bookpower Chapter 447 The Uncrowned vs. The Champ I
Chapter 447 The Uncrowned vs. The Champ I
The energy in the arena reached a fever pitch as the fighters stood in their corners, awaiting the final instructions. The commentators fed into the anticipation, their voices charged with excitement.
"This is it, folks! The match is about to begin! Damon Cross, the rising star from Ireland, versus Shane Brickland, the reigning UFA middleweight champion. This isn't just another fight—this is a statement. If Cross wins, he proves he's ready for that title shot the moment he returns to the UFA!"
"Absolutely. And let's not forget, Brickland isn't just here to compete—he's here to remind the world why he's the champion. Three rounds, two warriors, and a whole lot of pride on the line. Get ready for fireworks!"
The referee, Marc Tallman, stepped forward, motioning both fighters to meet in the center of the octagon. Deuce Baffer, ever the showman, held the microphone for him, adding an extra touch of spectacle to the moment.
Damon and Shane strode forward, standing inches apart, their expressions locked in unwavering focus. The crowd buzzed, the tension thick enough to cut with a blade.
Tallman's voice was firm, authoritative. "Alright, gentlemen, you know the rules. Protect yourselves at all times, follow my instructions at all times. Clean fight, no nonsense. Touch gloves if you want, step back if you don't."
Damon and Shane didn't move at first, eyes locked, the intensity between them undeniable. Then, after a beat, Shane smirked, raising his hand just slightly.
Damon hesitated for only a moment before reaching out, their gloves tapping lightly—no theatrics, no fake friendliness, just acknowledgment.
"And there it is!" One commentator noted. "A respectful touch of gloves, but make no mistake, once that bell rings, respect goes out the window."
The fighters stepped back. The referee gave one last glance before signaling to the officials.
"FIGHTERS READY?"
Damon's body was loose, coiled, ready. Shane nodded, his signature smirk still lingering.
"FIGHT!"
The bell rang.@@@@
And the war began.
The bell rang.
Shane Brickland stomped forward, chin tucked, shoulders high, his hands already pumping out that suffocating jab.
No wasted motion, no hesitation. He fought like a man who didn't care what was coming back at him. Pressure, volume, control—that was his entire game.
Damon slipped the first, deflected the second, then leaned just out of range of the third. He didn't move much—just enough. His footwork wasn't panicked or hurried.
He wasn't backing up in a straight line. Instead, he stepped slightly to the side, taking small angles, keeping himself just out of Shane's preferred range.
Shane kept talking, even as he fired off another set of jabs.
"Yeah, you're real cute, mate. Let's see you dance for three rounds."
Damon didn't bother responding. He just kept reading.
Shane's jab was relentless, but it wasn't unpredictable. He liked to mix in front kicks between his punches, testing balance, keeping opponents reacting. If they reacted. Damon didn't.
The first teep came, aimed at the gut.
Damon caught it.
Before Shane could yank his leg back, Damon twisted sharply and dumped him onto his ass.
Damon had seen it before, pressure fighters never stopped unless you made them. And he was about to.
This time, he didn't just counter. He walked Shane down.
A heavy right hand cracked against Shane's high guard. The impact echoed through the arena. Shane absorbed it but took a step back.
Damon followed.
Another right, this time slamming into Shane's ribs. Shane winced but kept his hands up.
Damon feinted, then went low.
A vicious calf kick swept through Shane's leg. He stumbled, barely keeping himself upright.
"Damon's turning up the heat! He's not just out-striking Shane, he's bullying him!"
"Look at this! He's walking the champion down! This is insane!"
Shane gritted his teeth and fired back, swinging a wild overhand. It never landed. Damon wasn't there.
He slipped effortlessly and ripped a counter uppercut.
Shane's head snapped up, his legs buckling for a second.
Damon stepped in again.
A left hook.
A right cross.
Shane staggered. His balance was gone.
The pressure fighter was wilting.
Damon saw it.
He saw the first signs of doubt in Shane's eyes, the flicker of hesitation that had never been there before.
He wasn't letting him recover.
Damon snatched a Thai clinch and drove a brutal knee into Shane's stomach.
Read new chapters at My Virtual Library Empire
Shane gasped. His body folded slightly, his arms dropping just a little.
And Damon unleashed.
A right hook crashed into Shane's temple. A left uppercut followed. A final elbow slashed down, slicing open Shane's eyebrow.
Blood sprayed across the canvas.
Shane stumbled back against the cage, his hands barely up