Malikin's hand hovered…
For one brutal second longer…
And then he tapped.
Three hard slaps against Damon's thigh.
Samuel Cortez dove in, breaking it up instantly.
Damon released the hold the moment he felt the tap, rolling clear and rising to his feet, breathing heavy but steady.
Malikin lay on the canvas, clutching his shoulder as the medics rushed in. His face was covered in blood, his chest rising and falling in labored breaths, but even in defeat, there was a look of raw defiance in his eyes.
But the fight was over.
And Damon Cross had just submitted one of the best grapplers in the world.
The moment Samuel Cortez pushed Damon away to signal the end, Damon didn't stay composed.
He exploded.
As much as he wanted to act cool, stay stoic, give them that stone-faced killer routine he was known for, he couldn't.
He wasn't going to.
This was his first world championship.
Maybe it wasn't a UFA title yet, but it was everything right now.
And it felt damn good.
