Tap, tap, tap.
"Stop," Damon muttered breathlessly, and the Chemasov simulation halted instantly, fading away into nothingness.
He sighed, glancing up at the simulated ceiling of Madison Square Garden, the lights casting an almost haunting glow.
Ten rounds.
He'd gone through ten intense matches against the simulated Chemasov, and for the tenth time, he'd been submitted.
Even though he hadn't turned on the physical connection mode, where any strain in the simulation would carry over to his real body, he felt the weight of every defeat.
Chemasov was a monster, simulated or not, and every fight had shown him the sheer gap in skill and power.
Damon clenched his fists, a mix of frustration and respect brewing within him.
He'd wanted a challenge, and the simulation had given him exactly that.
