CHAPTER 829: CHAPTER 829: THE OFFICIAL DECISION

Deuce Buffer stepped forward, microphone in hand, his booming voice cutting through the arena.

"Ladies and gentlemen... referee Mark Collins has called a stop to this contest.

At four minutes, fifty-one seconds of Round number 5... declaring the winner by TKO

... AAAAAAAAND STIIIIIIIILL ...

THEEE UNDISPUTED UFA MIDDLEWEIGHT CHAMPION OF THE WOOOOOOOORLD ...

DAAAAAAAA- MON...

THEEE

IRIIISHH

ROOONNIN

CROOOSSSS

"

The crowd erupted, the arena shaking under the roar of chants and cheers.

Damon raised both fists high, grinning as flashes popped from every direction.

Ivan lowered his head slightly, his corner consoling him with pats on the back as the sting of defeat sank in.

Behind Damon, UFA president Ronan Black stepped forward, gold belt in hand. He leaned in, fastening it tight around Damon’s waist as the crowd roared again.

Damon let out a short breath, his eyes scanning the arena, the noise washing over him. He turned and embraced Victor, the coach pulling him in with a firm hug, pride written across his face.

Then, Damon crossed the cage, stepping toward Ivan. The two men met in the center, their gloves touching once more. Damon extended his hand, and Ivan took it, their grips firm.

But it was brief, just a short shake, a silent acknowledgment, before they separated, turning back to their teams without another word.

The rivalry wasn’t erased. It was simply over, at least for now.

As the fighters reset in the middle, Demian Kormier stepped through the cage door, microphone in hand. The crowd roared as he entered, giving him his usual welcome.

He shook Ronan Black’s hand briefly, then turned to Damon, who stood tall with the belt strapped around his waist.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Demian boomed, "I’m here with Damon Cross, still your middleweight champion of the world!"

The cheers rose again. Damon grinned, sweat dripping, the belt shining under the lights.

"Damon," Demian said, holding the mic closer, "how do you feel after that performance?"

Damon leaned in slightly, his voice calm but confident. "Hey, man, I feel amazing. I could go for another right now. But you know me, I always want more."

Demian smiled, nodding. "That was an incredible display tonight. You’ve defended the middleweight title. So tell us... what’s next?"

Damon adjusted the belt on his waist, raising a glove. "Well, I’ve handled middleweight again. Now it’s time to go handle business at light heavyweight. There’s no rest for the champ. I gotta keep fighting, keep the divisions in check."

The crowd exploded, chanting his name. Demian waited, then raised the mic once more. "Any last words for the fans, champ?"

Damon’s eyes narrowed, his grin fading into a cold smirk. He lifted the mic close.

"The Cross Era continues... and anyone who steps in front of me gets broken."

The arena shook with noise, the line instantly echoing across the crowd and into every camera lens broadcasting live.

Damon shook a few more officials’ hands, nodded at Ronan, and waved to the roaring crowd as he made his way toward the cage door.

His team followed close, the champion disappearing into the tunnel with the belt over his shoulder.

Inside the cage, Demian Kormier turned and walked toward Ivan, who stood with his corner, his face still set and serious. Demian lifted the mic.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I’m here with Ivan Novak. Ivan, we saw you talking with the referee right after the stoppage. What was that all about?"

Ivan took a breath, his voice calm though edged with frustration, his accent heavy. "Yes... I tell him I can still fight. I want more time. But... is finished. Ref do his job. I respect this. Next time... I make sure no stoppage, no question."

Demian nodded. "You had moments in this fight, you were the first to make Damon work in the grappling. What’s next for you after this?"

Ivan straightened, answering firmly but choosing words carefully. "Back to camp. More training. I sharpen my striking, my defense. On ground, I make him work, first one to do this. But I need more. More power, more sharp. I come back stronger."

The crowd applauded, some chanting his name. Demian leaned in with the final question. "This was your first loss, Ivan. How do you feel about it?"

Ivan exhaled, shaking his head slightly. "Loss... it happen. You cannot stay in past. Damon is good fighter, tonight he win. But this loss? It make me hungry. One day, I beat him. When I take him out... it will feel better, sweeter."

The crowd reacted with a mix of cheers and boos, the rivalry far from dead. Ivan handed the mic back, his expression set, already looking past tonight toward the future.

"Thank you, Ivan. Good luck moving forward," Demian said, giving him a respectful nod.

Ivan adjusted his mouthguard in his hand, nodding once. "Thanks."

The interview wrapped, and Ivan walked back toward his corner, his team surrounding him with towels and words of encouragement.

The crowd’s noise swelled again, a storm of cheers and jeers mixing together.

The arena atmosphere was split. Many fans who had bet against Damon were roaring, thrilled to see their wagers pay off as he remained undefeated.

Others, those who had backed Ivan in hopes of witnessing an upset, sat with tight jaws and folded arms, visibly frustrated.

Some booed, not at Damon, but at the result, angry at the stoppage. Others chanted Damon’s name louder, proud to see dominance yet again.

The commentary table weighed in over the chaos.

Jim Logan leaned in. "You can feel it in here, the crowd is electric. Half of them ecstatic, half of them upset, depending on where their bets were tonight."

Damian Kormier chuckled. "That’s the fight game. People love to ride the underdog. Ivan had a lot of believers, and he had moments, but Damon... Damon’s just a different animal."

Nix added evenly. "That’s the reality. Fans want upsets, they want history, but when you’re in there with someone like Damon Cross, even being competitive is an achievement. Ivan did that tonight, but Damon still left with the belt."