Chapter 22: The Power Of The Clinch

Damon's arms remained wrapped around his opponent's body, his hand still clasped together at the base of the guy's neck.

He felt the opponent's muscles relax, his body sagging slightly after the knee strike.

The crowd's jeers and catcalls grew louder, their voices echoing off the cage walls. "Come on, knuckleheads! Fight like real men! Even I can do that!" someone yelled, prompting a chorus of laughter and snickers.

Damon tuned out the crowd's taunts, his focus solely on his opponent's body language. He felt the guy's weight shift, his legs trembling slightly as he struggled to maintain his balance.

The opponent's eyes darted back and forth, his pupils constricting as he tried to think of a way to escape the clinch. His mouth was open, his lips curled into a snarl, as he struggled to catch his breath.

Damon's grip remained firm, his arms like a vice around his opponent's body. He could feel the guy's heart racing, his pulse pounding against Damon's forearm.

The crowd's laughter and jeers receded into the background, replaced by the sound of grunting and scuffling feet. Damon's feet slid slightly on the grass, his weight shifting as he adjusted his grip.

Damon's knee jerked upward again, connecting with a loud "PAHH" that echoed through the air. The impact was louder and more forceful than before, causing his opponent's body to shiver and tremble.

The opponent's grip on Damon's arms began to slip, his fingers loosening as he struggled to maintain his hold. But in a sudden surge of adrenaline, he tried to rally, his face contorted in a snarl.

"I'll show you how it feels to be kicked," he growled, his voice strained and pained. He tried to speak, but the words came out in a ragged gasp, his breathing labored.

With a sudden burst of energy, he threw his own knee strike, aiming for Damon's side. But unfortunately, it was the same side where Damon's arm was wrapped under his opponent's, and Damon caught the leg easily.

Damon's hand closed around the opponent's calf, his fingers digging deep into the muscle. He held the leg in place, his arm still clamped around the opponent's neck with his other hand.

The opponent's eyes widened in shock and pain, his face reddening as he struggled to free himself. But Damon held firm, his grip unyielding.

Damon's face remained expressionless, his eyes fixed intently on his opponent. He didn't say a single word, his silence a stark contrast to the opponent's ragged gasps and grunts.

Damon's body felt warm with exertion, his muscles tense and strained. He could feel the sweat dripping down his face, his skin slick with moisture.

Damon's fingers dug deeper into the opponent's neck, his grip tightening as he sensed his opponent's strength waning.

Damon's eyes scanned the position they were in, his mind racing with the possibilities. He saw the opponent's leg in his hand, the guy's neck trapped in his other hand, and knew it was time to make his move.

With a swift and precise motion, Damon lifted the opponent's leg up, causing him to lose balance. The guy's eyes widened in surprise as he felt himself being lifted off the ground.

Damon moved around, his feet shuffling on the grass, causing the opponent to start hopping on one leg. The guy's arms flailed wildly, trying to regain balance, but Damon held tight, his grip unyielding.

The opponent's face contorted in a mixture of pain and fear as he realized he was going down. Damon's hands remained locked in place, his fingers digging deep into the guy's neck and leg.

As the opponent hopped, Damon pushed through, using his body weight to drive them both down to the ground.

The impact was loud and forceful, the sound of their bodies hitting the grass echoing through the air.

The opponent's back hit the ground with a thud, his body bouncing slightly from the impact. He cried out in pain, his voice hoarse and ragged.

Damon's body followed, his chest pressing down on the opponent's, his weight pinning him to the ground. The air was forced out of the opponent's lungs, his body struggling to catch a breath.

Damon began to mount his opponent, carefully positioning himself to avoid being caught in a leg lock.

He sat on the guy's stomach, his weight pinning him to the ground.

Damon's fists clenched, he started throwing punch after punch, each one landing with a loud thud.

The opponent's arms flailed wildly, his hands slapping against Damon's arms as he tried to defend himself. His face contorted in pain, he screamed "I quit! Stop!!" at the top of his lungs.

Damon paused, his fists hovering above the opponent's face. He looked up at the crowd, his eyes scanning the sea of faces to see if they had heard the opponent's submission. The crowd's murmurs and shouts confirmed they had.

"What the hell is wrong with the guy? Why quit? He still had a chance of winning," someone in the crowd yelled.

"What do you mean chance? He was getting battered on the ground!" another spectator countered.

The crowd erupted into a heated argument, their voices echoing off the cage walls.

Damon dismounted, standing up, his chest heaving with exhaustion. His lungs burned, his muscles ached, and his body screamed for rest. He was tired, he wanted nothing but sleep, but there was still one more match to go - the final.

As he stood there, his eyes scanned the crowd, his gaze lingering on the faces of the spectators.

He felt a sense of relief wash over him, knowing he had won the match, but his body told a different story.

His legs trembled, his arms felt like lead, and his head spun with fatigue.

He took a deep breath, his chest expanding, and let it out slowly, trying to calm his racing heart.

Damon's gaze fell upon the guy on the ground, his eyes scanning the opponent's body. He noticed that the right side of the guy's torso was a deep shade of red, a clear indication of the impact from the knee strikes.

The skin was red, and Damon could see the faint outline of his own knee cap imprinted on the guy's side.

The sight of the redness seemed to confirm the effectiveness of Damon's strategy.

He felt a sense of satisfaction knowing that his knee strikes had landed precisely and with significant force.

The redness would likely turn into a nasty bruise, proof to the intensity of their battle.