CHAPTER 777: CHAPTER 777: BANG TO THE END

Ivan’s voice cut through the roar from the crowd. He barked something in Russian, short, sharp, and commanding.

Petrov’s eyes flicked to his corner for half a second, then back to Theo with a renewed focus.

Theo could see it. The Russian’s steps tightened, his guard high, and his footwork started cutting angles again.

Petrov faked a jab, then blasted a right hand down the middle that snapped Theo’s head back.

Theo reset, but Petrov was already on him, left hook, right uppercut, then a driving knee to the body in the clinch.

The air rushed from Theo’s lungs, but he shoved him off before Petrov could tie up again.

Petrov stepped right back in, whipping a low kick that smacked against Theo’s thigh with a deep thud.

Theo bit down on his mouthpiece, answered with a jab, and followed with a right to the body.

The Russian countered instantly, overhand right, left hook, then a short elbow in the pocket that clipped Theo’s temple.

Theo staggered back a half-step, shaking it off. Petrov pressed, throwing a flurry, jab, cross, hook, another low kick. Theo blocked the first two, took the hook on the glove, but the kick landed hard.

Theo fired back, double jab, cross, hook to the liver. Petrov grunted, lowering his elbow, and Theo ripped an uppercut up the middle.

Petrov’s head snapped back, but he still came forward, digging a right hand into Theo’s ribs and chopping another low kick.

It was chaos.

Theo ducked a looping left, came up with a tight right hook, and Petrov answered with a straight right down the pipe. Both men’s heads snapped from the impact, but neither stepped back.

Petrov threw another elbow over the top. Theo slipped it, planted his feet, and cracked him with a left hook that turned the Russian’s head.

Petrov’s answer came fast, a right to the chin, followed by a whipping body kick that slapped against Theo’s ribs.

Theo exhaled hard, stepped in, and smashed a knee into Petrov’s midsection.

Petrov swung back with a short hook that glanced off Theo’s ear, then followed with a stiff jab.

The crowd roared louder with each exchange, the sound mixing with Damon’s voice from the corner.

Theo jabbed to set range, then fired a cross and a step-in elbow that landed clean on the brow.

Petrov wiped at the blood streaking down his face and threw a hard right hand that Theo blocked, only to take a left hook to the body right after.

Theo’s return was vicious, inside low kick, jab, hook upstairs, and a ripping right hand to the jaw.

Petrov’s mouth snapped shut on the mouthpiece, but he didn’t retreat. He hammered a right hand into Theo’s chest and followed with a short left elbow.

They both stepped forward at the same time, Theo with a straight right, Petrov with a left hook. Both landed flush, heads snapping, sweat flying under the lights.

Neither man backed up.

They traded again, jab, cross, hook, kick. The pace was blinding. Each strike landed with a thud or a smack, gloves slapping against flesh, shin against muscle.

Theo ducked a right and drove a knee into the body. Petrov grabbed the clinch, threw two short uppercuts, but Theo broke free with an elbow that split the guard.

Petrov stumbled, but recovered with a stiff jab. Theo sidestepped, cracked a low kick, then threw a right hand that smashed into the side of Petrov’s head.

The Russian swung back, wild, desperate, but the shots still carried danger. Theo blocked, rolled, and countered with a quick three-piece, jab, cross, hook, that pushed Petrov into the cage.

They both knew the round was ending soon. Neither was willing to give an inch.

The last thirty seconds was pure brawl, knees, hooks, body shots, head shots, each man throwing everything left in the tank. Sweat sprayed, blood marked their faces, and the crowd was on its feet.

The horn finally sounded, but they both stood there for a moment, chest to chest.

They stayed chest to chest, breathing hard, eyes locked.

Petrov leaned forward, pressing his forehead into Theo’s. Theo didn’t step back. He pushed back with his own head, jaw tight, not breaking eye contact.

The referee stepped in with a hand between them, but neither man moved.

Petrov muttered something in Russian, sharp and fast. Theo answered in kind, voice low but edged with heat.

Petrov shoved his head forward again, harder this time. Theo pushed back, then raised his hands just enough to nudge Petrov’s shoulder.

The referee’s voice cut through the noise as he stepped in fully, palms on both fighters’ chests.

He forced them apart, guiding Theo toward his corner and waving Petrov back.

Both men kept their eyes on each other until they turned away, still breathing hard, still carrying the fight in their stare.

Damon stepped through the ropes as the officials cleared the center. He went straight to Theo, patting his back twice before handing him a bottle of water.

Theo took a long drink, still catching his breath, his eyes flicking toward Petrov across the cage.

Damon could feel the tension coming off him, but he stayed calm, keeping his tone level.

"Breathe," Damon said, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Fight’s done. Let them read it out."

Theo nodded, wiping his mouth, but he didn’t stop watching Petrov until the ring announcer started moving toward the center.

Damon had his own bias, he wanted Theo to win. But standing there in the ring, replaying the fight in his head, he couldn’t say for sure who the judges would side with.

Still, if he was being honest, he had to lean toward Theo.

Theo had owned most of the stand-up exchanges, landing the cleaner, sharper shots throughout the fight.

Even when Petrov dragged it to the ground, he couldn’t hold control for long. Theo found ways to escape, reset, and keep the fight where he wanted it.

From Damon’s view, that was enough to edge it. But he also knew judges didn’t always see it the same way.