UGP 64: SOKOLOV vs MOMO’A LIVE!
ROUND ONE: As the opening bout began, Fontaine wasted no time, charging forward with a barrage of punches, aiming to overwhelm Banks early. Banks, maintaining her composure, utilized her superior clinch grappling to tie up Fontaine, neutralizing the initial onslaught. In the clinch, Banks delivered sharp knees to Fontaine’s midsection, showcasing her expertise in close-quarters combat. Breaking free, Fontaine adjusted her approach, employing lateral movement and feints to create openings. She landed a powerful right cross, momentarily staggering Banks. Sensing an opportunity, Fontaine pressed forward with a combination of hooks and low kicks. Banks, demonstrating her resilience, absorbed the strikes and retaliated with a swift teep kick, pushing Fontaine back. The round continued with both fighters exchanging strikes, Fontaine’s relentless pressure contrasting with Banks’ calculated counters. In the final moments, Banks attempted a clinch takedown, but Fontaine’s improved defense thwarted the effort. The crowd erupted in applause as the horn sounded, signaling the end of a closely contested round.
ROUND TWO: Fontaine, displaying her exceptional conditioning, began the second round with renewed intensity. She unleashed a series of high and low kicks, testing Banks’ defenses. Banks responded with precise leg kicks, aiming to slow Fontaine’s aggressive advances. However, Fontaine’s relentless pace began to wear on Banks, whose movements became noticeably slower. Capitalizing on this, Fontaine landed a devastating overhand right, causing Banks to stumble. Sensing the finish, Fontaine unleashed a flurry of strikes, including a spinning back kick that connected flush to Banks’ midsection. Banks, visibly hurt, attempted to clinch, but Fontaine’s relentless assault left no room for recovery. With Banks against the cage, Fontaine delivered a series of unanswered punches, prompting the referee to step in and halt the bout. The crowd erupted in cheers as Fontaine secured a victory in her short notice debut. Demonstrating sportsmanship, Fontaine helped the dazed Banks to her feet, both fighters earning the respect and admiration of the fans for their spirited performances.
Winner: Danielle Fontaine by TKO (Punches) at 3:22 Round 2
Statistics: Danielle Fontaine
Punches 45/70 (64%)
Kicks 20/30 (67%)
Clinch strikes 10/15 (67%)
Takedowns 0/0 (0%)
GnP strikes 0/0 (0%)
Submissions 0/0 (0%)
Clinch Attempts 5/7 (71%)
Time on the ground 0 s
Statistics: Ronnie Banks
Punches 30/55 (55%)
Kicks 15/25 (60%)
Clinch strikes 8/12 (67%)
Takedowns 0/1 (0%)
GnP strikes 0/0 (0%)
Submissions 0/0 (0%)
Clinch Attempts 4/6 (67%)
Time on the ground 0 s
BODIE SULLIVAN: “And we are back live inside the Smoothie King Center here in New Orleans, where Danielle Fontaine just delivered an emphatic second round TKO to kick off her Union GP career in style. That’s what you love to see from a short-notice replacement, seizing the moment and making a statement! Now, as we get set for more action, let’s take a moment to acknowledge a new face in the crowd. That right there is Nyles Stephens, a highly touted Middleweight who will be making his Union GP debut at Boss Fight 52. Kayla, this guy has been on a lot of people’s radars for a while now.”
KAYLA CHAPMAN: “Absolutely, Bodie. Nyles Stephens is one of those fighters that just has that presence about him. He’s been sharpening his tools outside of Union GP, and now he finally gets his shot under the brightest lights. He’s a well rounded athlete, physically imposing, and from everything I’ve heard, his fight IQ is off the charts. I’ve spoken with a few people close to his camp, and the consensus is that he’s ready to make an immediate impact in the Middleweight Division.”
BODIE SULLIVAN: “Yeah, and he’s got a tough test ahead of him in just a few weeks, but if the hype is real, we could be looking at a future contender in the making. We’ll have our eyes on him at Boss Fight 52, but for now, we shift our focus back to the action inside the cage. Up next, a hometown favorite, Morgan LeChance, takes center stage against a dangerous opponent in Tatiana Ruiz. Stay right there, this one’s got fireworks written all over it!”
ROUND ONE: The crowd inside the Smoothie King Center roars as New Orleans’ own Morgan LeChance steps forward, confidence radiating from her stance. Across from her, Tatiana Ruiz paces with intensity, her hands high, prepared to impose her grappling-heavy attack. The opening bell rings, and LeChance immediately establishes her presence with crisp footwork, circling to her right, peppering Ruiz with sharp, pinpoint jabs. Ruiz, known for her relentless aggression, presses forward, looking to close the distance. She fires a high kick that LeChance easily steps back from before answering with a searing inside leg kick, forcing Ruiz to reset. The speed difference is evident, LeChance’s fast hands land first in every exchange. A clean one-two snaps Ruiz’s head back, and the crowd erupts. Undeterred, Ruiz lunges forward, ducking under a jab and initiating a clinch. She drives LeChance against the cage, digging for underhooks, but LeChance muscles her way out, shoving Ruiz off before unloading a blistering right hand that lands flush. Ruiz staggers but remains on her feet, gritting her teeth as she absorbs another thudding body kick. LeChance picks her apart at range, stuffing a desperate takedown attempt from Ruiz with ease. The closing seconds see LeChance pouring it on, a stiff cross wobbles Ruiz, and a head kick nearly lands clean. The horn sounds with Ruiz looking battered but refusing to wilt.
ROUND TWO: LeChance wastes no time in the second round, opening with a piston-like jab that Ruiz can’t seem to avoid. Ruiz, showing signs of desperation, rushes forward recklessly, eating a crushing counter left hook for her troubles. The impact echoes through the arena, and Ruiz stumbles, barely managing to keep her footing. Sensing the finish, LeChance unloads. A blistering combination, jab, straight right, left hook, forces Ruiz to turtle up. She attempts another takedown, but LeChance sprawls beautifully, framing off Ruiz’s head and creating space. With her opponent struggling to regain posture, LeChance makes a statement, drilling a devastating uppercut that sends Ruiz crashing to the canvas! The referee rushes in, waving it off as Ruiz lies motionless. The New Orleans faithful explode in celebration as LeChance stands tall, arms raised, soaking in the deafening cheers. She just put on a striking masterclass in her hometown.
Winner: Morgan LeChance by KO (Punch) at 1:36 Round 2
Statistics: Morgan LeChance
Punches 68/102 (67%)
Kicks 22/30 (73%)
Clinch strikes 10/15 (67%)
Takedowns 0/0 (0%)
GnP strikes 0/0 (0%)
Submissions 0/0 (0%)
Clinch Attempts 2/2 (100%)
Time on the ground 0 s
Statistics: Tatiana Ruiz
Punches 19/55 (35%)
Kicks 7/20 (35%)
Clinch strikes 3/8 (37%)
Takedowns 0/4 (0%)
GnP strikes 0/0 (0%)
Submissions 0/0 (0%)
Clinch Attempts 1/3 (33%)
Time on the ground 0 s
BODIE SULLIVAN: “We are back live inside the Smoothie King Center, and what a moment it was for Morgan LeChance, delivering an electrifying second round knockout in front of her hometown crowd! The roof nearly came off this place, and that’s the kind of moment that can propel a fighter’s career forward in a big way. Now as we gear up for a pivotal Welterweight matchup between Kian De Beer and Ari Rosenberg, we have a special guest in the house tonight. Right there in the crowd, Mustafa Al-Masri, the number one ranked Welterweight contender, keeping a close eye on the division he reigns over at the top. And Kayla, the man has no shortage of options right now.”
KAYLA CHAPMAN: “Not at all, Bodie. You look at Mustafa Al-Masri, and this is a guy who’s right there in the title conversation. He’s been putting in the work at Gold Blooded MMA, training under the legendary Gauge Lattimore, and he has all the makings of a future Champion. But the big question is, what’s next? He was recently called out by Connor Bouchard at UGP 63, and that’s certainly an intriguing fight, but with no official booking on the horizon, you have to wonder, does he wait for a title shot? Does he take on Bouchard? Or maybe the winner of this next fight between De Beer and Rosenberg? And let’s not forget, we’ve got Ray Rogers and Byron McCall later tonight, another massive fight in this division.”
BODIE SULLIVAN: “Yeah, the Welterweight division is a powder keg right now, and all eyes are on Mustafa Al-Masri to see what move he makes next. He’s earned his position at the top, but now it’s about making the right call. Does he chase the gold or silence one of these rising contenders? One thing’s for sure, whoever ends up across from him better be ready for a fight. But speaking of high stakes matchups, we turn our attention back to the Octagon, where two top-ranked Welterweights, Kian De Beer and Ari Rosenberg, are set to throw down. Don’t go anywhere, this one could have major title implications!”
ROUND ONE: In the Featured Early Prelims, Welterweights Kian De Beer and Ari Rosenberg faced off in a thrilling bout that showcased a classic striker versus grappler dynamic. The fight began with De Beer, an orthodox kickboxer, immediately taking the center of the cage, utilizing his superior agility to establish dominance. He unleashed a series of crisp jabs and low leg kicks, aiming to disrupt Rosenberg’s balance. Rosenberg, also in an orthodox stance, maintained a high guard, patiently waiting for an opportunity to close the distance. Midway through the round, Rosenberg timed a double-leg takedown perfectly, capitalizing on De Beer’s momentary overextension. With De Beer on his back, Rosenberg showcased his wrestling prowess, advancing to half guard and delivering powerful ground-and-pound strikes. De Beer, demonstrating his toughness, absorbed the blows while attempting to scramble back to his feet. In the final minute, De Beer managed to create space and stood up, immediately launching a high kick that grazed Rosenberg’s temple. The crowd erupted as Rosenberg staggered but quickly regained composure, clinching to neutralize De Beer’s striking. The round concluded with both fighters exchanging knees in the clinch, leaving the audience buzzing with anticipation.
ROUND TWO: De Beer, aware of Rosenberg’s takedown threat, adjusted his strategy by employing lateral movement and feints to keep the wrestler at bay. He peppered Rosenberg with body kicks and swift combinations, gradually wearing him down. Rosenberg, showing signs of fatigue, became more predictable in his takedown attempts. Seizing the moment, De Beer unleashed a spinning back kick that landed flush on Rosenberg’s midsection, eliciting a grunt of pain. Sensing his opponent’s vulnerability, De Beer pressed forward with a barrage of punches. However, Rosenberg’s resilience shone through as he absorbed the onslaught and, with sheer determination, secured another takedown. On the ground, Rosenberg worked to advance his position but was met with staunch resistance. De Beer utilized butterfly hooks to prevent Rosenberg from mounting any significant offense. The round ended with Rosenberg in top position but visibly winded, while De Beer appeared focused and ready for the final round.
ROUND THREE: The final round began with De Beer displaying a sense of urgency, knowing he needed a decisive finish. He opened with a flying knee that narrowly missed its mark, followed by a series of hooks that found their target. Rosenberg, now bleeding from a cut above his right eye, attempted a desperate single-leg takedown, but De Beer sprawled effectively, showcasing improved takedown defense. With Rosenberg’s energy waning, De Beer capitalized by landing a thunderous right cross that sent Rosenberg crashing to the canvas. The referee immediately intervened, calling a halt to the bout, declaring Kian De Beer the winner by technical knockout.
Winner: Kian De Beer by TKO (Punches) at 2:45 Round 3
Statistics: Kian De Beer
Punches 85/120 (71%)
Kicks 30/40 (75%)
Clinch strikes 15/25 (60%)
Takedowns 0/1 (0%)
GnP strikes 10/15 (67%)
Submissions 0/0 (0%)
Clinch Attempts 3/5 (60%)
Time on the ground 180 s
Statistics: Ari Rosenberg
Punches 40/70 (57%)
Kicks 5/10 (50%)
Clinch strikes 10/20 (50%)
Takedowns 3/6 (50%)
GnP strikes 25/35 (71%)
Submissions 0/1 (0%)
Clinch Attempts 4/7 (57%)
Time on the ground 180 s
ROUND ONE: As the bout began, Vargas, adopting her signature southpaw stance, immediately pressed forward with aggressive intent. She unleashed a barrage of Muay Thai strikes, including powerful left crosses and sharp leg kicks, aiming to overwhelm Moon early. Moon, in his orthodox stance, utilized his superior agility to evade many of these attacks, circling away and maintaining distance. Despite his defensive prowess, several of Vargas’s kicks connected, reddening Moon’s lead leg. Midway through the round, Moon seized an opportunity to counter, slipping a punch and shooting for a double-leg takedown. Vargas’s takedown defense held firm initially, but Moon’s persistence paid off as he transitioned to a single-leg and brought her to the canvas. Once on the ground, Moon showcased his Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu expertise, advancing to half guard and threatening with a kimura. Vargas remained composed, defending the submission while landing short hammerfists to Moon’s ribs. In the final minute, Vargas managed to create space and scramble back to her feet. Eager to reclaim momentum, she launched a high kick that grazed Moon’s temple, causing him to momentarily lose balance. Sensing vulnerability, Vargas flurried with punches, but Moon’s resilience and head movement allowed him to survive the onslaught as the round concluded. The crowd erupted in applause, appreciating the high-paced action and technical exchanges.
ROUND TWO: The second round began with both fighters displaying mutual respect, having gauged each other’s strengths. Vargas continued her forward pressure, but Moon adjusted by utilizing lateral movement and feints to disrupt her rhythm. He landed a crisp jab-cross combination, followed by a swift body kick, showcasing improved striking confidence. Vargas, undeterred, closed the distance and initiated a clinch, where she employed her Muay Thai prowess. She delivered punishing knees to Moon’s midsection and short elbows to the head. Moon winced as a cut opened above his right eyebrow, blood trickling down. Despite the damage, he remained composed, attempting to pummel for underhooks and reverse the position. Breaking free from the clinch, Moon surprised Vargas with a spinning back kick that landed flush on her abdomen, causing her to stagger backward. Capitalizing on the moment, Moon shot for another takedown, but Vargas sprawled effectively, showcasing her improved grappling defense. She transitioned to Moon’s back, securing one hook and raining down punches as he stood, forcing him to defend. In the closing seconds, Moon managed to shake Vargas off and create distance. Both fighters, visibly fatigued yet determined, exchanged wild strikes in the center of the octagon, igniting the audience’s excitement. The horn sounded, marking the end of another intense round, with both competitors bearing the physical toll of the battle.
ROUND THREE: Entering the final round, the atmosphere was electric, with fans eagerly anticipating the climax of this thrilling contest. Vargas, aware of Moon’s potential edge on the judges’ scorecards due to his grappling control, came out with renewed aggression. She targeted Moon’s compromised lead leg with thudding low kicks, causing him to wince and adjust his stance. Moon, sensing the urgency, attempted to close the distance and bring the fight back to the ground. However, his takedown attempts became increasingly telegraphed due to fatigue and the damage sustained. Vargas capitalized, stuffing the shots and responding with uppercuts and hooks that snapped Moon’s head back. Midway through the round, Vargas landed a devastating overhand left that sent Moon crashing to the canvas. The crowd erupted as she pounced, delivering relentless ground and pound. Moon, displaying his toughness, tried to defend and regain guard, but Vargas’s onslaught was relentless. The referee, observing Moon’s inability to intelligently defend himself, stepped in and halted the bout. Marcela Vargas stood triumphant, her face a mix of elation and exhaustion, as the audience cheered her hard-fought victory.
Winner: Marcela Vargas by TKO (GnP) at 3:47 Round 3
Statistics: Maddox Moon
Punches 45/80 (56%)
Kicks 10/15 (67%)
Clinch strikes 5/10 (50%)
Takedowns 2/5 (40%)
GnP strikes 15/25 (60%)
Submissions 0/1 (0%)
Clinch Attempts 1/3 (33%)
Time on the ground 210 s
Statistics: Marcela Vargas
Punches 60/100 (60%)
Kicks 25/35 (71%)
Clinch strikes 20/30 (67%)
Takedowns 1/2 (50%)
GnP strikes 25/40 (63%)
Submissions 0/0 (0%)
Clinch Attempts 3/4 (75%)
Time on the ground 210 s
BODIE SULLIVAN: “Back inside the Smoothie King Center, and what a performance we just witnessed from Marcela Vargas! Third round TKO, absolutely brutal ground and pound to get the finish. That was a statement win if I’ve ever seen one! Now as we gear up for a crucial rematch in the Middleweight division between José Meléndez and Deebo Briggs, let’s take a moment to acknowledge a man who has quickly become a fan favorite in Union GP. There he is, Trevor Martin, one of the most exciting Lightweights on the roster, and Kayla, this is a guy who will fight anyone, anywhere, at any weight. You have to think the matchmakers love that about him.”
KAYLA CHAPMAN: “They absolutely do, Bodie. That kind of mentality is what separates good fighters from must-watch fighters, and Trevor Martin is very much in that latter category. He’s fresh off a win where he defended his ranking, but with the way he carries himself, you get the sense that he’s not just looking to hold his spot, he’s looking to take someone else’s. You have to assume that his next fight will be against another ranked opponent, and if he keeps this momentum going, he could be knocking on the door of title contention sooner rather than later.”
BODIE SULLIVAN: “Yeah, the man is a fighter in every sense of the word, and when you have someone with that kind of willingness to step in against anyone, it’s only a matter of time before the big opportunities come knocking. We’ll keep a close eye on what’s next for Trevor Martin, but right now, it’s time to settle some unfinished business inside the Octagon. Up next, a high stakes rematch between two top ranked Middleweights, José Meléndez and Deebo Briggs. These two have history, and they are about to run it back. Don’t go anywhere!”
ROUND ONE: In a highly anticipated rematch, Middleweights José Meléndez and Deebo Briggs faced off in a thrilling bout that had fans on the edge of their seats. Their previous encounter at UGP 46 saw Meléndez securing a first round knockout, adding an extra layer of intensity to this showdown. The fight began with both fighters displaying some tension, aware of each other’s capabilities. Meléndez, adopting his orthodox stance, immediately utilized his kickboxing prowess, launching crisp jabs and powerful leg kicks aimed at destabilizing Briggs. Briggs, in his southpaw stance, responded with sharp counter punches, showcasing his boxing skills. Midway through the round, Meléndez connected with a solid right cross, momentarily staggering Briggs. However, Briggs quickly clinched, using his Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu background to neutralize the attack and attempted a trip takedown, which Meléndez resisted. The round concluded with both fighters exchanging heavy blows, the crowd roaring in approval as the horn sounded.
ROUND TWO: Briggs adjusted his strategy in the second round, aiming to bring the fight to the ground where he held an advantage. He feinted a jab and shot for a double-leg takedown, successfully bringing Meléndez to the canvas. On the ground, Briggs worked to pass Meléndez’s guard, seeking a dominant position. Meléndez’s limited ground game became evident as he struggled to defend against Briggs’s advances. Briggs attempted an arm-triangle choke, but Meléndez’s toughness allowed him to survive the submission attempt. Despite being on the defensive, Meléndez managed to scramble back to his feet in the final minute, landing a high kick that grazed Briggs’s temple. The round ended with both fighters showing signs of fatigue, yet determination burned in their eyes.
ROUND THREE: The final round saw Briggs capitalizing on Meléndez’s exhaustion. He pressed forward with relentless aggression, combining body shots with uppercuts that penetrated Meléndez’s defense. Meléndez attempted to maintain distance with teep kicks, but his movements had slowed considerably. Sensing victory, Briggs unleashed a barrage of punches, backing Meléndez against the cage. A powerful left hook from Briggs found its mark, causing Meléndez to slump. The referee intervened, stopping the fight at 3:45 of the third round, declaring Deebo Briggs the winner by technical knockout. The arena erupted in cheers as Briggs avenged his previous loss, both fighters embracing in a show of mutual respect.
Winner: Deebo Briggs by TKO (Punches) at 3:13 Round 3
Statistics: José Meléndez
Punches 45/100 (45%)
Kicks 20/30 (67%)
Clinch strikes 10/15 (67%)
Takedowns 0/1 (0%)
GnP strikes 5/10 (50%)
Submissions 0/0 (0%)
Clinch Attempts 2/5 (40%)
Time on the ground 152 s
Statistics: Deebo Briggs
Punches 60/110 (55%)
Kicks 10/20 (50%)
Clinch strikes 15/25 (60%)
Takedowns 2/3 (67%)
GnP strikes 10/15 (67%)
Submissions 0/2 (0%)
Clinch Attempts 3/7 (43%)
Time on the ground 152 s
BODIE SULLIVAN: “And we are back live inside the Smoothie King Center, where Deebo Briggs just evened the score with José Meléndez, securing a third round TKO finish to settle the rivalry… for now. An absolutely massive win for him in the Middleweight division. Before we shift our focus to a high stakes Bantamweight bout between Alex Hughes and Syn Saetang, let’s take a moment to acknowledge a rising force in the Featherweight division. That right there is Verona Jimenez, undefeated in Union GP at 3-0, and not just winning, finishing every single opponent in front of her. Three fights, three finishes, three performance bonuses. Kayla, this is the kind of run that fast tracks you to the top.”
KAYLA CHAPMAN: “It really is, Bodie. When you’re performing at that level and putting your opponents away in dominant fashion, it makes it very hard for the matchmakers to not give you a big step up in competition. She’s currently ranked seventh, but let’s be honest, if she keeps this up, she’s going to rocket up those rankings sooner than later. Verona Jimenez is proving that she’s not just another prospect, she’s a problem in this division.”
BODIE SULLIVAN: “No doubt about it, and with the way she’s been tearing through the competition, it’s only a matter of time before we see her in the title conversation. But for now, we turn our attention back to the Bantamweight division, where a crucial top ranked match up is about to unfold. Alex Hughes and Syn Saetang, both hungry to make their case for a title shot. Don’t go anywhere, this one is up next!”
ROUND ONE: There is no feeling out process between these two Bantamweights–the bell sounds, and Syn rushes across the cage, jabbing her way into range and cracking Alex with a strong straight right hand, putting the Welsh woman on the back foot immediately. Hughes circles away before she can take any more damage, landing a quick leg kick on the escape, but Syn keeps pressing forward, throwing two strike combos that force Alex to keep her guard up. Alex gets stunned by another straight right, but she manages to grab both underhooks and spin Syn up against the cage. Both women trade knees in the clinch, Syn digging for an underhook to keep from being tripped, but in her efforts, Alex manages to get her hips down and throw Syn to the mat with a hip toss! Syn tries to scramble out, but ends up giving up her back; she takes a couple shots before Alex tries to really secure the back, but Syn bursts to her feet and gets away, bringing the fight back to standing. Despite her usual calm demeanor, Alex looks a little frustrated that she let that one get away, but she presses the action, trying to force Syn to retreat to the cage wall again. Syn narrowly avoids a big right hook, landing a couple jabs and circling out; when Alex pursues her, Syn launches a massive head kick that almost lands flush on Alex’s temple–but the Welsh woman manages to avoid it by the skin of her teeth, and drives forward while Syn is off balance to take her down again. The round ends with Alex in a top position, but not really managing much damage with it.
ROUND TWO: This round starts similar to the first, with Syn putting immediate pressure on Alex. Alex manages to clip Syn with an uppercut that forces her to second guess her strategy, while Syn stings Alex’s legs with a series of kicks. Syn flashes a smile and beckons Alex forward–and the Welsh fighter obliges, landing a three punch combination that visibly gets Syn’s attention. She responds with a big combo of her own, and both women are drawn into a firefight; both land heavy, but miss wildly as well–Alex manages to clip Syn with a looping right hook that wobbles her, but when Hughes presses forward, Syn responds with an uppercut that snaps Alex’s head back! A follow up shot wobbles Hughes, and she drops for a single leg takedown. Syn manages to defend until she’s pinned back against the cage, and Alex switches to a double leg–but her head’s in the wrong position. And Syn sees it. And before Alex can react, Syn snatches a guillotine choke! Alex threatens with the takedown anyway, managing to lock her hands and lift Syn off the mat–but when Alex slams her opponent to the mat, she only makes the choke worse for herself, and it’s only a few more seconds of fighting before Alex is forced to tap, and Syn Saetang gets her first submission win in Union Grand Prix!
Winner: Syn Saetang by Submission (Guillotine Choke) at 4:07 Round 2
Statistics: Alex Hughes
Punches 19/42 (45%)
Kicks 4/8 (50%)
Clinch strikes 2/4 (50%)
Takedowns 2/4 (50%)
GnP strikes 2/6 (33%)
Submissions 0/0 (0%)
Clinch Attempts 1/2 (50%)
Time on the ground 112 s
Statistics: Syn Saetang
Punches 24/55 (44%)
Kicks 6/12 (50%)
Clinch strikes 2/5 (40%)
Takedowns 0/0 (0%)
GnP strikes 0/0 (0%)
Submissions 1/1 (100%)
Clinch Attempts 0/0 (0%)
Time on the ground 112 s
The stream fades in from darkness as the roar of the crowd amplifies. The feed starts with a cinematic aerial view of the Smoothie King Center exterior, bathed in a dazzling array of lights. Suddenly, a high-tech drone camera swoops into view, zipping through the night sky with precision and speed. The crowd below can be seen, eagerly waiting to witness the epic showdown about to unfold.
As the drone camera continues its aerial journey, it dives down toward the entrance of the arena. Here, the stage setting is nothing short of spectacular. The main stage entrance is adorned with towering screens displaying incredible fighter highlights. Pyrotechnics are primed, ready to unleash fiery explosions, and a cascade of dazzling lights dance in rhythm with the heart-pounding music.
The drone continues its flight, capturing the electrifying energy of the crowd below. The fans, dressed in a sea of colors, wave flags and banners, their excitement reaching a fever pitch. The drone camera hovers for a moment, capturing the anticipation, before the arena erupts with pyrotechnics and beaming lights one final time, setting the tone for the thrilling event about to begin. As the grand finale wraps up, the feed pops up the poster for tonight’s card.
The drone camera, with a graceful turn, moves toward the cageside area, where the commentary team awaits their cue. The broadcast transitions to the commentary desk, where Bodie Sullivan and Kayla Chapman stand poised, ready to welcome the audience to the highly anticipated main card.
BODIE SULLIVAN: “Ladies and gentlemen, fight fans around the world, we are LIVE exclusively on the Battleground Network here at the sold out Smoothie King Center in New Orleans, Louisiana — home of Union GP tonight — and the octagon is officially open for business for UGP 64: SOKOLOV vs MOMO’A! Hello everyone and thank you for tuning in! I’m Bodie Sullivan, alongside my broadcast partner, the ever-insightful Kayla Chapman. Kayla, we are in for a big night here in The Big Easy!”
KAYLA CHAPMAN: “Absolutely, Bodie. Every single fight on this main card has serious implications, whether it’s about redemption, legacy, or championship aspirations. These fighters are here to prove a point, and there’s no better stage than this. We’re starting off with a fight that could determine the next title challenger in the lightweight division.”
BODIE SULLIVAN: “Opening up the main card, we have an absolute barnburner in the making as former Lightweight Champion 2Face Rodríguez takes on the ever-dangerous former Lightweight Title Challenger Catherine Harris. Rodríguez is a whirlwind of violence, a relentless pressure fighter who thrives on making his opponents uncomfortable. A product of Hall of Famer Delaney Donovan’s camp, he fights with a chip on his shoulder and a style that’s as unpredictable as it is effective.”
KAYLA CHAPMAN: “And on the other side, you have Catherine Harris, looking to bounce back from her title loss to Benji Meyers. She’s a former Everest MMA Featherweight Champion, and while her striking has developed over time, her bread and butter remains her powerful wrestling. If she can get Rodríguez to the mat, she can smother him. But if she can’t, if she has to trade shots in the pocket, that’s a dangerous game against someone like 2Face. A win for either of these two puts them right back in the title picture.”
BODIE SULLIVAN: “Up next, a legend returns to the Octagon. Hall of Famer Byron McCall is back from retirement, making his Welterweight debut against the battle-tested Ray Rogers. McCall has been there, done that, but even at this stage of his career, he still has that hunger for competition. He’s fought at Middleweight, Lightweight, and now he steps into the 170-pound division, looking to cement his legacy with another run.”
KAYLA CHAPMAN: “And standing in his way is a man who’s made a career out of proving people wrong. Ray Rogers is a grappling ace with a motor that doesn’t quit. His submission game is slick, and his wrestling is suffocating. He knows exactly what he needs to do to drag McCall into deep waters. However, McCall is no slouch in the grappling department, and his striking is levels above what Rogers is used to. If Rogers can make this ugly, he has a shot, but if McCall dictates the pace, we could see vintage Byron lighting up the cage.”
BODIE SULLIVAN: “Then, we have a Bantamweight clash with serious title implications as Eugenie Bombelles takes on rising star Serenity Holmes in our Featured Undercard bout. Bombelles has been knocking on the championship door for some time, a two-time title challenger with elite striking and an iron will. She’s a veteran who knows what it takes to win at this level.”
KAYLA CHAPMAN: “And across from her, we have Serenity Holmes, the 2024 Prospect of the Year who has been flawless in Union so far. She’s fast, she’s technical, and she never stops moving. Her striking is crisp, her conditioning is top-tier, and she’s improving every fight. The big question here is experience versus momentum. Bombelles has been in the fire before, but Holmes is on a meteoric rise. Whoever wins this could be looking at a title fight in their next outing.”
BODIE SULLIVAN: “And then, we move into the Championship block of the card, beginning with the Co-Main Event. We’ve got a championship fight in the Featherweight division as the reigning queen, Isabel Azevedo, defends her belt against the young and hungry Carter Vaughn. Azevedo is as dangerous as they come, a submission specialist with the most submission wins in Union GP history. She has brutal top control and a knack for finding openings where others wouldn’t.”
KAYLA CHAPMAN: “Don’t sleep on Carter Vaughn, though. Yes, he’s young in his career, but he’s got the skill set to make this interesting. His grappling is just as high level as Azevedo’s, and if he can stay composed under the bright lights, he could be the one to finally crack the code and dethrone the Champ. This is a massive test for him, and a statement win for either fighter here could send shockwaves through the division.”
BODIE SULLIVAN: “And finally, our Main Events of the evening. The Union Grand Prix Middleweight Championship is on the line as the reigning champion, Alexander Sokolov, defends against Zion Momo’a. This one has all the ingredients for an instant classic. Sokolov has been on an absolute tear, an eight-fight win streak, one of the most feared strikers in the division, and a man who thrives in the chaos of battle. He’s relentless, he’s powerful, but sometimes he lets his emotions take control.”
KAYLA CHAPMAN: “And that’s where Momo’a comes in. A two-time Ryūjin FC Champion, riding a nine-fight win streak, and a guy who has spent his career chasing gold at the highest level. He’s got the striking, the durability, and the experience to go toe-to-toe with Sokolov. This fight has personal stakes, too. There’s been bad blood in the buildup, and you know neither of these guys are backing down. This is going to be a war, plain and simple.”
BODIE SULLIVAN: “As always, we’ll be with you every step of the way, breaking down the action and providing you with the best coverage from start to finish. The stage is set, the fighters are ready, and the time for talking is over! So, without further ado, let’s toss it over to our very own hype man, the mouthpiece of MMA, Mike Dempsey, who’s standing by, ready to get things started. Ladies and gentlemen…”
“IT’S BOUT TIME!“
ROUND ONE: The Smoothie King Center crackled with roaring cheers as 2Face Rodríguez and Catherine Harris squared off, a clash of power versus pressure in the opening bout of the main card. Rodríguez stood in his southpaw stance, loose but dangerous, while Harris, relentless as ever, wasted no time marching forward, snapping jabs and hacking at his lead leg. Rodríguez, ever the elusive striker, slipped effortlessly out of range, answering with stinging left crosses that snapped Harris’ head back. Undeterred, Harris crashed into him, looking to wrestle, but Rodríguez met her with savage Muay Thai knees, each strike sinking into her ribs with sickening force. She grimaced but refused to break, adjusting her grip before whipping Rodríguez to the canvas with a slick hip toss. The crowd roared as she landed on top, instantly working to smother him. Rodríguez’s lack of ground game showed as he struggled under the weight of her pressure, offering little offense beyond keeping her from advancing. However, he was nothing if not crafty in this scenario. Twice, he grabbed the cage to pull himself up, drawing a sharp warning from the referee. Back on his feet, Rodríguez fought with an edge, planting his feet and ripping a right hook that staggered Harris. She answered with a level change, ducking under his next punch and driving through with a thunderous takedown, slamming him onto his back just as the round ended. The crowd erupted as both fighters rose, Rodríguez breathing heavier than before, Harris rubbing at her bruised midsection. One round in, and the war was only beginning.
ROUND TWO: Harris stormed into the second round with the same relentless aggression, determined to build on her momentum. She snapped high kicks at Rodríguez’s head, one glancing off his temple and knocking him slightly off balance. Seeing a window of opportunity, Harris pounced, but Rodríguez caught her in the clinch and unleashed a brutal elbow, slicing a small gash above her right eye. Blood streaked down her face, but if anything, it only fueled her. She drove forward, lowering her level and blasting through Rodríguez with a powerful double leg takedown. The crowd erupted as she planted him on the mat, immediately hunting for a kimura. Rodríguez grimaced, muscles tensed against the torque, his raw strength keeping his arm from being wrenched behind him. He bucked and twisted, escaping just enough to force a scramble, then chaos struck. As Harris shifted positions, Rodríguez’s fingers raked across her eye. She recoiled, blinking rapidly, and the referee stepped in, issuing a warning as boos and murmurs rippled through the arena. When the fight resumed, Harris came forward with a bruised cheek and a fire in her eyes, throwing bombs in retaliation. Rodríguez, ever the elusive counter striker, slipped and weaved through the assault, answering with razor sharp jabs that snapped Harris’ head back. Then it happened again, another eye poke. Harris immediately turned away, clutching at her face, and this time, the referee had seen enough. A point deduction. The crowd roared with mixed reactions, some booing, others cheering at the drama unfolding. As the round drew to a close, Harris lunged for another takedown, but Rodríguez sprawled hard, refusing to be dragged down again. In the dying seconds, both fighters bit down on their mouthpieces and let their fists fly, trading heavy leather in a wild, furious exchange that had the crowd on their feet as the horn sounded.
ROUND THREE: Both fighters entered the final round battered, exhausted, yet unwavering in their pursuit to victory. Sweat dripped from their bodies, mixing with the blood and bruises marking the war they had waged thus far. Rodríguez, knowing the point deduction loomed over him, came out firing. He ripped hooks to Harris’ ribs, then snapped her head back with a crisp left cross, his strikes carrying newfound urgency. Harris, breathing heavy but refusing to wilt, stayed true to her roots, feinting strikes to mask her takedown attempts. Midway through the round, she found her opening. Ducking under a looping left, she shot in and latched onto a single leg, driving Rodríguez to the mat. The crowd roared as she postured up and rained down some ground and pound. Rodríguez twisted and bucked, his rudimentary ground game barely keeping him afloat as Harris pounded away, but his raw athleticism came through. He exploded into a scramble, slipping free and forcing the fight back to the feet. With the clock winding down, both fighters emptied their gas tanks. They stood toe-to-toe in the center of the cage, trading bombs with reckless abandon. Rodríguez unleashed a vicious left uppercut that rocked Harris, her legs buckling for a split second, but she refused to go down. With blood streaking her face, she roared back with a fierce combination, capping it off with a spinning back fist that crashed against Rodríguez’s chin, snapping his head to the side. The final seconds ticked away as they kept swinging, neither willing to concede an inch. The crowd erupted, the arena shaking with applause as the horn sounded, signaling the end of a brutal, grueling war. Both fighters stood bloodied but unbroken, leaving the judges with a difficult decision.
Winner: 2Face Rodríguez by Majority Decision
Statistics: 2Face Rodríguez
Punches 82/168 (48%)
Kicks 26/52 (50%)
Clinch strikes 37/58 (63%)
Takedowns 0/0 (0%)
GnP strikes 3/6 (50%)
Submissions 0/0 (0%)
Clinch Attempts 7/10 (70%)
Time on the ground 226 s
Statistics: Catherine Harris
Punches 71/155 (46%)
Kicks 18/44 (41%)
Clinch strikes 9/22 (41%)
Takedowns 5/11 (45%)
GnP strikes 21/38 (55%)
Submissions 1/3 (33%)
Clinch Attempts 6/8 (75%)
Time on the ground 226 s
Standing inside the cage, still sweating from the grueling battle, 2Face Rodríguez had a smirk on his face as the crowd gave a mixed reaction. When asked about his performance, he exhaled sharply, shaking his head.
“A win’s a win, but I’m not happy about that point deduction. That was some weak ass shit. Completely unintentional. Bought judges. Bought officials. Whatever, still got my hand raised, so it is what it is. I’ve got some stuff to clean up, but it feels good to be back.”
He then turned his attention to the state of the lightweight division, his smirk fading into a sneer.
“Let’s be real, the division’s gone soft since I last fought. Jordan Parker’s holding onto my belt. Bunch of B-tier fighters pretending they run the show. That belt belongs to me, and I’m back to take it. So Jordan, shine it up real nice for me, ‘cause you ain’t holding onto it for much longer.”
The crowd erupted at the call out, some booing, some cheering, but Rodríguez didn’t care. He pounded his chest, flashing that signature grin before leaving the cage, making it clear, he wasn’t just back to just win fights. He was back to reclaim his throne.
BODIE SULLIVAN: “Back inside the Smoothie King Center, and what a way to kick off the Main Card! 2Face Rodríguez and Catherine Harris went the full 15 minutes, and in the end, Rodríguez did just enough to edge out a Majority Decision victory in a closely contested battle. But now, we shift gears in a big way because up next, a Hall of Fame legend returns. Byron McCall steps back inside the cage for his Welterweight debut against the always-dangerous Ray Rogers. But before we get to that, let’s take a moment to acknowledge one of the fastest-rising names in this newly established Welterweight division. That right there is Robin Kelson, currently undefeated in Union GP at 2-0, and both wins coming by way of submission. Kayla, this young man has been a problem on the mat, and you have to think he’s paying close attention to all the moving parts in this division.”
KAYLA CHAPMAN: “Absolutely, Bodie. Robin Kelson is one of those guys that doesn’t just *win* fights—he puts his opponents in positions where they have no choice but to tap. His grappling is suffocating, his control is relentless, and at just 2-0 in Union GP, he’s already sitting at number six in the rankings. And when you look at what’s happening around him in the division, there are a lot of potential paths forward. Kian De Beer and Ari Rosenberg just threw down earlier tonight, we’ve got Ray Rogers and Byron McCall up next, and then of course, you have Mustafa Al-Masri and Connor Bouchard, two of the top ranked names, currently without an official fight booked. If you’re Robin Kelson, you have to like your options.”
BODIE SULLIVAN: “No question about it. With the way this Welterweight division is shaping up, opportunities are there for the taking, and Kelson is in prime position to make a move. We’ll keep an eye on what’s next for him, but right now, all eyes shift back to the Octagon. Up next, one of the biggest fights of the night. Byron McCall, the Hall of Famer, returns to action at 170 pounds to take on top five ranked Ray Rogers. A massive fight with serious divisional implications, and it’s coming your way next.”
ROUND ONE: The New Orleans crowd was white hot as Byron McCall stepped back into the cage, the Hall of Famer making his long-awaited return against the surging #5-ranked Ray Rogers. The moment the fight began, Rogers wasted no time, lowering his stance and inching forward, eyes locked on McCall’s legs. He wanted the takedown, but McCall, poised and patient, stayed light on his feet, flicking out sharp leg kicks and jabs to keep Rogers at bay. Rogers lunged for a double leg early, but McCall saw it coming, sprawling hard and stuffing the attempt showcasing the veteran’s meticulous preparation. Rogers, undeterred, kept pressing, trying to cut off the cage, but McCall was a step ahead, slipping out of range and countering with crisp strikes that left welts blooming on Rogers’ face. Midway through the round, Rogers finally forced the clinch, muscling McCall against the fence. He battled for a trip, but McCall’s balance was rock solid, digging in underhooks and refusing to be dragged down. With a sudden burst, he ripped himself free and punished Rogers with a slicing elbow on the break, opening a thin, trickling cut above his right eyebrow. Blood now streaming down his face, Rogers knew he had to act. With the seconds ticking away, he shot in low, determined to drag McCall down by any means. Unfortunately for Rogers, McCall read him like a book. Just as he ducked, McCall launched a flying knee with pinpoint precision, cleanly connecting the chin with a sickening crack. Rogers crumpled instantly. The referee dove in as McCall stood over him, victorious as the official waved off the fight. The Smoothie King Center exploded and McCall soaked in the deafening roar with a veteran swagger. Rogers, dazed on the canvas, stared up at the lights, the weight of defeat sinking in. McCall, displaying true sportsmanship, approached Rogers to check on his condition before acknowledging the roaring crowd.
Winner: Byron McCall by KO (Flying Knee) at 4:32 Round 1
Statistics: Ray Rogers
Punches 12/30 (40%)
Kicks 0/2 (0%)
Clinch strikes 3/5 (60%)
Takedowns 0/3 (0%)
GnP strikes 0/0 (0%)
Submissions 0/0 (0%)
Clinch Attempts 1/2 (50%)
Time on the ground 0 s
Statistics: Byron McCall
Punches 15/25 (60%)
Kicks 8/10 (80%)
Clinch strikes 2/3 (67%)
Takedowns 0/0 (0%)
GnP strikes 0/0 (0%)
Submissions 0/0 (0%)
Clinch Attempts 1/1 (100%)
Time on the ground 0 s
In his post fight interview, Byron McCall started by giving respect to Ray Rogers, thanking him for taking the fight. He then turned to the roaring crowd, expressing his gratitude for their unwavering support throughout his career. Reflecting on his past, McCall admitted that fighting at Middleweight had always been a challenge, as he was undersized for the division. He also mentioned that his brief cut to Lightweight was too extreme, draining him physically. Now at Welterweight, he felt like he had found the perfect balance, a division that truly suited him.
McCall made it clear that he hadn’t come back just to be a stepping stone for the new generation. He wasn’t here to be a gatekeeper. His goal was simple: to go on a run and reclaim championship gold. With fire in his eyes, he declared that his journey wasn’t over, it was just beginning.
BODIE SULLIVAN: “Ladies and gentlemen, if you are just now tuning in, you missed something spectacular. Byron McCall, in his Welterweight debut, just delivered one of the most vicious knockouts of the year, a flying knee in the very first round to put Ray Rogers out cold. An absolutely unreal moment from the Hall of Famer. But the action doesn’t stop there, because coming up next, we have a potential title eliminator in the Bantamweight division as Eugenie Bombelles takes on Serenity Holmes. Before we get to that, though, let’s take a moment to acknowledge someone making waves in her own right. That right there is Mattie Dumont, professional wrestler and fiancé to the man headlining tonight’s card, Middleweight Champion Alexander Sokolov. Kayla, she’s been making noise in her return with Zion Wrestling, but obviously, tonight, her focus is all on her fiancé’s title defense.”
KAYLA CHAPMAN: “That’s right, Bodie. Mattie Dumont has already made a massive impact since returning to the squared circle in Zion Wrestling, and if you’ve followed her career, you know she’s got that same no-nonsense intensity that we see from Alexander Sokolov inside the cage. But tonight, she’s in full support mode, locked in on what could be one of the toughest challenges of Sokolov’s reign. And let’s be honest, there are very few people who can match his stone cold demeanor, but Mattie Dumont might be one of them. She knows what’s at stake, and you have to imagine she’s every bit as dialed in as he is right now.”
BODIE SULLIVAN: “No doubt about it, and you can see the focus in her eyes. Sokolov’s title defense is coming later tonight, but right now, it’s time for a high stakes matchup in the Bantamweight division. Eugenie Bombelles, Serenity Holmes, and a potential title shot hanging in the balance. It’s all coming your way next, right here at UGP 64 in New Orleans!”
ROUND ONE: The arena was electric as the #2 ranked Eugenie Bombelles squared off against #4 ranked Serenity Holmes in what many speculate to be a title eliminator. Bombelles, a ruthless orthodox striker, carried an air of menace as she locked eyes with Holmes, a sharp and calculated southpaw with a well-rounded arsenal. With a nod of respect, they touched gloves and the fight began. Bombelles came out like a wrecking ball, wasting no time establishing her dominance. She fired off sharp jabs, each one snapping Holmes’ head back, before ripping brutal hooks to the body. Her kicks were surgical, smashing into Holmes’ legs and ribs with a venomous precision that echoed through the arena. But Holmes wasn’t here to fold, she absorbed the punishment with gritted teeth and returned fire. She snapped out lightning quick left hands, finding openings in Bombelles’ aggressive charge, and cracked her with a punishing body kick that forced a sharp exhale from the Frenchwoman. Halfway through the round, Bombelles pressed forward, stalking Holmes with bad intentions. She looked to cut off the cage, but Holmes showed her slick footwork, pivoting out before snapping Bombelles’ head sideways with a perfectly timed right hook. Bombelles stumbled, just for a beat, but it was enough for Holmes to pounce. She crashed into the clinch, aiming to impose her grappling, but Bombelles, despite her deficiencies there, fought with sheer force, breaking free with a savage elbow on the exit. As the clock dwindled, the damage was evident. Holmes’ lead leg was battered, red and swollen from the relentless kicks, while a dark bruise bulged beneath Bombelles’ eye. Sensing the round was close, Bombelles uncorked a furious barrage, trying to steal the momentum, but Holmes had one last statement to make. She spun into a wicked back kick, slamming into Bombelles’ ribs with a sickening thud. The round concluded with both fighters exchanging fierce strikes, setting the tone for an exhilarating contest.
ROUND TWO: Holmes came into the second round with a clear adjustment, she wasn’t about to stand and trade with a sniper like Bombelles. Moving with precision, she danced just outside of danger, circling away from Bombelles’ thunderous punches while peppering her with sharp jabs and quick leg kicks. Bombelles, a predator by nature, refused to be kept at bay. She pressed forward with relentless aggression, looking to trap Holmes against the fence and unleash her firepower. However, Holmes had a plan. The moment Bombelles committed to a high kick, Holmes reacted instantly, snatching her leg and ripping her to the canvas with a clean single leg takedown. The crowd exploded as the momentum abruptly swung in Holmes’ favor. She wasted no time advancing to half guard, driving her shoulder into Bombelles’ chest while working to isolate an arm. Bombelles, gritting through the pressure, thrashed beneath her, desperate to deny Holmes the positional dominance that could spell disaster. Holmes stayed patient, methodically raining down short elbows and measured punches. A sharp elbow sliced open a cut above Bombelles’ left eyebrow, and blood trickled down her face, but she refused to panic. She clamped down on Holmes’ arms, stifling the damage as best she could, but she was stuck, trapped beneath a fighter who was growing more confident by the second. With the round winding down, Holmes smoothly slid into side control, eyes locked onto Bombelles’ arm as she wrenched it toward a kimura setup. Bombelles, fueled by sheer grit, flexed every ounce of strength she had to resist, denying Holmes the torque she needed. The crowd roared, sensing the struggle, as Bombelles dug deep and exploded into a scramble. She surged to her feet in the dying seconds and immediately fired a crisp one-two, her fists cutting through the air as the horn sounded. The battle was far from over.
ROUND THREE: The final round began with exhaustion etched into both fighters’ faces, but neither was ready to break. Bombelles knew she had to turn the tide after the previous round and wasted no time launching into her signature weapons, crushing low kicks that hammered Holmes’ lead leg followed by crisp hooks that snapped through the air with lethal precision. Holmes gritted her teeth through the punishment, answering back with sharp counterpunches, her southpaw stance still creating angles that kept Bombelles guessing. In the center of the octagon, Bombelles landed a thunderous right cross that sent Holmes’ head snapping back, drawing a deafening roar from the crowd. Holmes barely flinched before answering with a brutal left uppercut that connected flush, forcing Bombelles to stagger back. Blood and sweat misted the air as the two warriors dug in, trading in a firefight that had the audience on its feet. Midway through the round, Holmes made a crucial shift. Knowing she needed a definitive end, she feinted a jab high, forcing Bombelles to bite on the bluff, then shot in for a double leg takedown. Bombelles tried to sprawl, but Holmes powered through, driving her to the mat with a booming thud. The Smoothie King Center erupted as Holmes immediately moved into side control, her grip tightening like a vice. Bombelles squirmed beneath her, bridging and bucking in desperation, but Holmes was relentless. She smoothly advanced to mount, her fists raining down, forcing Bombelles to give up her back. The moment her chin lifted, Holmes struck with her arm slithering under Bombelles’ neck like a noose. Bombelles clawed at Holmes’ grip, her breaths turning ragged, but the choke was in deep. With seconds ticking away, she had no choice. A reluctant tap. The war was over.
Winner: Serenity Holmes by Submission (RNC) at 4:12 Round 3
Statistics: Eugenie Bombelles
Punches 78/145 (53%)
Kicks 34/52 (65%)
Clinch strikes 7/12 (58%)
Takedowns 0/0 (0%)
GnP strikes 0/0 (0%)
Submissions 0/0 (0%)
Clinch Attempts 1/1 (100%)
Time on the ground 193 s
Statistics: Serenity Holmes
Punches 65/123 (52%)
Kicks 27/45 (60%)
Clinch strikes 9/14 (64%)
Takedowns 2/3 (67%)
GnP strikes 18/28 (64%)
Submissions 1/2 (50%)
Clinch Attempts 1/2 (50%)
Time on the ground 193 s
Inside the cage, Serenity Holmes stood victorious, breathing heavily but radiating intensity as the interviewer approached. Before anything else, she turned to Eugenie Bombelles, nodding in respect.
“First off, all the respect in the world to Eugenie,” Holmes said, voice still edged with adrenaline. “She pushed me harder than anyone ever has. She’s a warrior, and I knew I had to dig deep to get this win.”
The crowd cheered as Holmes wiped sweat from her brow, gathering her thoughts before continuing.
“I’m 6-0 in Union GP now. Four finishes. I’ve proven time and time again that I’m the real deal in this division.” She took a step closer to the camera, eyes locked in determination. “And I think it’s time. Victoria Marshall, I respect you, but I’m coming for that belt. You’re tough, you’re dangerous, but I’m next up. Let’s make it happen!”
The arena erupted, the challenge laid out in front of the world. Now, the ball was in the Champion’s court.
The camera zooms in on Isaac Cohen, the seasoned UGP reporter, standing cage side in the sea of fans, holding a microphone. He’s dressed in his usual sharp suit, and his energy is high, clearly enjoying the night. With the crowd still buzzing from the electrifying atmosphere, he turns to the camera and introduces the next guest.
ISAAC COHEN: “Ladies and gentlemen, what a night it’s been here at UGP 64, and right now, I’m here with a special guest in the crowd tonight, the reigning Lightweight Champion, Jordan Parker!”
The camera switches to Jordan Parker, sitting next to Isaac, looking relaxed yet alert. He’s dressed casually in a pair of well-fitted blue jeans and a black T-shirt that reads “#Dorksarecool” across the front in bold white letters. His face is lit up by a smile as he adjusts in his seat, the crowd’s cheers still audible in the background.
ISAAC COHEN: “Jordan, my man, always great to have you here, and what a card we’ve had so far! These fights have been absolutely insane. What’s been your takeaway from the action tonight?”
JORDAN PARKER: “Yeah, absolutely, Isaac. These guys have been putting it all on the line tonight. It’s exactly what we’ve come to expect from UGP. I’m enjoying every minute of it.”
Jordan’s relaxed demeanor gives off a sense of confidence and ease, but his eyes never fully leave the action inside the cage, staying focused as he talks.
ISAAC COHEN: “Let’s talk specifically about the Lightweight division, we just watched a razor-close battle between 2Face Rodríguez and Catherine Harris. Both fighters really put it all on the line. What did you make of that fight?”
Jordan leans back a bit in his seat, letting out a small breath as he considers the question. His fingers tap against his knee, reflecting on the recent bout.
JORDAN PARKER: “Both of them really brought it tonight. Honestly, I’d be happy to defend against either of them, but for me, I think a rematch with Benji Meyers is the priority.”
Jordan’s eyes harden slightly at the mention of Benji Meyers, a fighter he’s already had a rivalry with. The rematch has been talked about since the fight ended.
ISAAC COHEN: “So a rematch with Benji Meyers is what’s next? What is it about that fight that makes you want to run it back? Do you feel you have something else to prove there?”
JORDAN PARKER: “It’s not about proving something to the world, Isaac. It’s about proving it to myself. The first fight, I came out on top, but not without some controversy. Benji’s a great fighter, and I know he’s not gonna stop until he gets another shot. Personally, I want to give him that chance, because when we face off again, it’s gonna be a war. A real, five-round battle. That’s what I want.”
He leans forward slightly, his hands clasped together as if to emphasize the seriousness of his words.
ISAAC COHEN: “I get it, so it’s not about proving anything to the critics, it’s about proving something to yourself. But let me ask you this, Jordan. How do you approach this rematch differently? Have you made any adjustments since the first fight?”
Jordan pauses for a moment, his expression becoming more intense. He’s thinking about the tactical side of the rematch, already formulating his approach in his mind.
JORDAN PARKER: “I’m always evolving, Isaac. The first flight was tough, and Benji’s a dangerous fighter. But I’m not going into this rematch thinking it’ll just be another title defense. I’ve been working on some new things in the gym, just in case he tries something different. I’m prepared for a war, and this time, I’m not taking anything for granted.”
Jordan’s voice carries a quiet confidence.
ISAAC COHEN: “That’s the mindset of a Champion right there. Always evolving, always preparing for the next challenge. But on top of being the Champ, you’ve also taken on a coaching role at the Crucible Academy. How has that experience shaped you as a fighter?”
JORDAN PARKER: “It’s been an interesting balance, for sure. Training the next generation of wrestlers and fighters, seeing them develop, reminds me why I got into this sport in the first place. It keeps me grounded, keeps me hungry. Plus, it’s a constant reminder that the work doesn’t stop. Every day, I’m teaching them to push themselves, and in turn, I’m pushing myself even more. It’s a great feeling to help them get better while also getting better myself.”
ISAAC COHEN: “You’re balancing so many responsibilities. Champion, coach, mentor, but after this rematch with Benji, what’s next? Do you stay at 155, or do you start looking at other opportunities?”
JORDAN PARKER: “Right now, my focus is squarely on the Lightweight division. There’s so much still to prove here. But down the line? I wouldn’t rule anything out.”
Jordan leans back slightly, a confident grin spreading across his face. He’s comfortable in his role as champion, and nothing seems to faze him.
ISAAC COHEN: “You never say never, huh? Well, one thing’s for sure, Jordan, you’re locked in, you’re ready, and we can’t wait to see what’s next for you. Thanks for taking the time, always a pleasure.”
JORDAN PARKER: “Thanks for having me, Isaac. It’s always a good time here at UGP. I’ll be watching the rest of these fights and getting ready for whatever comes next.”
With that, Jordan stands, giving Isaac a firm handshake. The camera zooms in on the two of them sharing a quick laugh as Isaac turns back to the camera as the crowd continues to cheer, the energy in the arena still at a fever pitch.
ISAAC COHEN: “There he is, folks, your reigning Lightweight Champion, Jordan Parker. He’s got his sights set on a rematch with Benji Meyers, and if it’s anything like their first fight, we’re in for something special. Don’t go anywhere, plenty more action still to come here at UGP 64!”
As the camera cuts away, the sound of the crowd and the action inside the cage take over, but Jordan’s presence lingers in the air, a reminder of the excitement that still awaits.
The moment the lights shift and that unmistakable, bubblegum beat of “I Think We’re Alone Now” by Tiffany kicks in, the energy in the arena takes on a different flavor. It’s infectious, almost disarming, an unexpected choice for a man about to walk into a Championship fight. But that’s Carter Vaughn. He doesn’t follow the script.
♫
I THINK WE’RE ALONE NOW
THERE DOESN’T SEEM TO BE ANYONE AROUND
I THINK WE’RE ALONE NOW
THE BEATING OF OUR HEARTS IS THE ONLY SOUND
♫
The cameras cut to the entrance stage, where the Liverpool native stands, rolling his shoulders, loose as can be. A grin plays at the corner of his mouth as he bounces on the balls of his feet, shaking out his arms, completely at home under the bright lights. The moniker reads “The Lone Warrior”, but the way he carries himself tells a different story. He’s never truly alone. Not with this crowd behind him, not with the chants already starting, his name rippling through the stands in song.
Vaughn steps forward, his walk a casual swagger, like he’s strolling into a local pub rather than the biggest fight of his career. He slaps hands with fans leaning over the barricade, throws a playful wink at a camera, and even shares a quick fist bump with a security guard. It’s all part of the charm, but make no mistake, behind that easy going demeanor lies a fighter who came here to shock the world.
BODIE SULLIVAN: “Alright, folks, here we go! We have finally arrived at the Championship block of the night, and up first in our Co-Main Event is a fascinating clash between youth and experience. Liverpool’s own Carter Vaughn has been on a compelling trajectory since signing with Union Grand Prix, making an immediate impact by entering the inaugural Featherweight Championship Grand Prix. He fought his way to the semifinals, where he pushed Katya Belinskaya to the absolute limit in a razor-close split decision. Now, in just his sixth professional fight, he finds himself on the verge of history, with an opportunity to shock the world and claim gold.”
KAYLA CHAPMAN: “And Bodie, that is such a unique dynamic heading into this one. Look, let’s be real, Carter Vaughn wasn’t supposed to be here this soon, but that’s what makes him so dangerous. He’s playing with house money. Nothing to lose, everything to gain. And stylistically? This is a fascinating matchup against the reigning champ, Isabel Azevedo. Vaughn is a high-level Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu specialist, which means he has the tools to navigate the very domain where Azevedo has built her legacy. All of the pressure is on the Champion tonight, and when the expectations are sky-high, that can create opportunities for the underdog to capitalize.”
As he reaches the inspection station, the smile never fades, but his body language tightens. The officials move in, checking his gloves, whispering a final word or two. The cutman works efficiently, running Vaseline over his face, his fingers pressing into Vaughn’s skin with the routine precision of someone who knows what’s coming. Vaughn nods, thanks him with a lighthearted “Cheers, mate”, then turns to the official for the final checks.
The moment the official gives the nod, Vaughn takes a deep breath, then makes his way toward the Octagon. The playfulness is still there, but it’s sharpened now, coiled. He hits the base of the steps, shakes out his hands one last time, then ascends into the cage.
For the first time, his grin fades, just slightly. He scans the arena, takes in the moment, lets it settle in his bones. Then he turns to face the entrance stage, where the woman standing between him and gold will soon appear.
The music fades. The crowd roars. Carter Vaughn, “The Lone Warrior”, has arrived on the biggest stage imaginable.
♫
WITH EVERY OUNCE OF MY BLOOD
WITH EVERY BREATH IN MY LUNGS
WON’T STOP UNTIL I’M PHENOMENAL
♫
The Smoothie King Center is rumbling, the anticipation simmering at that perfect boiling point where everything feels just a little heavier, a little more real. It’s that charged silence before the storm, where all eyes are fixed on the grand entrance stage and all the unspoken things mingle in the air.
Then, the first pounding beat of “Phenomenal” by Eminem detonates over the sound system, and the spell is broken. The crowd roars. The cameras cut to the entrance, and there she is, Isabel Azevedo, her expression carved from stone, wrapped in the green, yellow, and blue of Brazil like a soldier draped in her nation’s banner before battle.
No frills. No forced pageantry. Izzi doesn’t posture for the moment, she just walks. That smooth, controlled stride that tells you she isn’t walking toward something, she’s walking through it. She is all business, all composure, a fighter who understands that the belt around her waist isn’t just a prize, but an obligation.
She moves with purpose, cutting through the atmosphere like a blade, ignoring the outstretched hands, the flash of camera lights, the sound swelling around her. The song’s hook rings out, “I am phenomenal!”, but she doesn’t need it to remind her.
BODIE SULLIVAN: “And now, ladies and gentlemen, introducing the undisputed Featherweight Champion of the World, Isabel Azevedo! This is a pivotal moment in her career as she looks to make her first title defense, and as we so often hear in this sport, you’re not truly a Champion until you defend that belt. Azevedo was a perennial contender in the Bantamweight Division for years, always knocking on the door but never quite getting over the hump. Four of her career losses came at the hands of former Union GP or Everest MMA Champions, and she had three separate cracks at Bantamweight gold, only to fall short each time. After back-to-back losses to CC Flynn and Eugenie Bombelles, many thought her Championship dreams had faded, but when she moved up to 145, it was like a switch flipped. She tore through the inaugural Featherweight Championship Grand Prix, cementing herself as the Queen of the Division.”
KAYLA CHAPMAN: “And Bodie, that kind of career resurgence speaks volumes about how important it is for a fighter to find the right weight class. At 135, Izzi was always a top contender, but I think the brutal weight cut drained her performances. Now, at 145, she looks stronger, more durable, and more dangerous than ever. Despite those struggles at Bantamweight, let’s not forget she holds the record for most submission victories in Union GP history, and at one point, she had the fastest submission win on record. She’s riding a three-fight win streak, and tonight, she has a chance to make it four, solidify herself as the undeniable Champion, and start building a legacy at Featherweight.”
At the inspection station, the officials close in. No unnecessary words are exchanged. Just sharp, professional hands checking the tape on her gloves, adjusting her wraps, making sure every detail is locked in. The cutman steps forward, his fingers quick and precise as he smooths Vaseline over her cheekbones, her brows, and her nose. She stands still, expression unchanging, absorbing it all without flinching.
The official does his final checks. Mouthpiece, gloves, shorts, then gives the nod. Izzi pulls the Brazilian flag from her shoulders, folding it neatly before passing it to her head coach. Then, she turns toward the cage.
She reaches the base of the steps and pauses, just for a second. The moment before she steps into the place where words and predictions don’t mean a thing. Where history is written in sweat and blood and willpower. Then she climbs the steps, steps inside, and takes her corner like it’s her rightful place in the world.
The music fades. The crowd roars once more. No flex. No antics. Just Isabel Azevedo, ready to fight.
MIKE DEMPSEY: “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for the Co-Main Event of the evening! Sanctioned by the Louisiana State Boxing and Wrestling Commission, our three judges scoring this contest at cageside are Jean-Michel Babineaux, Willie Dufresne, and Eustache LeRoux, and when the action begins, our referee in charge in the octagon is Archie Driscoll. AND NOW, live from the sold out Smoothie King Center in New Orleans, Louisiana, streaming exclusively on the Battleground Network…”
IT’S TIME!
MIKE DEMPSEY: “The following contest is scheduled for five rounds and it is for the Union Grand Prix Featherweight Championship! Introducing first, fighting out of the blue corner, a Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu Fighter holding a professional mixed martial arts record of four wins, one loss. He stands 5’5” tall, and weighing in at 145 pounds. He is from Liverpool, England, fighting out of Liverpool 3 Lions Den — presenting the number two ranked Featherweight Contender in the World, “The Lone Warrior” Carter Vaughn!”
As Mike Dempsey’s voice booms through the arena, Carter Vaughn stands in his corner, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet, shaking out his arms to stay loose. His expression is locked in. When his name is called, he exhales sharply, nodding to himself, then lifts a clenched fist high in acknowledgment.
MIKE DEMPSEY: “And his opponent, fighting out of the red corner, a Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu Fighter holding a professional mixed martial arts record of thirteen wins, five losses. She stands 5’7” tall, and weighing in at 144.5 pounds. She is from Campinas, São Paulo, Brazil, fighting out of Nova Uniao — presenting THE REIGNING, DEFENDING, UNDISPUTED Union Grand Prix Featherweight Champion of the World, “Maravilha” Isabel Azevedo!”
Across the cage, Isabel Azevedo stands stoic, her posture upright, chest rising and falling with measured breaths. Her stare never wavers from the other side of the cage, her expression focused but fierce. When Mike Dempsey calls her name, she raises both hands, fingers flexing before clenching into fists. The crowd erupts, but she doesn’t react. She takes a slow step forward, exhaling deeply, every muscle in her body coiled and ready.
BODIE SULLIVAN: “Here we go, folks! The first chapter of this Featherweight Championship saga is about to be written! Twenty-five minutes or less to decide if Carter Vaughn will shock the world and etch his name in the history books as a World Champion in just his sixth pro fight, or if Isabel Azevedo will stand her ground, defend her title for the first time, and take another step toward cementing herself as one of the pound-for-pound elites. The stakes don’t get much bigger than this!”
The referee steps into the center of the cage and gestures for both fighters to close the distance. Under the bright overhead lights, this is the last moment before the fight belongs to them. Mike Dempsey lingers just behind, microphone in hand, but now, it’s referee Archie Driscoll who commands the space. He scans both fighters, his expression steady, offering a final directive in that firm, measured tone.
ARCHIE DRISCOLL: “Alright, fighters, we went over the rules in the back. I expect a good, clean fight. Protect yourselves at all times, listen to my commands at all times. If you want to touch gloves, do it now. Let’s get after it.”
Both fighters are brimming with energy with the weight of the moment pressing in. There’s no delay, just a quick, sharp meeting of gloves before they retreat to their corners, their movements crisp and deliberate. The arena hums with expectation as they settle into their stances, eyes locked, breath steady. Archie Driscoll sweeps his eyes over both, searching for any hesitation, any flicker of doubt. He finds none. A subtle nod, a final check. This is it. The moment has arrived.
ROUND ONE: The Co-Main Event crackled with tension as Isabel Azevedo and Carter Vaughn locked eyes across the cage with the Union Grand Prix Featherweight Championship on the line. Azevedo, the reigning queen of the division, stepped forward with measured confidence, while Vaughn, stoic and calculating, prepared to challenge her reign. The moment the fight began, Azevedo set the tone with crisp jabs, her footwork light and fluid. Vaughn absorbed the shots, his expression unreadable, but the sting was undeniable. A sharp one-two combination snapped his head back, drawing a reaction from the crowd. Vaughn pressed forward, undeterred, his intentions clear, he wanted this fight on the ground. Azevedo wasn’t about to let him dictate the pace. She pivoted, slicing into his lead leg with snapping kicks that echoed through the arena. Vaughn flinched but refused to retreat. He studied her movement, waiting for his moment. Then he struck. Driving forward with explosive speed, Vaughn shot for a double leg takedown. Azevedo sprawled, but Vaughn powered through, dragging her to the canvas. The crowd roared as the battle shifted to their shared domain. Vaughn stayed heavy, pressing into Azevedo’s guard, his posture strong. He peppered her with short, grinding strikes, not seeking a finish but forcing her to react. Azevedo remained composed, her hands constantly working, searching for an opening. She threw her legs high, threatening an armbar, but Vaughn recognized the danger and postured up, yanking his arm free. Time ticked down. Azevedo exploded into a hip escape, twisting out from underneath. Vaughn lunged to keep her down, but she was already rising, her left hand cocked. As she stood, she let it fly with a sharp hook that cracked against Vaughn’s jaw. He barely blinked. The horn blared. A brutal, tactical first round was in the books, leaving the crowd buzzing.
ROUND TWO: The second round ignited with both fighters operating at a heightened pace, the urgency in their movements on notice. Azevedo, now fully aware of Vaughn’s relentless grappling intentions, turned up the heat with rapid-fire combinations, targeting his head and body with precision. Vaughn remained patient, his guard high, eyes locked on the Champion, waiting for his moment. Azevedo’s boxing was razor-sharp. She ripped hooks through Vaughn’s defenses, the impact leaving some swelling under his right eye. Vaughn, feeling the gap in their striking, feinted a jab and dropped levels in an instant. He lunged for another takedown, but this time, Azevedo was ready. She sprawled with authority, her hips heavy, stuffing the attempt and forcing Vaughn to reconsider. The struggle moved to the cage, where they locked in a grueling clinch. Vaughn worked for a trip, but Azevedo’s balance held firm. She dug in underhooks, turned him into the fence, and punished his ribs with sharp knees. Vaughn gritted his teeth, absorbing the damage, but Azevedo’s control was suffocating. Then, with a sudden burst, she broke the clinch and let her hands fly again. A flurry of punches sent Vaughn backpedaling, forced to shell up under the assault. The Champion smelled blood, until Vaughn answered back. A perfectly-timed overhand right cracked against Azevedo’s jaw, her head snapping back. The crowd gasped as she staggered for half a second, and Vaughn pounced. He closed the gap, locking his arms around her waist. With a powerful twist, he executed a trip takedown, landing in half guard. The tide had turned for the Challenger. Vaughn worked with precision, slowly prying open Azevedo’s defenses. She stayed composed, gripping his wrists, controlling his posture, stalling his offense. When Vaughn sensed an opening, Azevedo suddenly attacked, isolating his arm for a kimura attempt. The Challenger reacted instantly, shifting his weight, denying the submission while maintaining his dominant position. The round ended with Vaughn in Azevedo’s guard, both fighters slick with sweat, breathing hard but unshaken. The crowd roared in approval. This was a Championship fight in its purest form, a battle of grit, skill, and unrelenting will.
ROUND THREE: The third round began with both warriors visibly fatigued, their bodies bearing the marks of battle, yet neither willing to break. Azevedo, well aware of Vaughn’s relentless grappling, stuck to her strength in this fight. She wasted no time, snapping out jabs before launching a thunderous right cross that crashed into Vaughn’s jaw, forcing him to blink away the sting. Vaughn adjusted, shifting laterally, circling out of danger while waiting for his moment to strike. Azevedo wasn’t about to let him breathe. She chopped at his lead leg with brutal low kicks, each one landing with a sickening crack, drawing gasps from the crowd. Vaughn winced but pressed forward, determined to turn the tide once again. Then came his opening. Midway through the round, Azevedo committed to a kick, and Vaughn pounced. He caught her leg and surged forward, muscling her to the mat. The crowd roared as he landed in her guard. Azevedo, ever the technician, wasted no time. She clamped down on Vaughn’s posture, controlling his wrists, stifling his attempts to land damaging shots. Vaughn tried to create space, but Azevedo was already working, her legs maneuvering with a dangerous fluidity. Suddenly, she attacked. She spun her hips, isolating Vaughn’s arm, first threatening an omoplata. Vaughn recognized the trap and postured up, right into an even deadlier one. Azevedo’s flexibility and instinct took over as she looped her leg over his throat, securing a gogoplata. The energy in the Smoothie King Center surged as the realization set in, Vaughn was in deep trouble. His eyes widened as Azevedo’s shin crushed into his windpipe. He clawed at her leg, trying to pry himself free, but the choke was locked in tight. Oxygen fading, options gone, he tapped. The referee dove in, and Azevedo instantly released the hold, rising to her feet as the arena erupted in pandemonium. Isabel Azevedo had done it, another stunning submission win to secure her first title defense.
Azevedo scaled the cage, one fist in the air, the other gripping the chain-link as the crowd roared in unison for a Champion who had just proved why the belt still belonged to her. Below her, the wreckage of the fight remained. Vaughn, seated against the base of the fence, taking deep, measured breaths as the ringside physicians knelt beside him. Azevedo turned, hopped down, and without hesitation, walked over, offering a hand. Vaughn looked up, nodded, and clasped it, pulling himself to his feet. The respect was mutual as the battle was now behind them.
The medics cleared the cage, leaving just the two fighters and the referee under the bright lights. The energy in the Smoothie King Center swirled, anticipation thick as the official verdict was set to be announced.
MIKE DEMPSEY: “Ladies and gentlemen, referee Archie Driscoll has called for a stop in this fight at two minutes fifty-six seconds in the third round, declaring the winner by submission, AAAAAND STIIIIILL the undisputed Union Grand Prix Featherweight Champion of the World, “Maravilha” Isabel Azevedo!”
The sound crashed over the arena like a tidal wave. The belt was wrapped around Azevedo’s waist by Dante Reed, the gold glinting under the spotlights as she exhaled, letting the moment settle in. Vaughn stepped forward, a brief handshake, a nod, and then they went their separate ways. The fight now part of the past, though the echoes of it would linger.
On the streaming feed, the final numbers rolled in. At the broadcast desk, the voices of the commentary team dissected it all, one more chapter in the young story of the division written in action.
Winner: Isabel Azevedo by Submission (Gogoplata) at 2:56 Round 3
Statistics: Isabel Azevedo
Punches 58/102 (56%)
Kicks 21/32 (65%)
Clinch strikes 14/22 (64%)
Takedowns 0/1 (0%)
GnP strikes 7/12 (58%)
Submissions 1/3 (33%)
Clinch Attempts 1/2 (50%)
Time on the ground 236 s
Statistics: Carter Vaughn
Punches 34/85 (40%)
Kicks 6/12 (50%)
Clinch strikes 9/18 (50%)
Takedowns 3/6 (50%)
GnP strikes 19/29 (65%)
Submissions 0/1 (0%)
Clinch Attempts 2/3 (67%)
Time on the ground 236 s
The Smoothie King Center crowd was still buzzing with excitement after witnessing Isabel Azevedo’s stunning third-round submission to retain her Union Grand Prix Featherweight Championship. The Brazilian Champion stood in the center of the cage, her body glistening with sweat, her chest rising and falling as she caught her breath. The golden title belt rested on her shoulder, its polished plates reflecting the bright overhead lights. The sound of “MARAVILHA! MARAVILHA!” echoed from the rafters as the New Orleans crowd roared its approval.
Bodie Sullivan, microphone in hand, made his way toward Azevedo, his suit slightly disheveled from the intensity of the moment. The veteran broadcaster knew when a fight had left a mark on the fans, and this one had been a statement. He raised the mic, his voice cutting through the noise.
BODIE SULLIVAN: “Ladies and gentlemen, I am here with the winner AND STILL Featherweight Champion of the World, Isabel Azevedo! Izzi, an absolutely sensational finish tonight! You just submitted an incredibly tough opponent in Carter Vaughn with one of the rarest submissions we see inside the cage! Talk us through that moment. Was that something you had drilled specifically for this fight, or was it pure instinct?”
The translator quickly conveys the question in Portuguese. Azevedo listens, takes a breath, and responds, her voice calm but carrying the weight of a champion.
ISABEL AZEVEDO (through translator): “First, I want to say thank you to everyone here tonight. This crowd… you made this moment even more special. To my team, my family, my country, I fight for you. As for the finish… I saw the opening and I took it. At this level, if you hesitate, you lose. I do not hesitate.”
BODIE SULLIVAN: “Carter Vaughn is a phenomenal grappler, and we saw just how dangerous he can be in the scrambles. He pushed you, tested you, how do you assess his performance tonight?”
The question is translated. Azevedo listens, then gives a small nod of respect before responding.
ISABEL AZEVEDO (through translator): “Carter is tough. He came prepared. He made me work tonight, and I respect that. But… as I said before, this is my division… And anyone who steps in here with me will have to find out the hard way.”
BODIE SULLIVAN: “Izzi, you’ve now defended your title in spectacular fashion. The Featherweight Division is stacked with contenders, who do you want next?”
ISABEL AZEVEDO (through translator): “It does not matter. They can line them up. I will put them down.”
The cold finality in her words sends a message The audience erupts yet again, fully aware that they are witnessing a true Champion in her prime.
BODIE SULLIVAN: “Spoken like a true Champion! I think I can speak for everyone watching tonight, we can’t wait to see you back in action. Ladies and gentlemen, give it up one more time for the Featherweight Champion of the World, Isabel Azevedo!”
The ovation is deafening as Azevedo lifts the belt high above her head. She then steps toward the cage door, placing a hand on her heart, acknowledging the fans who have stood behind her journey. The camera zooms in on her, the moment immortalized as a true Champion’s defining night.
BODIE SULLIVAN: “Back inside the Smoothie King Center here in New Orleans, where the electricity in this building is simply undeniable. Moments ago, we witnessed Isabel Azevedo successfully defend her Featherweight Championship in jaw-dropping fashion, locking in a picture-perfect Gogoplata to finish Carter Vaughn in the third round. And now, we turn our attention to the Main Event, a Middleweight Championship clash between the reigning, undisputed champion Alexander Sokolov and the irrefutable number one contender, Zion Momo’a. And sitting cageside, taking it all in, is a man who knows both of these competitors very well, the former Middleweight Champion, Derrius Webb.”
KAYLA CHAPMAN: “Yeah, Bodie, you can’t talk about the Union GP Middleweight Division without bringing up Derrius Webb. The man was an absolute workhorse during his reign, five successful title defenses, which is a divisional record, and some of the most grueling, unforgettable wars we’ve ever seen inside that cage. But after back-to-back five-round battles against Sokolov, it looks like he’s taking a well-earned break, stepping back to let his teammate Zion Momo’a get his shot at the belt.”
BODIE SULLIVAN: “And what a show of respect and loyalty that is. Webb has been one of the most active Champions in UGP history, and instead of rushing back into the fire, he’s here tonight, fully supporting his teammate from the Hit Squad. You have to wonder, though, Kayla, if Zion Momo’a captures that gold, does that open the door for Webb to eventually make his return, maybe even challenge his own teammate down the road?”
KAYLA CHAPMAN: “That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? For now, Webb seems content playing the role of mentor and training partner, but if Zion gets it done tonight and takes that belt home to the Hit Squad, we might see some very interesting conversations happening in that gym. Either way, it’s great to see Derrius here, and I’m sure he’s got a vested interest in every second of this next fight.”
BODIE SULLIVAN: “No doubt about it. Alexander Sokolov vs Zion Momo’a for the Middleweight Championship, it’s all coming up next! Buckle up, folks. This one is going to be special.”
♫
STAMATTINA MI SONO ALZATO
O BELLA CIAO, BELLA CIAO, BELLA CIAO, CIAO, CIAO
STAMATTINA MI SONO ALZATO
E HO TROVATO L’INVASOR-SOR-SOR
O PARTIGIANO
♫
The lights in the Smoothie King Center dim, and for a few lingering moments, there’s nothing but the low hum of anticipation. Then, the opening notes of “BE11A CIAO” by Hopsin cut through the silence, the eerie melody creeping in before the bass drops like a hammer. The crowd roars, but there’s no rush, no exaggerated entrance, just a slow, methodical emergence from the main stage as Zion Momo’a steps into the light.
♫
THIS SHIT I’M DOING IS BIGGER THAN YOU, DO NOT INTERFERE
I’M SO FAR AHEAD OF YOU NIGGAS, IT LOOK LIKE I’M NOT EVEN HERE
ALTHOUGH MY ROAD IS NOT EVEN CLEAR, I DON’T SEE NO OTHER OPTION TO STEER
I’M GOING OUT AS A LEGEND, YOU KNOW IT, MY ENVIOUS ENEMIES DROPPIN’ A TEAR
♫
The Challenger moves with a quiet intensity, his gaze locked straight ahead, his face showing nothing but pure focus. No smiles, no gestures to the crowd, this is not a spectacle. This is business. Draped behind him, his corner tells its own story. Jason Jackson, Roscoe Robinson, and Donnie Calabrese. Three Hall of Famers walking in his shadow, a testament to the legacy he carries with him. He doesn’t acknowledge them outwardly, but their presence is felt, a reminder that he has been forged under the highest of standards.
Momo’a’s walk is unhurried but deliberate, his every step weighted with the gravity of the moment. The lyrics of his walkout song cut through the air, speaking of battles, of survival, of a man prepared to take what he came for, but Zion doesn’t sing along. He doesn’t pump his fists or bask in the energy. He just walks.
BODIE SULLIVAN: “Folks, here we go! The Middleweight Championship is on the line, and first to make the walk in our Main Event is the two-time Ryūjin FC Champion, “The Buzzsaw” Zion Momo’a. And how long overdue has this moment been? Back under the Union Grand Prix banner, under the biggest spotlight, with a chance to claim the one prize that has eluded him for years. You talk about longevity, this man made his Union debut all the way back at UGP 11 after getting scouted at a regional charity event, and since then, he’s built an incredible career, remaining one of the most respected and dangerous fighters in the game. Now, with a shot at gold in front of him, you better believe he’s bringing everything he has. Zion Momo’a has always been at that elite level, but tonight, he’s chasing all-time greatness.”
KAYLA CHAPMAN: “And when you look at the total package of Zion Momo’a, his skill set, his mentality, and the caliber of training partners he surrounds himself with, you understand why he’s been able to stay at the top for so long. He’s not just working with high-level guys, he’s working with legends. And he’s been in big fights before, but this one feels different. He’s developed a style that’s so efficient, so calculated, that he can shut the lights off at a moment’s notice. And I think that’s the biggest factor tonight. We’ve seen Alexander Sokolov get a little reckless at times, and against a guy like Zion, that’s a dangerous game to play. Momo’a thrives under pressure, and if this turns into a wild exchange, I actually think that favors the challenger. However, with all the bad blood leading up to this fight, the question is, can he stay composed once those cage doors close? We’ll find out in just a matter of moments!”
At the inspection station, his team closes in. Jason Jackson handles his warmups, muttering something low and steady in his ear. Roscoe Robinson gives a final pat to his shoulder. Donnie Calabrese stays quiet, arms crossed, watching like a bodyguard surveying the landscape. The cutman steps in, running Vaseline across Momo’a’s face, and he stands still, not blinking, barely breathing, already in the zone.
With the final nod from the official, he moves toward the cage, never breaking rhythm. The energy in the arena continues to build, but Zion remains unchanged, unshaken. He steps up to the Octagon, places his hand on the edge for just a split second, then climbs inside.
He does not look at the crowd. He does not acknowledge the noise. Zion Momo’a is here for one thing, and one thing only.
♫
WHAT IF IT’S ABOUT YOU?!
♫
The lights in the Smoothie King Center dim to near-blackness, and then, the first crushing riff of “1984” by Slaughter to Prevail slams through the speakers like a war drum. The air shifts, there’s something primal about the way the crowd reacts.
A spotlight floods the main stage, illuminating a figure standing motionless at its entrance. Alexander Sokolov. The Middleweight Champion. The Russian juggernaut. His face is hidden behind the terrifying contours of his Kid of Darkness skull mask, the deep black sockets staring out like a reaper stalking the landscape. Draped over his shoulders is the Russian flag, but he does not merely wear it, he grips it tight, raising it into the air, letting it ripple as he begins his walk.
♫
PRETEND! YOU ARE NOT GUILTY
PRETEND! YOU DON’T SEE THIS SHIT
PRETEND! THIS IS NOT YOUR WAR
PRETEND —
FUCK!
♫
He moves slowly, deliberately, his pace in sync with the grinding assault of the music. The flag sways with his steps, a stark contrast to the skeletal visage beneath it, making him look like something out of myth, a warlord marching toward conquest. His eyes, hidden beneath the mask, never waver from the Octagon.
BODIE SULLIVAN: “And now with the final walkout of the night, it’s time for the undisputed Middleweight Champion, for which this card was built around, to answer the next challenge. Alexander Sokolov is here to defend his throne once again. There is zero doubt that Sokolov has cemented himself as one of the most formidable Champions in a division long regarded as one of the deepest and most unforgiving in the sport. Eight straight wins, back-to-back wars with the man many consider the Middleweight GOAT, Derrius Webb. Fifty grueling minutes inside the cage with an all-time great, and he still stands atop the mountain. The rise, the evolution, it has been absolutely mesmerizing to witness, and this man is leading the charge for the next generation of fighters. But tonight, he faces a challenger with nothing to lose and everything to gain. The stakes could not be higher.”
KAYLA CHAPMAN: “Sokolov has always carried himself with this cold, unshakable demeanor, but make no mistake, when that cage door closes, he transforms into an absolute savage. He’s relentless in the way he controls the fight, forcing his opponents into his game and breaking them down piece by piece. And here’s the wild part, he’s still getting better. In 2024 alone, he earned Comeback Fighter of the Year, Upset of the Year, and Fight of the Year. Those aren’t just accolades, those are proof that this man thrives in chaos, that he welcomes adversity and comes out the other side stronger. And yet, I don’t think we’ve even seen his ceiling yet. He’s got every tool to carve out a legacy as one of the best to ever do it in a division that has always been stacked with killers. Tonight, we find out if he takes another step toward immortality.”
At the inspection station, officials close in the moment his mask is removed and warmups discarded, their actions efficient and methodical. The cutman glides Vaseline over his cheekbones, the cool pressure met with no reaction from the Champion. An official steps forward for the final checks, but Sokolov remains motionless. Silent, still, his breath steady and controlled as he waits.
Then comes the nod. The confirmation.
Sokolov strides forward, stepping onto the canvas where he has already proven himself once before. He paces to his corner, placing his hands on the cage for just a second before turning to face the man who dares to challenge him.
The music fades. The crowd reaches a fever pitch. Alexander Sokolov does not flex, does not posture. He just stands there, cold and still, like a monolith refusing to be moved. The Middleweight Champion is here. And he is ready for war.
MIKE DEMPSEY: “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for the Main Event of the evening! Sanctioned by the Louisiana State Boxing and Wrestling Commission, our three judges scoring this contest at cageside are Jean-Michel Babineaux, Willie Dufresne, and Eustache LeRoux, and when the action begins, our referee in charge in the octagon is Bruno Alves. AND NOW, this is the moment you’ve all been waiting for! Live from the sold out Smoothie King Center in The Big Easy — New Orleans, Louisiana, streaming exclusively on the Battleground Network…”
IT’S TIME!
MIKE DEMPSEY: “The following contest is scheduled for five rounds and it is for the Union Grand Prix Middleweight Championship! Introducing first, fighting out of the blue corner, a Kickboxer holding a professional mixed martial arts record of eighteen wins, four losses. He stands 6’ tall, and weighing in at 184.5 pounds. He is from Los Angeles, California, fighting out of the Hit Squad — presenting the two-time Ryūjin FC Champion and the number one ranked Middleweight Contender in the World, “The Buzzsaw” Zion Momo’a!”
As Mike Dempsey’s booming voice fills the arena, Zion Momo’a stands in his corner, rolling his shoulders and bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet. His expression is locked in. Calm, composed, but beneath the surface, there’s an unmistakable fire. He inhales deeply through his nose, exhaling slowly, keeping his nerves in check. Behind him, his legendary corner team, Jason Jackson, Roscoe Robinson, and Donnie Calabrese, offer final words of wisdom, but Zion barely moves, his eyes fixed across the cage.
MIKE DEMPSEY: “And his opponent, fighting out of the red corner, a Boxer holding a professional mixed martial arts record of fourteen wins, three losses. He stands 6’3” tall, and weighing in at 185 pounds. He is from Yekaterinburg, Russia — presenting THE REIGNING, DEFENDING, UNDISPUTED Union Grand Prix Middleweight Champion of the World, “The King of the Streets” Alexander Sokolov!”
Across the cage, Alexander Sokolov remains eerily still. He stands with his hands on the top of the cage, head slightly bowed, eyes closed. The only movement is the slow, controlled rise and fall of his chest. As his name is called, he lifts his head, his expression stone-cold, unreadable. He releases the cage and slowly steps forward, rolling his wrists before settling into his fighting stance. No emotion, no theatrics, just a man prepared to go to war.
BODIE SULLIVAN: “It all comes down to this. The time for talking is over, and now, under the brightest lights in the sport, it’s time to settle it. The Middleweight Championship hangs in the balance, and as the referee gives his final instructions, the world watches, holding its breath, waiting for what promises to be an unforgettable battle.”
The referee, Bruno Alves, steps to the center of the cage, motioning for the two fighters to join him. The moment carries weight. Mike Dempsey stands just behind, microphone in hand, the gravity of his presence signaling that there is no turning back now. The air inside the arena is electric, buzzing with the kind of tension that precedes something that is sure to be an instant classic.
BRUNO ALVES: “Alright fighters, we’ve gone through the rules in the back. Protect yourself at all times, follow my instructions, touch gloves if you wish, and let’s have a good, clean fight.”
Neither man moves. There’s no show of sportsmanship, no breaking of the stare, just two fighters locked in, coiled with adrenaline, waiting for the inevitable explosion. The crowd roars in approval, sensing the hostility, feeding off it. They backpedal to their respective corners, their final seconds of stillness before the storm. Alves glances at each fighter, searching for hesitation and finding none. A nod from both. He steps back.
This is it.
ROUND ONE: The Middleweight Championship Main Event bout began with both fighters exuding confidence. As soon as the clock began to count down, Sokolov stormed to the center of the octagon, eyes locked on Momo’a like a predator stalking its prey. The Champion wasted no time, firing stiff jabs and heavy crosses, determined to break through the Challenger’s guard. Momo’a was ice-cold though, his movement crisp and calculated. He circled on the outside, slipping just beyond Sokolov’s reach and punishing the Champ’s lead leg with vicious, snapping kicks. Each strike landed with a sickening thud, the sound cutting through the tense rumbling of the crowd. Momo’a’s footwork was dazzling. Never in one place long enough to be cornered, always resetting, making Sokolov chase. The Champion’s frustration showed as he pressed forward harder, throwing heat behind every punch, but Momo’a was a step ahead, rolling with the shots and countering with precision. A crisp low kick, a stabbing front kick to the body, then a lightning-fast switch kick high. Sokolov blocked it just in time, but the message was clear. Then, midway through the round, Sokolov broke through. A monstrous right hook crashed against Momo’a’s jaw, whipping his head to the side. The Challenger staggered but refused to buckle. He reset, wiped blood from his lip, and fired back with another shredding leg kick that left a red welt developing on Sokolov’s thigh. The final minute saw the Champion shift tactics. He lunged in, clinching Momo’a, looking to impose his strength, but Momo’a wouldn’t be bullied. He pried free with urgency, and as Sokolov stepped back, Momo’a snapped an elbow over the top that found its mark. The impact sent a ripple through the crowd, but before Sokolov could respond, Momo’a spun. A perfectly timed back kick slammed into the Champ’s ribs. Sokolov grunted but stayed standing, absorbing the blow like a man carved from stone. The horn blared, and Momo’a strutted back to his corner, knowing he had made his mark.
ROUND TWO: The second round opened with a shift in tone. Sokolov, battered but unbowed, tightened his stance, wary of the punishment his lead leg had already absorbed. Every step carried the sting of Momo’a’s relentless kicks, and the Challenger knew it. Sensing the vulnerability, Momo’a dialed up the pressure, stalking forward with calculated aggression. He feinted high before snapping a left hook across Sokolov’s jaw, then chopped at the compromised leg with a brutal low kick. Sokolov’s balance wavered for a split second, a rare sight for the iron-willed Champion. Frustration flickered across his face, and he answered with a wild, looping overhand right, throwing everything behind it. However, Momo’a saw it coming a mile away, slipping just outside the arc of destruction before punishing the whiff with a ruthless body kick that echoed through the arena. Sokolov gritted his teeth, his legendary chin keeping him upright, but the damage was stacking up. Midway through the round, Momo’a’s confidence was oozing. He dictated the range, dancing just out of Sokolov’s reach, slicing at his legs and ribs like a surgeon dissecting his opponent piece by piece. The champion wasn’t about to be done though. Digging deep, Sokolov snapped out a stiff jab that cracked Momo’a’s head back, a momentary shift in momentum that sent a ripple through the crowd. Sokolov smelled blood and surged forward, launching a flurry of punches, but Momo’a refused to be corralled. His footwork was a masterclass, pivoting, weaving, never standing still long enough to get caught. Then, with mere seconds left, Sokolov charged again, and Momo’a made him pay. A razor-sharp right cross slammed into the Champion’s face, immediately raising a welt under his left eye. The impact halted Sokolov in his tracks as the horn blared. Momo’a strolled to his corner, knowing he had imposed his will once more, while Sokolov wiped his brow, staring across the cage, already plotting his next move.
ROUND THREE: The third round ignited with raw urgency. Sokolov, knowing he needed to swing the momentum back in his favor, stormed forward with a ferocity that hadn’t yet surfaced in the fight. His fists came in bunches. Hooks, crosses, digging body shots, forcing Momo’a to stay on his toes, weaving and circling to avoid the worst of the damage. Sokolov’s aggression was on notice, each strike thrown with the intent to break through the Challenger’s defenses. Then, chaos struck. Midway through the round, as Momo’a fired off a snapping body kick, his foot strayed low, smashing into Sokolov’s groin. The Champion immediately recoiled, grimacing in pain as the referee jumped in to halt the action. The arena filled with a chorus of reactions. Some boos, some groans, others just holding their breath as the moment played out. The referee wasted no time in deducting a point from Momo’a, a costly penalty in a razor-close Championship fight. As Sokolov took his recovery time, he paced, rolling his shoulders, his face a mask of simmering rage. When the fight resumed, it was as if a fire had been lit inside him. He charged forward, ripping into Momo’a with looping hooks, forcing the Challenger to retreat under the sheer force of will behind each shot. The Champion’s punches landed cleaner now, his power undeniable, and for the first time, Momo’a looked slightly rattled, but the Challenger wasn’t without answers. As Sokolov pressed, Momo’a suddenly spun, his heel whipping toward Sokolov’s head like a blade. It barely missed a clean impact, grazing the Champion’s temple, but the intent was clear. Momo’a refused to be overwhelmed. The final moments of the round saw both men standing firm in the center of the cage, trading blow for blow. The crowd roared as they let their hands go, each strike echoing through the arena. The horn sounded, cutting through the chaos, but neither fighter broke eye contact as they turned to their corners, both knowing the war was far from over.
ROUND FOUR: Sokolov stormed into the fourth round like a man possessed. The urgency in his movements was unmistakable. He knew he needed to take control, and he wasn’t about to let Momo’a dictate the pace any longer. He came forward with relentless aggression, launching a furious barrage of punches, each one carrying the full weight of his power. Momo’a, typically elusive, found himself caught in the firestorm, forced to absorb more damage than at any point in the fight. Then came the breakthrough. A thunderous right uppercut crashed into Momo’a’s chin, snapping his head back violently. The Challenger staggered, and Sokolov wasted no time capitalizing. A savage left hook followed, splitting the skin above Momo’a’s right eye. Blood trickled down, a crimson reminder of Sokolov’s devastating power. The crowd roared as the Champion, sensing the swing in momentum, turned ruthless. He zeroed in on the cut, each punch thrown with sniper-like precision, testing Momo’a’s resilience. Despite the damage, Momo’a refused to fold. He planted his feet and fired back, hacking at Sokolov’s legs with vicious intent. His kicks had carried him through the early rounds, but now, under the relentless assault, his movement was slowing. His footwork, once fluid, now carried the slightest hesitation, just enough for Sokolov to exploit. A straight right drilled Momo’a’s jaw, sending him stumbling backward. The arena erupted as Sokolov pounced, his intent clear. He was hunting for the finish. Momo’a, battered but unbroken, dug deep and clinched, wrapping up the Champion in a desperate bid to survive. Sokolov tried to muscle free, but the Challenger held on, forcing the referee to step in and break them apart. As they reset, Sokolov drove a brutal body shot into Momo’a’s ribs, the impact forcing a grimace from the Challenger. The round ended with the Champion standing tall, the momentum shifting in his favor, while Momo’a wiped the blood from his eye, knowing he had one round left to turn the tide.
ROUND FIVE: The final round was a battle of sheer will. Both men stood on the precipice of victory, knowing one last push could define the fight. Momo’a abandoned caution and let his hands go, launching crisp combinations that forced Sokolov onto the back foot. The Champion, visibly drained, dug deep into his reserves, absorbing each strike with gritted teeth, waiting for his moment to strike back. Momo’a’s kicks, though dulled by exhaustion, still carved into Sokolov’s frame. A high kick glanced off the Champion’s temple, making him stumble, but Sokolov’s iron will refused to break. He answered with a blistering right hand, stopping Momo’a in his tracks. The Challenger stiffened but didn’t fold. Instead, he bared his mouthpiece and fired back, a sharp one-two snapping Sokolov’s head back, drawing gasps from the crowd. The war intensified. Both men stood in the pocket, trading on instinct, fists crashing against flesh in a brutal exchange. Sokolov still had thunder in his hands, launching a massive overhand right that barely missed as Momo’a slipped just in time. The Challenger punished the miss with a searing body kick, the impact ringing through the Smoothie King Center. Sokolov winced, a rare sign of pain, and Momo’a pounced. He peppered the Champion with pinpoint straight punches before spinning into a devastating back kick that folded Sokolov for a brief moment. Sokolov shook off the pain and marched forward, teeth clenched, determination burning in his eyes. A monstrous left hook detonated against Momo’a’s jaw, sending sweat flying in all directions. The Challenger staggered but steadied himself, circling away to reset. With one minute left, they emptied the tank. Momo’a’s kicks kept Sokolov at bay, but the Champion refused to retreat. In the final 30 seconds, he stormed forward, throwing wild, looping punches, desperate to seize the moment. Momo’a ducked, weaved, and then drove a crushing knee into Sokolov’s ribs, halting his advance. The final horn blared with both men still swinging, the crowd roaring in appreciation of a war waged to the bitter end.
The final horn fades, but the energy in the Smoothie King Center doesn’t. The crowd, still buzzing from the war they just witnessed, spills their emotions into the air, their voices rolling down from the rafters in waves. In the center of it all, two fighters who just left pieces of themselves inside the cage lean against the fence, lungs heaving, arms draped over the top as they try to reclaim the breath that was stolen by five rounds of relentless combat. Their bodies bear the night’s struggle, welts, cuts, the kind of wounds that will linger long after the dust settles.
The Ringside Physicians make their rounds, checking for the kind of hidden damage that could turn a warrior’s pride into a doctor’s decision, but this isn’t one of those nights. The fight is over, and both men, battered but unbroken, are cleared to stand in the spotlight once more.
They meet in the middle, neither fully knowing what to expect. The judges have been known to weave their own narratives, to see things differently than the ones living it inside the cage.
Mike Dempsey steps forward, his voice the final authority.
MIKE DEMPSEY: “Ladies and gentlemen, after five rounds, we go to the judges’ scorecards for a decision. Judge Jean-Michel Babineaux scores it 48-46 — Momo’a, Judge Willie Dufresne scores it 47-47, and Judge Eustache LeRoux scores it 47-47. Ladies and gentlemen, this fight is a Majority Draw, AAAAAND STIIIIILL the undisputed Union Grand Prix Middleweight Champion of the World, “The King of the Streets” Alexander Sokolov!”
A beat of silence stretches across the arena, just long enough for the weight of the words to sink in. Then a chorus of reactions, cheers, jeers, stunned disbelief. Inside the cage, neither man moves. The announcement lands like an unfinished sentence, like a story missing its final chapter.
Dante Reed does his job, securing the title around Sokolov’s waist, but there’s no grand celebration. No exchanged glances of mutual respect. Just two exhausted fighters retreating to their corners, shaking their heads, their teams already dissecting the verdict.
On the broadcast, the analysts fill the void, pouring over the fight metrics, trying to bring logic to the chaos, but the numbers, like the result, don’t tell the whole story. Not tonight.
Winner: Alexander Sokolov vs Zion Momo’a ends in a Majority Draw
Statistics: Alexander Sokolov
Punches 153/315 (48%)
Kicks 8/14 (57%)
Clinch strikes 12/22 (54%)
Takedowns 0/1 (0%)
GnP strikes 0/0 (0%)
Submissions 0/0 (0%)
Clinch Attempts 2/4 (50%)
Time on the ground 0 s
Statistics: Zion Momo’a
Punches 125/275 (45%)
Kicks 78/102 (76%)
Clinch strikes 5/9 (55%)
Takedowns 0/0 (0%)
GnP strikes 0/0 (0%)
Submissions 0/0 (0%)
Clinch Attempts 2/3 (67%)
Time on the ground 0 s
The energy in the Smoothie King Center is still electric, but there’s an unmistakable tension lingering in the air. The crowd is split. Some cheering, some booing, others just buzzing in disbelief at what they just witnessed. Alexander Sokolov stands in the center of the octagon, his expression locked in a frustrated scowl, his chest rising and falling with every labored breath. His body tells the story of a war fought over five grueling rounds, his left eye is swelling, his ribs are red from repeated kicks, and his hands, still clenched into fists, look like they’ve been hammering stone all night.
Bodie Sullivan approaches cautiously, microphone in hand. This isn’t the celebratory moment Sokolov wanted. He’s still the champion, but there’s no clarity. No closure.
BODIE SULLIVAN: “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m here with the reigning, defending Middleweight Champion, Alexander Sokolov. Alexander, you retain your title tonight, but I’m sure not in the way you envisioned. A majority draw after five rounds with Zion Momo’a. Give us your immediate thoughts.”
Sokolov exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head. He wipes a gloved hand down his face before speaking, his thick Russian accent carrying a frustrated edge.
ALEXANDER SOKOLOV: “Bлядь… I do not agree with this. I believe I win this fight. But… I will watch. I will see.”
He glances at the big screen where the fight stats are displayed, jaw tightening as he looks at the numbers. He lets out a slow breath before continuing.
ALEXANDER SOKOLOV: “I came here to fight. I came here to defend my belt. Zion Momo’a is tough man, good fighter, but I do not fight for draw. I fight to win. I know I do enough.”
The crowd’s mixed reaction intensifies, some chanting his name, others backing Momo’a, whose team is still in the cage, having their own discussions. The tension is thick, almost suffocating.
BODIE SULLIVAN: “You and Momo’a had plenty of bad blood leading up to this fight, and after tonight, it seems like there’s still unfinished business. Where do you go from here?”
Sokolov’s eyes darken, and his lip curls in a sneer. He turns slightly toward Momo’a’s side of the cage, rolling his shoulders like a man getting ready for a fight that hasn’t even been scheduled yet.
ALEXANDER SOKOLOV: “This is not over. You hear me, Zion? Ты меня слышишь? This thing? It does not end like this. We run it back. I do not care when. Tomorrow, next week, next month, I do not care. We fight again. No more talk. No more bullshit.”
The crowd explodes at the challenge. Momo’a, standing with his team, nods, his expression unreadable, but his body language says everything. He’s in.
BODIE SULLIVAN: “So to be clear, you want an immediate rematch?”
Sokolov clenches his jaw, looking Bodie dead in the eye before turning back toward the audience.
ALEXANDER SOKOLOV: “Yes. No waiting. No politics. No running. We finish this. One more time. And this time… I leave no doubt.”
With that, he rips his gloves off and throws them over to one of his cornermen, storming toward the cage door. The atmosphere in the arena is electric. This isn’t the end of the story, it’s just the next chapter.
BODIE SULLIVAN: “Well I think it’s safe to say that we all would love to see this one again! Thank you for your time, it’s always a pleasure calling your fights. Ladies and gentlemen, the Middleweight Champion, Alexander Sokolov!”
The atmosphere inside the Smoothie King Center remains charged with raw energy, even as the final moments of UGP 64 unfold. The camera pans across the octagon, now littered with remnants of battle. Streaks of sweat, splatters of blood, and the unmistakable weight of unfinished business. Alexander Sokolov, still visibly seething from the inconclusive result, exits the cage with his team, the Union Grand Prix Middleweight Championship still slung over his shoulder, though it doesn’t sit with the same sense of finality. Zion Momo’a, battered but unbroken, lingers a moment longer, soaking in the deafening chants from his supporters, his expression that of a man who knows he was inches from history.
The camera shifts to the commentary desk, where Kayla Chapman sits in front of a backdrop of a roaring crowd.
KAYLA CHAPMAN: “Ladies and gentlemen, what an incredible night of fights here at UGP 64. From the early prelims to this unforgettable main event, we’ve seen everything. Knockouts, submissions, and five-round wars. And yet, as the dust settles, the story is far from over. Alexander Sokolov and Zion Momo’a just went to war for the undisputed Middleweight Championship, but with the fight ending in a majority draw, we still don’t have a definitive answer to the question, who is the best Middleweight on the planet?”
The camera momentarily cuts to Sokolov disappearing into the tunnel, his Championship belt gripped tight in one hand, his face still burning with frustration. Then, it cuts to Momo’a, standing inside the cage with his coaches, nodding as if already preparing for what comes next.
KAYLA CHAPMAN: “It feels like we’re watching the beginning of something huge. The fight we just saw? That wasn’t a conclusion, it was an opening act. And if you thought the bad blood between these two was at its peak before tonight? Just wait until we see them run it back!”
The feed transitions into a slow-motion montage, the defining moments of the night. A highlight-reel knockout from the prelims, a razor-close decision on the main card, the punishing exchanges between Sokolov and Momo’a. Then, the screen fades to black. The Union Grand Prix logo emerges, accompanied by the deep pulse of the organization’s signature outro theme. The screen transitions to the final shot, an overhead view of the Smoothie King Center, its lights shining against the New Orleans skyline as the roar of the crowd still echoes in the distance.
And with that, the stream fades to black.
