CHAPTER 827: CHAPTER 827: DRAINING THE TANK

Back on the feet, Damon didn’t rush. He let Ivan come forward, hands high, throwing a jab-cross combination that clipped the guard.

Damon circled smoothly, slipping the hook that followed, and tapped Ivan with a calf kick before sliding out of range.

Ivan pressed again, trying to close the gap. Damon feinted low, made him sprawl, then stepped back smiling.

Every exchange forced Ivan to work, every feint pulled a reaction. Damon’s pace looked calm and steady, while Ivan’s chest was rising a little faster now.

Jim Logan caught it from the desk. "You can see what Damon’s doing here, he’s making Ivan carry the load, making him work for every inch."

Damon popped the jab, circled left, then leaned out of the way of another heavy right hand.

He answered with a clean one-two down the pipe, not full power, but enough to keep Ivan honest.

Ivan came back with a wild flurry, jab, cross, hook, but Damon blocked and slipped, forcing him to miss.

Damian Kormier added, "Yeah, look at this. Damon’s not wasting energy, he’s conserving, while Ivan’s starting to throw heavier and heavier, trying to break through."

In the final thirty seconds, Damon stepped in with a stiff jab, rolled under the counter, and ripped a body shot that thudded hard. Ivan gritted his teeth, trying to fire back, but Damon moved off the angle and reset.

The horn sounded.

Both men touched gloves briefly before returning to their corners. Damon’s breathing was steady, his eyes sharp.

Ivan’s chest rose harder, sweat dripping, his arms shaking out as he sat on the stool.

Damon had made his point. He could fight at this pace all night. The question was, could Ivan?

The horn sounded to end the break. Damon rose from the stool before Victor could even finish his words.

His face was calm, but his focus had sharpened into something different.

As he walked forward, he let the system flow.

The world slowed. The crowd blurred into a hum, the lights above dimmed in his perception, and every subtle twitch from Ivan stood out like a signal flare.

A shift of the hips, the clench of a fist, even the faint roll of his shoulder, Damon felt it all.

The King of the Ring Eye was awake.

Ivan circled, chin down, hands high, throwing a probing jab.

Damon slipped it with almost casual ease, stepping just outside the line, his counter loaded but held back.

Another twitch, Ivan’s right foot angled inward. Damon knew the cross was coming before it even left the glove.

He dipped under it and fired a jab into the body, snapping Ivan back a half step.

Jim Logan’s voice lifted. "And Damon’s reading everything right now! Look at the timing, he’s a half beat ahead on every exchange."

Ivan reset, teeth gritted, and tried to feint forward. Damon didn’t bite. He stood in range, eyes locked, making Ivan show his hand.

When Ivan threw the hook, Damon weaved under and clipped him with a short right counter that popped the head back.

The champion pressed forward, calm and suffocating. He wasn’t rushing, but he wasn’t giving Ivan any air either.

Every time Ivan moved, Damon was already there, meeting him with a shot, an angle, or a shove.

Damian Kormier leaned toward the desk. "Man, that’s what makes him scary. He’s not just reacting, he’s anticipating. Ivan’s trying to set traps, but Damon’s already two steps ahead."

Ivan shot for a double, desperate to change the rhythm. Damon sprawled, stuffed it, then twisted to the side, forcing Ivan back to his feet.

He tagged him with another jab as they separated, the crowd roaring with every clean connection.

For the first time in the fight, Ivan’s composure looked rattled. Damon could see it, his footwork breaking, the guard twitching higher, the counters less crisp.

Damon stalked him, every movement precise, the Eye dissecting Ivan piece by piece.

H pressed forward, shoulders loose, eyes locked. The King of the Ring Eye picked apart every tell Ivan gave off, weight shifts, the tightening of his guard, the slight angle of his hips.

He snapped a jab, then another, light but sharp, forcing Ivan’s hands higher.

A calf kick followed, thudding against the leg, before Damon dug to the body with a quick shot that barely looked like it touched.

To everyone else, it was a clean body punch. To Damon, it was one of his ghost punches, snapping through with speed and precision, nearly invisible in its execution.

Ivan winced, trying to circle out, but Damon cut him off.

A jab-cross-hook combination forced Ivan’s guard to shell tight.

Damon stepped off the angle and landed another ghost punch to the ribs, hidden inside a flurry that looked ordinary from the outside.

Jim Logan’s voice spiked. "Ivan’s stuck in defense mode now! Damon’s pouring it on, shot after shot, and Ivan can’t find space!"

Ivan threw a desperate counter right, but Damon slipped it, answering with a crisp left hook to the temple.

Ivan staggered back, guard up, and Damon pressed with a vicious three-punch combo, jab, straight, left hook to the body, before rolling under the return fire and drilling another calf kick.

Damian Kormier jumped in. "Ohh, that body work! Damon’s mixing it up beautifully. Ivan’s hands keep coming up, but those shots to the ribs are adding up."

The champion’s pressure didn’t relent. Every feint forced Ivan to react, every step forward put him closer to the fence.

Damon stepped in with a right uppercut, slid to the side, and ripped another ghost punch into the liver line.

Ivan’s body tensed, his breath hissing through gritted teeth, but he bit down and fired a jab that glanced off Damon’s guard.

Nix stayed steady. "And look at Ivan, he’s hanging in there, but he’s in survival mode. Damon’s reading him perfectly. Every time Ivan tries to fire back, Damon’s already gone."

The crowd roared louder with every exchange.

Damon pressed Ivan to the cage, throwing a four-punch combo up top, then sliding back to dig a right hand to the body.

Ivan’s arms tucked in, his guard locked tight, his counters nearly gone.

Another ghost punch slipped through the defense, thudding into the solar plexus. Ivan stumbled a half step, his arms trembling as he tried to cover every angle.

Jim Logan almost shouted. "This is domination! Ivan’s stuck, he’s taking shot after shot, and Damon looks like he’s just getting warmed up!"

What made it worse was that Ivan’s striking had already been struggling to match Damon’s pace. With the Eye active, Damon was untouchable, free to dictate every moment.

And he wasn’t letting up.

Damon went heavy to the body, digging hooks into the ribs, then snapped the head back with a stiff jab. He weaved under Ivan’s desperate return, and drilled another ghost punch into the liver line.

Ivan’s face twisted, his guard dropped low, and he dropped to a knee, clutching at his gut.

The crowd roared, half in shock, half in awe.

Jim Logan’s voice shot over the noise. "He’s hurt! Damon crushed him to the body! Ivan down to a knee!"

The referee stepped in, watching closely, ready to count Ivan out if he couldn’t rise.

Ivan pressed his glove against his ribs, sucking in breath through clenched teeth, his eyes wide as Damon stood over him, calm, waiting.

Damian Kormier jumped in. "That’s the damage from those body shots! Damon’s been investing down there all fight, and now it’s paying off big time!"

Nix added steady. "Ivan’s showing grit just getting back up here. That kind of pain, most fighters stay down. But Damon has broken so many with body work, and now you’re seeing it in real time."

The referee waved for the fight to continue. Ivan forced himself upright, guard high but shaky. Damon raised his gloves, eyes locked, patient but merciless.

The hunt was on.

Ivan rose to his feet, but his legs betrayed him. His guard was high, trembling, his eyes darting without focus. Damon didn’t rush, he stepped forward, popped a jab, then buried another ghost punch into the ribs.

Ivan’s face twisted again. His hands dropped.

Another body shot, this time a clean left hook under the elbow, folded him over. Ivan staggered back, his spine pressing against the fence, his arms dangling.

Damon snapped a jab to the head, then another to the body. Ivan shook his head, half grimace, half defeat.

The referee leaned closer, warning him to fight back.

But Ivan didn’t.

He covered his body, crouching lower, his knees buckling until he slumped to the canvas.

The referee didn’t wait. He dove in, waving his arms. "That’s it! That’s it!"

The arena erupted. Damon stepped back immediately, his gloves raised, his chest barely heaving.

Across from him, Ivan stayed curled on the canvas, his corner rushing in, consoling him as medics checked the ribs.

Jim Logan’s voice thundered over the chaos. "That’s it! Damon Cross with the TKO! Ivan Novak could not withstand the body work, and the Irish Ronin does it again!"

Damian Kormier leaned forward, shaking his head. "Man... he broke him. That’s what happened. Ivan didn’t go out from a big head shot. He got broken down, piece by piece, until there was nothing left."

Nix nodded, calm as ever. "That’s the precision of Damon Cross. He didn’t just beat him, he dismantled him. And now, he’s still undefeated, still the double champ, and still untouchable."