The third round began, and most of the arena was already standing. Not just for the fight, but for the man inside it.
Damon Cross had shown something few ever did. Not dominance alone, but control, composure and precision.
That rare balance of physical talent and mental clarity. It wasn't just that he was winning, it was how.
Around the cage, fans murmured, phones lit up, and analysts stared like they were watching something they'd only read about.
There was one name floating silently in their heads.
James Jonas.
He was the bar. The one fighter no one ever truly replaced. In his prime, he wasn't just better—he was untouchable. A fighter who fought like he could see the future. A storm of skill, calculation, and timing.
And while James's name had lost its shine in the years since, marred by scandal, damaged by choices outside the cage, it didn't change what he was inside it.
