The last two minutes of the final round ticked away, and both fighters were running on fumes.
Sweat poured, their chests heaved with every breath, and every step seemed heavier than the last.
But neither Max Taylor nor Ronny McGregor showed a hint of quitting.
Max pushed forward again, his footwork less sharp now, his combinations shorter.
He slipped a jab but ate a stiff cross to the cheek, his head snapping back.
He gritted his teeth and pressed on, ripping a hook to Ronny's body, then another upstairs.
"Man, they're exhausted," Jim Logan said on commentary, his voice raw with excitement. "But they're still throwing leather!"
Ronny circled, hands low, his shoulders loose but his breathing loud.
He flicked a jab, followed by a front kick to Max's midsection, buying himself a little space.
Max growled, almost taunting, and stormed right back into range, swinging wild hooks.
One landed, the others grazed, but it was enough to make Ronny plant his feet and fire back.
