CHAPTER 775: CHAPTER 775: FIGHT FOR EVERY INCH

Theo stepped forward to meet the center, arms loose, chin tucked.

Across from him, Arman Petrov was still seated, hunched forward as Ivan crouched beside him, speaking directly into his ear.

There was no yelling, just clear, cold instructions. Petrov nodded once, then stood.

He bounced on his toes, rolled his neck, and locked eyes with Theo as the ref signaled them forward.

No glove touch.

The horn sounded, and Petrov exploded forward.

Theo barely had time to react before the Russian closed the gap. It wasn’t clean footwork or a feint, it was pressure, straight and violent.

Petrov launched a tight right hand just to force a reaction, then immediately dropped levels and shot for Theo’s hips.

Theo sprawled, but the shot was deep. He backpedaled hard, trying to circle, but Petrov clung to him. The grip tightened around the waist, and Theo felt his balance shift.

He lowered his base and threw both arms under Petrov’s, fighting to peel the hands off, but Petrov wasn’t letting go.

He adjusted, stepping behind Theo’s leg and dragging him, inch by inch, toward the cage.

Theo planted his foot and twisted, but Petrov stayed on him. The fence came up fast behind Theo’s back.

Petrov shifted again, hooking the leg and yanking harder. The whole takedown attempt was messy and grinding, not a clean finish, but effective.

Theo leaned into the fence, keeping his balance with the edge of his forearm.

Petrov re-shot, trying to chain it together. He switched from a double-leg to a body lock, then tried to trip him out.

Theo fought it every second. He widened his base and dug his heels in.

He shoved Petrov’s head down, keeping the pressure off his hips. For a moment, it looked like he was going to fall, but then—

The grip slipped.

Theo twisted just enough at the right moment, and Petrov’s hands broke apart.

A second later, Theo shoved his shoulder into Petrov’s chest and popped out, pushing off the cage to fully separate.

The two reset in the center.

Petrov didn’t look frustrated, but he blinked harder now. His chest rose and fell faster. That exchange had taken effort.

Theo didn’t smile, didn’t celebrate. He just bounced back into his stance and watched.

He had survived.

And Petrov had used energy. That mattered.

The fight was far from over, but for now, Theo had earned himself some space.

Theo exhaled through his nose and reset his feet. He kept his guard tight, watching Petrov’s shoulders and hips.

The Russian circled left, bouncing lightly, then burst in with a jab-cross.

Theo blocked the first but took the second on the cheek, and Petrov immediately followed with a level change again, threatening another takedown.

This time Theo didn’t sprawl.

He stepped out wide and stuffed the entry with his forearm, pivoting away and tagging Petrov with a clean right hook as he disengaged.

It wasn’t a power shot, but it landed clean, and Petrov’s head snapped to the side.

Theo followed it up. Jab. Low kick. He feinted another jab and threw a step-in elbow that grazed Petrov’s temple. The momentum was shifting.

Petrov threw a wild left hook that missed, and Theo ducked under it and countered with a sharp body shot.

The Russian grunted, clenched briefly, but Theo slipped out before the grip could form.

He was starting to read the rhythm now. Petrov wasn’t just relentless, he was predictable in bursts.

Damon watched from the corner, arms crossed, calm but focused. He didn’t yell. He didn’t need to.

Theo knew what he had to do.

They exchanged again in the center.

Petrov pushed forward with short combinations, mostly arm punches, trying to close the distance, but Theo met him with knees and inside leg kicks, forcing him to reset.

When Petrov clinched again, Theo didn’t panic. He dropped his level and fired a quick trip attempt of his own.

It didn’t land, but it disrupted Petrov’s balance enough for Theo to circle out again.

Petrov’s breathing grew heavier. His shoulders moved slightly slower now.

The constant attempts at takedowns, the hand-fighting, the pressure, it was all beginning to cost him.

Theo stepped in with a jab, then a right hand to the body. Petrov covered up, but Theo followed with a stiff low kick that thudded off the Russian’s thigh. Petrov winced.

Theo started to push.

Another jab, then a fake level change into a right uppercut that clipped Petrov’s chin.

Petrov threw back, a wide left hook, but Theo rolled under it and came back up with a short elbow in the pocket. It glanced, not flush, but it got through.

The cage shook as Petrov shot again, this time raw and desperate. Theo sprawled, caught the head, and framed off with his left arm.

Petrov clung to the single leg.

Theo bounced, pulling his leg free and standing tall.

They broke again.

The ref circled closer, watching the action but not interfering. The pace hadn’t slowed. It was violent, tight, and technical.

Theo’s chest heaved, but he didn’t step back.

He stepped forward.

Petrov tried to circle, but Theo cut him off with a low kick, then followed with a double jab and a right cross. The second jab snapped Petrov’s head, and the right made him stagger back.

Theo closed the gap, pressing against the cage.

Short punches. Knees to the thighs. Control.

Petrov fought back with elbows, but they were rushed. Theo leaned into him, grinding him against the fence, making every second count.

The horn sounded.

Both men stepped back, arms low, breathing hard.

Theo didn’t cheer or smile. He just turned and walked to his corner, chest rising, sweat dripping. Damon was already reaching for the stool.

It had been a war of inches so far.

And the fight wasn’t over.

Damon leaned in close as Theo sat breathing heavily on the stool. Sweat rolled down his back. His chest rose and fell with each deep breath.

"You need to chase the finish," Damon said, voice sharp but steady. "He’s tough, yeah. But you’ve cracked him. You saw it. He’s slowing down."

Theo didn’t respond. He just nodded once, still focused.