Damon approached Shane Brickland, his expression unreadable.
The fight was over, the result undeniable, but there was no need for gloating.
Shane looked up at him, his face battered, his breathing heavy, but he didn't hesitate. He extended his hand.
Without a word, Damon took it, giving a firm shake. No trash talk, no unnecessary theatrics. Just two fighters acknowledging the reality of what had transpired.
The moment passed quickly, and soon the cage began to clear.
Medics helped Shane toward his corner while Damon stepped back, rolling his shoulders as he caught his breath.
The fight had been dominant, but that didn't mean it hadn't taken effort.
He could still feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins, his muscles buzzing with energy.
Deuce Baffer entered the octagon with his signature stride, microphone in hand.
