hotmtlnovel Chapter 374 What The Hell Is That I
Chapter 374 What The Hell Is That I
As the takedown proceeded, Damon shot in low.
But Donald was fast, faster than Damon anticipated.
Reading the setup perfectly, Donald sprawled hard, stuffing the takedown attempt with calculated precision.
Before Damon could reset, Donald scrambled quickly, pressing against Damon's back, his arms looping around Damon's midsection as he attempted to establish control.
"Beautiful counter from Donald Whittier!" one commentator exclaimed.
"He saw that takedown coming and reacted perfectly. This is where his experience shines!"
Donald locked his hands around Damon's waist, his grip tightening as he attempted to drag him down further.
Damon, however, wasn't going to give in that easily.
Using his core strength and balance, he widened his base, planting his feet firmly on the canvas to stay upright.
"Smart defense by Damon Cross," the second commentator observed.
"He knows that if Donald gets him to the ground, it could shift the momentum of this fight completely."
Donald adjusted, trying to break Damon's posture by pushing forward with all his weight.
Damon gritted his teeth, using his elbows to create space, his mind racing through his options.
"Donald's not giving him any room to breathe," one commentator added.
"This is a pivotal moment in the fight."
Damon shifted his hips, subtly turning to break Donald's grip.
With a sharp twist, he created a sliver of space and managed to rotate his upper body, throwing an elbow backward that narrowly missed Donald's head.
The maneuver forced Donald to loosen his grip slightly, but he maintained enough control to keep Damon pressed against the cage.
The crowd roared louder, sensing the tension as the fighters jockeyed for position.
It was clear that this exchange could determine the trajectory of the round.
Damon felt Donald's weight pressing heavily against his back.
The crowd buzzed with tension as Donald maintained tight control, not giving Damon any space to maneuver.
Damon kept his breathing steady, his focus razor-sharp.
He wasn't panicking.
Instead, he started analyzing his position, thinking through his options.
He could either try to stand up and risk losing balance or find a way to turn the tide while still on the mat.
His mind raced as he remembered one of the fights he'd seen years ago, back when he and his mother stayed in that run-down motel.
It was during those nights that he discovered the UFA and began to admire fighters like NcGyver and Kamil.
But what he was about to do wasn't from either of them, it was from someone else.
Damon adjusted his grip slightly, his fingers digging into Donald's waist as he planted his feet firmly on the mat.
He leaned back, trying to pull Donald off his base and lift him.
But Donald's footing was solid, his stance wide and unyielding.
Damon gritted his teeth.
If he couldn't overpower Donald directly, he'd have to get creative.
Damon locked his grip tightly around Donald's waist, his arms steady as he continued to throw punishing knees into the same leg he'd been targeting.
Each strike drew an audible reaction from the crowd, the relentless assault clearly taking its toll on Donald's balance.
The commentators chimed in, their voices filled with excitement.
"Damon's staying on that leg, just chopping away at the base! He's breaking Donald down piece by piece!"
"You can see Donald's stance starting to falter. Damon is systematically dismantling him right now."
Sensing the opportunity, Damon made his move.
He shifted his weight, creating just enough leverage to lift Donald off his feet.
In a single explosive motion, he hoisted Donald into the air, flipping him backward in a spectacular German suplex.
But Damon wasn't done.
Mid-air, as Donald was being slammed, Damon's hands transitioned seamlessly from controlling the waist to isolating an arm.
Using the momentum of the suplex, Damon flowed directly into an armbar, trapping Donald's arm in a vice-like grip before they even hit the mat.
The arena erupted in disbelief.
"Oh my God! Did you see that?!" one commentator shouted. "He just transitioned from a German suplex straight into an armbar mid-air! That's insane!"
"This is next-level grappling! Damon Cross is showing us something extraordinary tonight!"
As they hit the mat, Damon cranked the armbar, his hips thrusting upward to apply maximum pressure.
Donald writhed in pain, his face contorted as he fought to escape.
He tried to roll and twist, but Damon's position was perfect, his legs clamped tightly around Donald's arm and torso.
The commentators continued, barely able to contain their astonishment.
"This has to be it! Damon's got that arm locked in tight, Donald's got nowhere to go!"