Malikin bucked hard, throwing everything into a last-ditch escape.
He created a scramble, slipping out the backdoor and getting to his knees.
But Damon was already on him.
He locked in a front headlock, dragging Malikin back down into a tight sprawl.
Then he slid into a power guillotine position.
The crowd screamed as Damon adjusted his grip, sitting back and wrapping his legs into guard.
"He's got the guillotine! It's tight!"
"Malikin's in trouble!"
Malikin fought desperately, turning his chin into the pressure, his powerful arms fighting to create space.
For a moment, it looked like Damon might have it locked in.
But Malikin dug deep.
He shifted his hips, postured up, and managed to break the grip.
He exploded into side control, flipping Damon onto his back for a brief second.
And just like that, they were back in a war on the ground.
Malikin tried to settle into side control, but Damon wouldn't stop moving.
He framed against the head, hip-escaped, and recovered guard, then immediately threatened an armbar.
Malikin yanked his arm free just in time, dropping a heavy shot to Damon's ribs in response.
"They're scrambling at an insane pace!"
"This is high-level, elite MMA!"
Both men finally found space.
They broke apart and stood.
The moment they separated and stood, both men heaving for breath, Damon didn't hesitate.
Malikin wiped the blood from his eye, blinking hard to clear his vision. It was a split second, just long enough. Damon saw it. He felt it. His body moved before his mind finished the thought.
He exploded forward with a feint, shifting his weight as if to throw a lead hook. Malikin bit on it, raising his guard high.
That's when Damon pivoted on his back foot, switching angles fast, and threw a spinning back kick, his heel whipping around and slamming flush into Malikin's
The crowd gasped as Malikin's body folded slightly, his legs stuttering beneath him.
But Damon wasn't done.
The moment Malikin's posture dipped, Damon lunged in and shot a lightning-fast double leg takedown.
It was clean. Precise. He blasted Malikin straight to the canvas.
One moment Malikin was standing.
The next, he was flat on his back.
"Big takedown! Cross timed that perfectly!" one of the commentators shouted over the roar of the crowd.
"That was world-class, completely caught Malikin by surprise!"
Damon landed heavy in side control, his forearm grinding across Malikin's throat as he settled his weight, pinning him down.
Malikin's body still shuddered from the liver shot, his breathing shallow as he fought to recover.
Damon adjusted instantly, slipping his knee across Malikin's stomach and sliding into mount. He wasted no time posturing up, his hips heavy, his hands free.
They smashed into Malikin's face, one after another.
Each shot ripping more blood from the reopened cut above Malikin's eye.
Malikin tried to buck him off, his legs kicking out violently, but Damon stayed glued to him, riding the movement and raining down strikes.
"He's pouring it on! Cross smells the finish!"
Malikin threw his arms up, trying to block, but Damon switched it up, slipping an arm under the neck. In one fluid motion, Damon dropped his chest low, pinning Malikin's wrist to the mat with one hand and isolating the arm.
The crowd rose as Damon slid his leg up, trapping Malikin's head and arm.
He was hunting for the arm triangle.
Victor's voice rang out from the corner.
"Take it, Damon! Squeeze!"
Damon cinched the choke tight, turning his body, dropping his weight across Malikin's chest as he tightened the angle.
Malikin's legs kicked again. His hands pawed at Damon's arm.
But the space was disappearing fast.
His breathing labored.
His face turning red.
The referee dropped low, checking closely.
Malikin's body jerked once.
And then he managed to shift his hips just enough to create a tiny pocket of air.
Damon readjusted, relentless.
He let go of the choke, posturing up again, and dropped another devastating elbow that slammed across Malikin's temple.
Malikin's body sagged for a second. The ref watched closely.
Damon grabbed the wrist again, sliding into another setup.
And Malikin was hanging by a thread.
"This is championship level heart from Malikin," one commentator said.
"But Damon Cross is fighting like a man possessed!"
The round wasn't over.
But Malikin was in deep water now.
And Damon was the one dragging him further down.
Malikin's breathing was ragged beneath Damon. He was fading, but he wasn't broken. Not yet.
And Damon knew a fighter like Malikin wasn't going to quit unless he was given no choice.
Damon postured up, driving another hard elbow into Malikin's brow. Blood splattered from the reopened cut, Malikin grimacing as he tried to buck again.
That's when Damon slid his left knee under Malikin's arm, high across his chest. He swung his right leg over, trapping Malikin's head under his calf and thigh.
"What's he doing here?!"
"Cross is setting up something different—watch this!"
Damon hooked his right foot behind Malikin's neck and reached down, grabbing his own shin, locking Malikin's head in tight.
But when he reached for Malikin's free arm, he felt it immediately, resistance.
Malikin braced, his left arm flexing hard as he fought against Damon's grip, trying to pull his wrist free. His legs kicked out, trying to turn his body, to explode out before Damon could settle in.
"He's fighting! Malikin's still in this!"
"Cross has the position, but he's struggling to get the final lock!"
Damon's arms flexed as he wrenched harder on Malikin's wrist, but Malikin refused to let it go.
For a second, Damon could feel the balance shifting, Malikin wasn't giving up.
This was where lesser fighters panicked.
He dug his left heel deeper into Malikin's back, shifting his hips just slightly to the right, tightening the pressure on Malikin's neck and shoulder.
The new angle was brutal.
Malikin's body jerked as the strain shot through him.
Still, he fought the grip on his wrist, muscles straining under Damon's grasp.
"Look at this battle for control! Cross is so close, but Malikin's still defending!"
Damon exhaled slowly, ignoring the noise, the crowd, the blood, and the chaos.
He let go of Malikin's wrist for half a second.
Malikin tried to rip it free.
And that's when Damon snapped his right arm back in, threading it deep around the wrist and trapping it against his thigh.
Malikin's shoulder wrenched at an ugly angle.
His neck compressed under Damon's shin.
The pain was instant and overwhelming.
Malikin's body twisted, his heels digging into the mat.
But there was nowhere to go.
"Damon Cross has it now! Malikin's stuck, he's stuck!"