what that direction looks like."
Jon leaned in. "You had monts of control, pressure, takedowns, and then finished it with one of the cleanest combos we've seen in a long ti. What was the ga plan tonight?"
"No one really ever sees the full plan," Damon replied, his tone steady. "But I wanted to mix it up, make it layered. Pressure, body shots, grappling. Make him think, make him guess. That's what we trained for. That's what I delivered."
Jon chuckled, then glanced toward the cara before asking the final question. "The obvious one, Damon, what's next for you?"
Damon looked straight into the lens.
"Well… I'm about to beco a father."
The crowd exploded with cheers. Gasps and claps rang through the arena. A few fans even stood up, visibly reacting to the surprise announcent.
Damon let the reaction breathe, then leaned back in.
"I'm a lil' greedy, though… so I want to beco the father of this division as well. I don't really care who wins the next match, Balim, PDD, doesn't matter. That title is mine. They can warm it up for , polish it, shine it."
He paused, letting his voice drop low and final.
"But when I stand against the winner… I will destroy them. This is my era. And it's gonna stay that way, until I decide otherwise."
The crowd roared again. Damon lowered the mic, ice-cold and calm, the fire in his eyes undeniable.
The crowd erupted as Jon Goodman raised the mic once more, glancing toward the sea of fans before turning back to Damon.
"Thank you for tonight, Damon, and congratulations to you and your family. Have a great night."
Damon nodded with a grateful smile, patting Jon lightly on the shoulder before stepping back toward his corner, where his team and Svetlana waited.
Jon turned to the crowd, raising his voice into the mic.
"Damon Cross, everybody!"
The arena shook from the reaction, cheers, whistles, chants of "Cross! Cross! Cross!" echoing through the venue.
Damon raised one hand briefly as he walked toward Svetlana, the energy of the night still crackling around him.
Jon Goodman, still holding the mic, turned toward the other side of the cage. Desayen stood there, arms over the shoulders of his teammates, sweat pouring, bruises showing, but head held high. He was breathing hard, but not broken.
Jon approached gently, tone dropping to sothing more personal.
"Desayen… it's been one hell of a career, man. You said this might be the last one. So, before anything else, how are you feeling right now?"
Desayen looked at him, then at the crowd. The cheers didn't stop. Fans were on their feet. Not a boo in the air.
He wiped his face with the edge of his glove, nodded slowly, then leaned into the mic.
"Man… I'm good. I'm really good. That was beautiful. I got to dance one last ti. I got to do this on my terms. No regrets."
The crowd roared, chants of "DESAYEN! DESAYEN!" swelling through the arena.
Jon continued, "You've inspired a generation, you've been a champion, you've headlined the biggest events in this sport. What does this mont an to you now?"
Desayen smiled, eyes glinting, maybe with sweat, maybe sothing more.
"This... this is peace, bro. I've done it all. I've carried this division, this company, this whole fucking sport on my back when nobody wanted to believe in it. I've lost, I've won, I've co back. I've been the underdog and the king."
He looked at Damon across the cage and nodded.
"And tonight... I passed that torch."
He turned back to Jon.
"I ain't sad, man. I'm proud. Damon's that guy now. I see it. Y'all see it. But ? I got nothing left to prove. I gave this sport my soul, and it gave back a legacy."
He took a breath, stepped toward the center of the cage, and raised his hand toward the stands.
"To the fans… thank you. You've been with from the start. You loved , hated , cheered for , booed , d , and I fucking loved all of it. Every single second. You made this special. You made feel alive. Thank you for letting be ."
Jon asked softly, "So… is this it? Is this the last ti we see you in here?"
Desayen looked around. He didn't answer right away. Then he smiled with that sa signature grin.
"Yeah, this is it. For real. I'm done. No fake retirents. No cobacks. I'm out. I'm gonna live life now. Do so dancing, maybe act a bit. But this chapter? It's closed. And I'm happy."
The crowd responded with thunderous applause. People were standing, clapping, so with tears in their eyes. Even fighters in the front rows nodded with respect.
Jon stepped forward, shook his hand, and held the mic up one last ti.
"Ladies and gentlen, give it up, for a legend, Ismael Desayen!"
And the place exploded.
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