MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat

Both fighters returned to their corners, a mixture of adrenaline and focus etched on their faces.

Donald's corner immediately got to work on the cut over his eye, the result of Damon's well-timed elbow.

"That cut from Damon's elbow is nasty," Rick noted, leaning into his mic. "You know, I've spoken to a few of his past opponents, and they've described his strikes as feeling like getting hit with a hammer covered in needles."

Michael chuckled. "That's a vivid description, Rick. But it checks out, his power and precision are unmatched."

While the commentators were joking around, Damon's corner stayed cool and on task.

Victor poured water on Damon's head and then knelt down to look him in the eyes.

"So, what's up?" Victor asked casually, his tone more probing than concerned. "You're putting on a solid performance, but from where I'm standing, you can push further and finish this."

Damon sat still, his breathing steady, showing no signs of fatigue.

While his face bore faint marks from Whittier's clean strikes, they were superficial, his defense and resilience were on full display.

"I'm good," Damon replied, his voice level. "Just making sure I pick the right moment."

Victor nodded, a small grin on his face. "Alright, kid. Just don't let him build momentum. Stay sharp."

The bell signaling the next round loomed closer, and Damon stood, his calm demeanor unwavering.

He glanced across the cage at Donald, whose corner was still patching him up.

"It's go time," Victor said, clapping Damon on the shoulder as he stepped out of the cage.

Victor sighed, watching Damon with a mix of frustration and admiration.

This kid did whatever he wanted, always staying just out of anyone's control.

It was stressful, but Victor reminded himself of Damon's capabilities.

That was why he never worried too much.

Damon finished the last of the water bottle, his demeanor calm despite the intensity of the fight.

It had been a long time since he'd been hit that hard, and, as odd as it was to admit, he realized he kind of missed the feeling.

It wasn't like he took pleasure from getting hit, far from it. But it got him fired up, boosting his adrenaline and making him more focused.

As the teams were done with their work and left the cage, Damon jumped around lightly and adjusted his green tights with ease. Continue reading stories on empire

The bell rang sharply, signaling the start of the second round.

"Round two is underway!" Rick announced excitedly.

"The first round delivered exactly what we expected, high-level technique and intensity. Let's see if round two brings even more fireworks!"

At the start of the second round, Damon moved forward with intent.

His body language was calm but dangerous, the kind of behavior that makes people nervous.

"Here we go again," Michael noted. "Damon Cross is starting to press forward immediately. Let's see how he adjusts this round."

Damon opened with a power kick to Whittier's left leg, the sound of shin meeting thigh echoing through the arena.

Whittier stepped back instinctively, shaking off the blow, but Damon followed with another, and then another.

Each kick landed with a loud sound, the impact visibly slowing Whittier's movement.

"Those kicks are vicious!" Rick exclaimed. "Damon's targeting that left leg early, trying to chop it down."

As Whittier adjusted, Damon began mixing in body shots, delivering sharp hooks and digging punches into Whittier's ribs.

Whittier's experience showed as he maintained his composure, answering with a clean jab and a quick one-two combo.

Damon blocked the initial strikes, his guard high and tight, but Whittier suddenly switched things up.

He followed with a short elbow inside, a move Damon hadn't seen in any of Whittier's simulations or fight footage.

The elbow connected cleanly, catching Damon on the cheekbone and forcing him to step back.

Damon blinked, shaking off the sting of the strike, his expression unreadable.

For a moment, he let the pain register, not as a hindrance but as fuel.

His smirk returned, subtle but unmistakable, as he reset his stance and began circling.

"Whittier's not backing down!" the other commentator added. "That elbow landed flush, and it looks like he's willing to take the fight into unpredictable territory."

Damon, undeterred, snapped out another power kick to Whittier's leg, drawing a grunt from the seasoned fighter.

Whittier responded with a flurry of punches, forcing Damon to duck and weave, narrowly evading the majority of the strikes.

The fight was heating up again, the crowd roaring as the two fighters pushed the pace.

Both men showed flashes of brilliance, Damon with his relentless precision and Whittier with his adaptive combinations.

With that, Damon began subtly setting up for a takedown.

His movements became more deliberate as he circled, his eyes locked onto Whittier.

But he didn't abandon the kicks.

Instead, he doubled down, continuing to target the left leg with precision and power.

Another thudding kick landed cleanly on Whittier's thigh, causing him to briefly shift his weight to his right leg.

Damon noticed immediately and fired off another, this time slightly higher, connecting just above the knee.

"He's relentless with those kicks," one commentator said, leaning into the microphone. "Damon Cross is chopping the wood here, and Whittier's left leg is showing the wear."

"You can see it, Rick," the second commentator chimed in. "Whittier's movement is starting to slow, and Damon's capitalizing on every step he takes."

Whittier tried to counter with a jab, but Damon slipped it, stepping inside briefly before firing off another hard kick to the same spot.

The sound of shin meeting flesh reverberated through the arena, and Whittier's leg visibly buckled for a split second before he regained his footing.

Sensing an opportunity, Damon feinted a jab, then dipped his level slightly as if going for a takedown.

Whittier adjusted his stance immediately, lowering his center of gravity to defend, but Damon didn't follow through.

Instead, he planted his feet and unleashed another vicious leg kick, this one landing with even more force.

"Beautiful setup by Damon!" the commentator shouted. "He's making Whittier guess, and that hesitation is giving him openings."

Whittier grimaced but refused to back down.

He pressed forward with a combination, aiming to force Damon out of his rhythm.

Damon absorbed the first two strikes on his guard but deftly sidestepped a hook and retaliated with another powerful kick to the leg.

The repeated impact was beginning to take its toll.

Whittier's left leg was reddened and swollen, his movement slightly labored.

Damon continued circling, throwing feints and jabs to keep Whittier guessing, all while maintaining the relentless assault on the leg.

"Chopping the wood," the commentator repeated.

"That's exactly what Damon's doing here. He's methodically breaking Whittier down, and you can see it starting to pay off."

But Damon wasn't done yet.

As he feinted another takedown, he closed the distance just enough to keep Whittier on edge.

The setup was clear, Damon was controlling the pace, dictating where the fight would go next.