The cheers rang out like a hymn. Claressa Shields, radiant with sweat and discipline, raised her fists under the sterile, LED heavens of the Little Caesars Arena. The commentators roared. Cameras snapped. Sponsors blinked across the ropes like neon rosaries. And somewhere, very far from the ring, the architects of her cage toasted another successful sacrament in the Church of Violence—an institution older than empire, slicker than democracy, and more holy to the American state than any founding document.