Damon sat on the stool, chest rising and falling steady, his eyes fixed on Victor crouched in front of him.
Joey stood at the side with water and ice, ready if needed.
Victor spoke low, calm but firm. "Good work keeping it disciplined. Don’t get greedy. He’s biting on your feints, but he’s quick on the counters. so make him throw first. Keep chopping the leg, touch him with the jab, and when he reaches, that’s when you let the right hand go. Stay patient."
Damon nodded once, sipping water before spitting it out into the bucket. He wiped his mouth with his glove, never breaking eye contact with Victor.
"Your power’s gonna co through later," Victor added. "Don’t force it now. Just keep building. You’re ahead."
Across the cage, Ivan leaned forward on his stool, breathing steady as his coach gestured with sharp hand movents.
Ivan nodded, his face unreadable, sipping water before slamming the bottle back into his corner man’s hand.
His knuckles tapped lightly together, his stare never leaving Damon.
Both corners cleared as the referee stood in the center, arms stretched wide, calling the fighters back. The crowd rose to their feet, chanting again as the second round lood.
The horn sounded for Round 2, and both n rose from their stools, eyes locked as they stepped back into the center.
This ti, the pace quickened. Damon snapped out a jab, heavier than before, and followed with a sharp low kick.
Ivan checked it and fired a counter right hand that grazed Damon’s cheek. The crowd reacted instantly.
Damon grinned, nodding once, and pressed forward with a jab-cross-hook combination.
Ivan blocked the first two but slipped the hook, returning fire with a stiff jab of his own that landed flush. The exchange brought the arena to life.
Jim Logan’s voice spiked. "And now they’re letting it go! Both guys trading clean here in round two!"
Ivan stepped forward for the first ti, throwing a right hook to the body and a left upstairs.
Damon slipped the second, pivoting off the angle and digging a calf kick that forced Ivan to reset. The tension was breaking, neither man content to just feint and prod anymore.
Halfway through the round, Ivan changed levels suddenly, shooting for a double-leg.
Damon sprawled hard, hips back, hands digging for underhooks. The two collided against the cage, muscles straining as the crowd roared.
Damian Kormier jumped in. "Big shot from Ivan! This is his bread and butter, he wants this on the mat!"
Damon widened his stance, pressed Ivan’s head down, then quickly shifted his weight, trying to turn the sprawl into his own takedown.
He locked his arms around Ivan’s waist and tried to drag him sideways, but Ivan’s balance held.
He dug his toes into the canvas, posting with one hand, keeping himself upright.
For a mont, Damon pressed his forehead into Ivan’s shoulder, both n straining, trying to impose their will.
Damon tried to trip the back leg, blocked. Ivan tried to pull him down to the mat, stuffed.
The referee hovered close, watching the clinch battle as the two fought for every inch.
Nix analyzed. "This is high-level wrestling right here. Ivan shot, Damon tried to flip it into his own takedown, and now they’re in a stalemate. Neither giving ground."
The crowd roared louder, appreciating the grind as both n pressed chest-to-chest, fighting for control.
It wasn’t flashy, but it was raw, a test of strength, leverage, and will.
The referee warned them to work, and the round pressed on with both locked in the clinch, sweat dripping, each man searching for the next opening.
Pressed chest-to-chest against the fence, Damon dug for underhooks, shifting his hips to try and turn Ivan.
He dropped low, hooking the leg to trip him, but Ivan widened his base and stuffed it.
Damon adjusted, clamping his hands tighter, then tried to drag him down with sheer strength.
Ivan grunted, keeping his balance, posting his hand against the canvas.
Damon pressed harder, forehead digging into Ivan’s collarbone, looking to grind him down.
For a mont it seed like he might pull it off, then Ivan twisted, broke Damon’s grip, and circled off the fence.
The crowd reacted with surprise, clapping loudly as the fighters reset in the center.
Jim Logan’s voice rose. "Wow! Ivan Novak just broke free of Damon Cross in the clinch! That’s not sothing we’ve seen often, Damon usually dominates in those grappling exchanges."
Damian Kormier added, "Exactly. Damon’s been the guy who dictates there, his strength, his balance, his control. But Ivan didn’t just survive, he fought out of it and got back to the middle. That’s a big ssage early in this fight."
Nix nodded in agreent. "That’s telling. This is round two, and Ivan’s already proving he won’t be bullied in the grappling. Damon’s used to breaking guys there, but tonight he’s got soone matching him physically."
Damon reset, bouncing lightly, expression calm but sharp.
He flicked the jab again, testing range, though his eyes showed a little more focus than before.
Ivan raised his guard, smirked faintly, and marched forward to et him.
The chess match was breaking apart. Both had shown they could nullify the other, and neither looked ready to give ground.
Back in the center, Damon fired a stiff jab. It landed clean, popping Ivan’s head back, and Damon followed with a quick right cross.
Ivan slipped just off the line, answering with a counter left hook that grazed the chin.
The crowd reacted instantly.
Damon circled, peppering another jab, then went low with a calf kick. This one cracked hard, forcing Ivan to reset his stance.
Damon pressed forward, throwing a jab–cross–hook combo.
Ivan blocked the hook, ducked under, and ca back with a sharp uppercut that snapped Damon’s head just enough to draw gasps from the crowd.
Jim Logan’s voice cut through. "Ivan’s not backing down! Every ti Damon lands, Ivan’s firing right back!"
Damian Kormier added, "This is huge. Most guys shell up once Damon starts walking them down. But Ivan, he’s staying composed, making this a real fight in the pocket."
Damon nodded as if acknowledging it, then shot another jab, mixing it with a feint to the body. Ivan didn’t bite, holding his ground.
Damon let a heavy right hand go, blocked, then pivoted to the side and cracked another calf kick.
Ivan winced but answered imdiately with a straight right that landed flush on the cheek.
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