Damon slowed as he reached the edge of the cage, where the official waited.
The man held up his hands, running them quickly over Damon's gloves, tugging on the straps to check the tape. Satisfied, he patted the wrist once and nodded.
"Cup," the official said flatly.
Damon gave a small grin and patted his groin guard with the back of his glove.
The official gave it a quick knock for confirmation, then dipped his fingers into the jar of Vaseline.
He rubbed it across Damon's cheekbones and forehead, a thin sheen catching the light.
"Good luck," the official muttered, giving him a final pat on the shoulder.
Damon exhaled through his nose, eyes locked on the cage door. The chants of his name shook the rafters.
He stepped forward as the door swung open, his eyes immediately finding Ivan on the other side. Ivan's stare was locked, not even blinking, and the interim champion didn't move as Damon circled in.
