Round 1 continued, and Damon and Johnny were both showing signs of fatigue.
Damon's breath was coming in quick gasps, and his face was starting to show the effects of the fight.
A red spot formed on his cheek from Johnny's punches. Johnny, too, had a few red marks and swelling from Damon's earlier strikes.
Damon's strategy to keep Johnny at bay had worked well, but Johnny was skilled at finding openings.
Damon felt the pressure mounting, his mind racing with frustration. He was beginning to make small mistakes, letting Johnny close the distance more often.
As they engaged again, Johnny threw a quick combination—jab, jab, hook. Damon tried to respond with a kick, but Johnny ducked under it and landed a solid right hand to Damon's jaw.
Damon staggered, feeling the sting of the punch. He grimaced but Johnny didn't press the attack, choosing to circle instead.
The referee moved in to break them apart, and the round ended. The bell rang, signaling the end of Round 1.
Michael Bosley's voice cut through the noise, "What a round! Damon Cross has shown some impressive skill with his height advantage, but Johnny Creed has landed some solid shots and kept the pressure on."
Daniel Greene added, "That's right, Michael. Damon's got the height and reach, but Johnny's experience is showing. Damon's making some mistakes now, letting Johnny close the distance more than he should."
In Johnny's corner, his coach was giving him a detailed rundown. "Damon's height is a problem for us, but we're getting inside. He's showing some fatigue, and his kicks are getting sloppier. Keep pressuring him and make him work harder. He's starting to make mistakes, so capitalize on it. Use your speed and combinations to break through his defense."
Johnny nodded, his face determined. "Got it."
Damon sat on his stool in his corner, alone but focused. He took a few deep breaths, trying to shake off the frustration.
His body ached, but he knew he had to keep going. He wiped the sweat from his brow and stood up as the bell rang for Round 2.
The fight resumed. Damon started the round with a series of leg kicks, trying to regain control and tire Johnny out. His kicks landed with thuds, hitting Johnny's thighs and causing him to wince.
Johnny tried to counter with a jab, but Damon was determined, pushing forward with more leg kicks.
Each time Johnny tried to close the distance, Damon's kicks kept him at bay. The red marks on Johnny's legs were starting to show the impact of Damon's attack.
Damon could feel his anger rising. He was frustrated with his earlier mistakes and determined to make up for them.
His mind was focused, but his emotions were running high. He started to throw kicks with more intensity, his frustration fueling his aggression.
"Damn it, why am I messing this up?" Damon muttered to himself, frustration evident in his voice. "I need to finish this."
Johnny moved in with a series of fast punches, trying to break through Damon's defenses. Damon tried to keep his distance but found himself cornered. Johnny's punches were coming fast, landing several blows to Damon's ribs and face.
Damon clenched his jaw, his anger building. He felt a surge of adrenaline as he pushed through the pain.
"Fuck this!" he shouted as he launched a wild, powerful right hook. His technique was sloppy, but the raw power behind the punch was undeniable.
Johnny's eyes widened in surprise as the punch connected with his jaw. The impact was enough to send him crashing to the canvas. The crowd erupted in shock, their voices rising in disbelief.
The referee moved in quickly, ready to separate them if necessary. Damon saw Johnny go down and knew this was his chance.
He pounced, aiming to finish the fight. He threw a flurry of hammer strikes, his fists raining down on Johnny.
Johnny tried to cover up, but Damon's relentless attacks were too much. The referee stepped in, grabbing Damon and pulling him away to stop the barrage.
As the referee's hand shot up, signaling the end of the match, Damon felt his breath catch short in his chest.
He stood frozen for a moment, his eyes fixed on the referee's raised hand, his mind struggling to process the reality of the situation.
Then, as the crowd's cheers washed over him like a wave, he grinned, his lips spreading wide across his face.
"I did it," he breathed, the words barely audible over the din of the crowd.
He took a deep breath, feeling the cool air fill his lungs, and looked down at Johnny, still knocked out on the canvas.
He knew his last strike had been sloppy, a wild and uncontrolled swing that had caught Johnny flush on the jaw.
And he knew that going after Johnny after he went down, hammering him with punch after punch, had been the deciding factor in the fight.
The crowd's cheers grew louder, a deafening roar that filled the arena and reverberated off the walls.
Damon felt his heart pounding in his chest, his pulse racing with excitement and adrenaline.
He raised his arms, his fists clenched in triumph, and let out a shout of victory.
Michael Bosley's voice cut through the noise, his words echoing off the walls of the arena.
"That is spectacular! A magnificent debut, as Damon Cross secures his first win!"
His partner, Daniel Greene, chuckled and added, "He is now 1-0, and I gotta say, despite what I said in the beginning, I still stand by it."
"With skills like that, he can do better in the higher weight class."
As the commentators spoke, Johnny began to stir on the canvas, his body slowly coming back to life.
He moved his arms, his hands flexing as he tried to sit up.
The referee moved in, his hands helping Johnny to his feet, and the crowd's cheers grew even louder.
Damon stood tall, his chest heaving with exhaustion, his arms still raised in triumph.
He felt the sweat dripping down his face, he grinned, his lips still spread wide across his face, and let out another shout of victory, basking in the adoration of the crowd.