Coleman hit the canvas hard, and for a moment, the entire gym seemed to hold its breath.

Ronny didn't jump in wild. He followed up sharp and clean. A tight hammerfist snapped into Coleman's ear.

Then another to the side of the jaw. Coleman rolled, trying to protect himself, but his reactions were slower now, uncoordinated.

He reached out instinctively, wrestling on autopilot, and shot for a leg.

But Ronny saw it coming from a mile away.

He sprawled, hips heavy, stuffed the shot completely, then angled off and drove a knee into Coleman's ribs.

It wasn't a clean flush, but it hurt. Coleman grunted, still clinging to Ronny's ankle with one hand.

Ronny grabbed the wrist, broke the grip, and stepped out of range.

Coleman stayed crouched on all fours for a beat, trying to find air, blood dripping from his nose and eyebrow. His balance was off. His eyes were hazy.

Damon stood cage-side, arms folded.

He could see it, Coleman's instincts were still firing, but his body wasn't following. His legs were there, but his timing was gone.

His wrestling background couldn't save him from being dismantled piece by piece.

Coleman pushed up to one knee, then stood on shaking legs. He tried to square up, but Ronny was already back in his face.

Jab. Cross. Liver hook.

Coleman winced and turned his body, which gave Ronny the opening for a hard outside leg kick that sent him stumbling sideways.

He tried to shoot again, slower this time, desperate.

Ronny sprawled again, then stuffed Coleman's head down and ripped an uppercut through the middle. Coleman reeled back, arms wide.

That's when Ronny stepped in.

Left hook. Right cross. Short elbow over the top.

Each shot hit with clean precision. Coleman's legs buckled again, and this time he fell to one knee, still conscious, but dazed.

The ref moved in close.

Coleman lifted his hands like he wanted to continue, but Ronny didn't give him space.

Another jab. Another right hand. Then a hard check hook as Coleman tried to stand.

It was too much.

The ref stepped in, waving it off, shielding Coleman as Ronny backed off without argument.

It was done.

Coleman slumped fully to the floor, grabbing the ref's leg for balance. He wasn't out cold, but his body had taken enough. His arms dangled at his sides, mouth open, eyes vacant.

Ronny stood in the center of the cage, breathing hard, not celebrating, just absorbing the moment.

Damon walked in with the team, placing a hand on Ronny's shoulder. He didn't need to say anything. The performance spoke loud enough.

Team Cross had reminded everyone what this was.

Just because they won the last match didn't mean they would win the next.

Momentum could shift at any moment.

But at this point, it was clear, Damon had dominated the lightweight division.

His picks had delivered. Clean performances, sharp execution. There was only one fight left in that bracket.

If Ivan's final lightweight fighter won, he'd be the last hope. A dark horse with everything to gain.

And if he managed to go all the way, win the semis, then the final, he wouldn't just earn a spot.

He'd earn headlines. Fans love an underdog. Especially one who claws his way out from the bottom of the board.

Damon knew this. He didn't underestimate anyone. But his eyes weren't just on the lightweight division anymore.

He was looking at the middleweights next.

Because that war was still wide open.

Damon entered the cage, calm but proud, his arms slightly raised as he joined Ronny.

The team around the cage clapped and shouted, some banging on the fence while others pounded the mat in celebration.

Ronny stood in the center, chest heaving, sweat pouring, his eyes locked on Coleman, who sat on a stool in the corner, breathing hard, face marked, blood trickling from his nose.

The referee stepped between them, glancing at both corners to make sure everything was in order. Then he turned to the cage announcer, giving the nod.

The official raised Ronny's wrist.

The announcer's voice boomed over the speakers.

"Ladies and gentlemen, referee Steve Graham has called a stop to this contest at four minutes and thirty-three seconds of the second round... declaring the winner by TKO due to strikes..."

He raised Ronny's arm fully now.

"Ronny McGregor!!"

The gym roared. Damon clapped Ronny's back, pulled him into a hug, and whispered something only they could hear.

Ronny nodded, still catching his breath, emotion tight in his face but hidden under the high of the win.

On the other side, Coleman gave a respectful nod, his corner helping him up and checking his face.

Damon looked across the cage at Ivan, who remained still, arms folded, eyes focused.

That was one for Team Cross.

And they weren't done yet.

But Damon was skeptical about the next match.

Thami Zulu was talented, but more than that, he was raw power in motion.

He didn't look like the most refined fighter at first glance. His footwork was heavy, and his stance sometimes unorthodox.

But once the fight started, everything made sense.

Zulu was a force of nature. He fought forward, always forward, with a pressure that broke cleaner fighters. He didn't care if he got hit.

He didn't mind looking awkward. He just kept coming, and when he connected, it hurt.

His striking was explosive and wild, but it worked.

He switched targets without warning, crashed through guards with looping hooks, and had a clinch game built on strength more than finesse.

On the ground, he was basic but brutal, elbows, short punches, and non-stop movement until he broke you down.

What made him dangerous wasn't just his tools, it was his mindset.

Zulu didn't need to dominate every moment. He just needed you to slow down. To doubt yourself. And the second you did, he'd turn the fight into a brawl and drag you under.

Damon had seen fighters like him before. people who weren't pretty, but effective. Fighters who made you fight on their terms and punished you for every technical misstep.

And that's what worried him.

Elias was technical. Sharp. Strategic.

But Zulu was chaos backed by willpower. The kind of fighter who didn't stop until something, or someone, broke.