In the crowd, high up in the packed stands, Matthew stood shoulder to shoulder with his father. His hands gripped the railing so tight his knuckles were white, eyes wide, glued to the cage below. His heartbeat thumped in his ears like a war drum.
The second round had been chaos. Intense. Raw.
He'd watched Damon Cross fight before, every fight, in fact, from the amateur days in small halls to The Supreme Fighter.
But this was different.
This was history.
And he was here for it.
When Damon locked in the crucifix position, Matthew could barely breathe. He saw Malikin fighting back, resisting with everything he had. The struggle was obvious, Damon straining, working for the final piece to seal it.
Matthew's entire body was tense.
"Come on… come on," he muttered, his voice almost cracking.
Then Damon made the adjustment.
He sank it in.
Tight.
Malikin's body jerked…
And he tapped.
The referee dove in, waving it off.
And the arena exploded.
