CHAPTER 776: CHAPTER 776: NO ROOM FOR DOUBT

"This is the last round," Damon said, leaning in close so Theo couldn’t mistake his tone. "You either finish him, or you hand it over to the judges. And you do not want that. Not in a fight this close."

Theo nodded, eyes locked on Damon’s. His breathing was steadying, but the tension in his shoulders showed he was still running hot.

"You made two big mistakes that round," Damon continued. "First, you let him start every exchange. You reacted instead of making him react. That’s why he got in deep on those takedowns. You can’t wait for him, make him work to get to you." He tapped Theo’s knee. "Second, you were circling the wrong way when he cut the cage. You circled into his power side twice, and that gave him clean angles for those hooks. Keep moving away from the right hand and force him to reach."

Damon glanced toward Petrov’s corner. Ivan was speaking low, gesturing with his hands, probably reinforcing another chain-wrestling sequence. Petrov’s chest was still rising heavy.

"You’ve hurt him," Damon said, voice low but firm. "Body shots are taking his gas. He’s not shooting as hard now, you saw it when he went for that single. That’s your cue. Fake low, then come up high. Mix your targets, but don’t get greedy. Two or three shots, then out. Make him chase, and when he’s late, you punish him."

Theo sat forward on the stool, shaking out his arms. Damon kept going.

"If he clinches, frame on the neck and rip the knee into his ribs. If you get space, jab into the low kick again. He’s slowing on the check. And if he shoots, you sprawl hard and make him carry your weight, don’t just escape, make him pay before you stand up."

The ref called out for ten seconds. Damon slapped Theo’s shoulder.

"This is it. No more saving gas. You go now, and you don’t stop until he’s either down or broken. You hear me?"

Theo stood, rolled his neck, and exhaled through his nose. "Got it."

"Good," Damon said, stepping back with a faint smirk. "Then make him regret showing up."

They wiped the last streaks of sweat from his face and poured water over the back of his neck.

Theo took a long pull from the bottle, swished it in his mouth, and spat into the bucket. Damon crouched in front of him, one hand on his knee.

"This is it," Damon said. "Last round. You either finish him or let the judges decide. He’s still dangerous, but he’s slowing. Stop letting him clinch without paying for it. Keep your jab busy, chop that leg, and when you land clean, don’t wait. Put it together."

Theo nodded. The cutman stepped back. Damon and the others pulled the stool out. The mat was clear.

Across the cage, Petrov was on his feet, shoulders rising and falling, eyes fixed on Theo. Ivan slapped his fighter on the shoulder before stepping out.

The referee called them in.

Theo rolled his shoulders once, bounced on his toes, and tightened his guard.

The horn sounded.

Theo moved first. No feeling-out, no circling.

He stepped straight into range behind a double jab, snapping the first into Petrov’s guard and the second into his nose.

Petrov’s head popped back, and before he could plant his feet, Theo slammed a low kick into his lead leg.

Petrov reacted with a quick hook, but Theo dipped under it, coming back up with a short right to the body.

He didn’t stop, he stayed in Petrov’s chest, ripping another low kick before resetting a step out of range.

Petrov tried to answer with a level change, shooting low for the hips, but Theo sprawled instantly.

He framed on the head, shoved down, and circled off before Petrov could lock his hands.

The separation was clean, and Theo was already firing a jab-cross before Petrov had fully stood.

The right hand caught Petrov high on the temple. His guard tightened.

Theo could see it now, Petrov wasn’t charging like before. His entries were slower, his balance slightly off.

Theo feinted low, stepped in with a lead elbow, and followed it with a hook to the body.

Petrov absorbed it but stumbled a step back toward the cage.

Theo kept him there, cutting the angle and throwing a quick one-two upstairs before slamming another kick into the thigh.

The crowd could feel the momentum shift.

Theo didn’t rush for a wild finish, but every strike was sharp and purposeful. He was the one dictating the fight now, and Petrov knew it.

Damon’s voice cut through the noise. "Push! Keep him turning! Don’t let him plant!"

Theo answered with action, stepping left to cut Petrov off before firing another jab. Petrov tried to angle out, but Theo’s right hand landed flush on the cheek, forcing him back into the fence.

"Now! Elbow!" Damon barked.

Theo stepped in and ripped a tight elbow over the top, clipping Petrov’s brow. Blood welled instantly, and Theo dug a knee into the ribs before Petrov could grab his leg.

Petrov latched onto a clinch, trying to smother the offense. Damon’s tone sharpened. "Break and hit him! Don’t hang there!"

Theo shoved off hard, freeing his arms, and cracked Petrov with a short left hook on the exit. He followed it with a low kick that buckled the Russian’s leg for a split second.

Petrov swung wide with a desperate overhand, but Theo slipped under it, countering with a body shot and then a cross to the chin. Petrov’s mouthpiece nearly shifted.

"Good! Again!" Damon shouted. "He’s there! Make him work for every step!"

Theo closed in, mixing punches with inside leg kicks, not letting Petrov breathe.

Each time Petrov tried to change levels, Theo’s sprawl was immediate, stuffing the entry and forcing him back to his feet.

The pace was relentless. Petrov’s guard was up, but his reactions were slower. Theo saw it and kept the combinations flowing, jab, cross, hook to the body, low kick.

Damon was still pushing from the corner. "Two minutes! Break him! You’ve got him tired!"

Theo stepped in again, head off the centerline, and fired another elbow in close.

Petrov stumbled back, blinking blood from his eye, and Theo didn’t hesitate, he hammered a right to the body and a left upstairs, driving him toward the cage again.

Petrov swung back, but the shots were arm punches now. Theo blocked, countered with a clean right hand, and stayed in his face.

The crowd roared as Theo kept the pressure, every step forward backed by Damon’s sharp instructions.