LAS VEGAS — Five grueling, intense, utterly exhilarating rounds behind them, Nate Diaz and Conor McGregor stood in the Octagon — which they had just turned into a showcase for one of the greatest fights in UFC history — waiting to hear who would be the beneficiary of all that pain, all that blood, all that energy as they spent every last ounce they had to offer.

McGregor, it turned out, had broken his foot by the time the bout was over. Diaz, as we know, doesn’t just tolerate pain — he feeds off it.

UFC 202 now finished, they waited for the judges’ verdict: 48-47 McGregor … 47-47 … 48-47 … McGregor.

McGregor.

“Surprise, surprise [expletive], the king’s back!” McGregor screamed.

Back, yes, but barely. What he’d just endured — and forced Diaz to endure — made for one of the most tantalizing fights the sport has ever seen. Few captivate over five back-and-forth rounds where every moment, strike and mistake feels like a turning point. Fewer still live up to the kind of over-the-top, water-bottle throwing, hatred-inspired hype that marked Diaz-McGregor 2. This fight did both.

McGregor again started strong, knocking Diaz down early and often. He was loose, confident, striking with ease and dancing with that mix of arrogance and skill that has defined him — inside and outside the Octagon.

But Diaz, as McGregor was to be reminded again and again, is a special fighter. With every blow, and with the first two or three times Diaz met the canvas, some inner anger seemed to spark, grow and then power him. It was as if, as Diaz’ blood flowed, his own greatness rose to the surface.

McGregor took the first two rounds, but you could see Diaz starting to feed of that fact. By the third round, Diaz was temporarily but utterly in control of the fight. Again, just like in their first fight at UFC 196, Diaz seemed to find strength in McGregor’s punishment; it clearly shook McGregor, again.

McGregor’s biggest strength — striking skills — was making his opponent smile. You could feel the fear and anxiety transfer; you could see for a moment McGregor’s impenetrable self regard vanish.

So Diaz came, time and again, as the two wore each other down, traded shots and fought an increasingly exhausted, frantic, tense fight

It was incredible.

McGregor barely held on. He danced at first to avoid that fighting maniac and then he simply ran. By the third round, he was looking out of the Octagon and up at the clock, hoping and willing the seconds to pass by more quickly. They did not oblige. If anything, time seemed to slow, and Diaz, sensing McGregor falter, attacked even more intensely.

Several times, Diaz got McGregor against the Octagon. But until the very end — with only seconds left — Diaz could not take McGregor to the ground. And then McGregor, too, found some inner thing in Diaz’s steel chin and tolerance for pain; he began to get shot after shot in. Diaz became a punching bag, again, as McGregor fought through his own anguish and found his target. Slowly, each man wore the other to the very edge of their limits.

There was magic in how both fought through the exhaustion, the pain and the excellence of each other.

I, too, had McGregor as the winner, but it was too close to call. The decision and its razor-thin margin reflected a fight neither man deserved to lose. People say that often. It’s a cliché meant to indicate that two opponents battled well, but UFC 202 was so much more than a trite turn of phrase.

Diaz and McGregor battled beautifully, and brilliantly, and brutally. It was a fight so good we would be lucky if these two fighters were in that Octagon every fight for the rest of their careers.

They knew it, too. Diaz is not a hugger. His anger and talk in the buildup to fights is neither hollow nor easily dismissed. So when the final bell rang, Diaz — on top of McGregor and pounding frantically away to beat not just his opponent but the clock — did something shocking. He lifted his adversary up and pulled him into a blood-soaked hug. The moment meant something.

It meant respect.

It meant relief.

It meant an understanding that one of the great fights we’d ever seen had happened because both men had given all they had, battling to the limits of the other and themselves.

Respect was earned between McGregor (left) and Diaz (right) in the Octagon. USATSI

This will not be the last time these two fight.

“If you want this trilogy, it’s on my terms!” McGregor screamed from the Octagon after being declared the winner. “I came up to 170, now you’ll come back to 155 and we’ll finish what we’ve started. I knew what I had to do this time around and I did it.”

Diaz, to say the least, was nonplussed. “I came to this fight worse off than last time. I didn’t get to train. I had injuries. [Expletive] that,” Diaz said. “I didn’t make any excuses, but he should’ve finished me off. I want number three. I gave him number two the second day, so I’m ready to go again. [Expletive] that.”

Good. Let’s get back to the hate. Back to the ill will, the puffed out chests, the loathing that turns to a burning desire to humiliate — to hurt — one another in the Octagon.

Let’s keep it all going. McGregor-Diaz was great. McGregor-Diaz 2 was epic. The completion of the trilogy, if the pattern holds, could end up being the greatest UFC fight of all time.