MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat

The horn sounded, and Damon was already in motion.

He bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, circling left, his eyes locked on the towering figure across from him.

Every muscle in his frame was active but relaxed, he was reading, not rushing.

The commentary team snapped into gear.

"And that's it, we're on! Damon Cross in the white tights, Alex Tereira in the yellow!"

"They're not wasting time here," the second voice added. "You can already see Damon testing the angles, that light footwork, bouncing in and out. But he's not giving Alex anything early. Just data collection."

"Both of these men are champions, and you can feel the weight of that. Tereira's holding the center early, look at his stance. That classic high guard, right hand locked near his chin. He's looking for one big read."

"And Damon knows it. That's why he's not throwing yet. He's feeling the tempo, watching the hips."

Inside the cage, Damon continued to circle. His hands were loose and low, not in disrespect, but to bait. Alex didn't bite. He stalked, step by step, closing the cage space without throwing a single shot.

Then Damon darted in with a quick feint, shoulder twitch, half-step low.

Tereira didn't react. He was stone.

The crowd began to rise in volume, sensing the tension build in small movements, small steps. Every twitch felt heavier than it should.

No one had taken the first hit yet, and that was about to change.

Damon stopped circling for a breath, then pushed forward with a quick two-step shift. His right shoulder dipped as if to feint a takedown, but it was bait.

The moment Alex's weight shifted back, Damon flicked out a stiff left jab, more of a range-check than a real attack.

Alex parried it with his right hand, barely moving his feet. His eyes didn't blink.

He responded with a heavy calf kick aimed low, the kind that carried full weight from his hip.

Damon leaned back just enough to take some of the sting off, his left leg recoiling as the impact thudded.

The commentary picked it up immediately.

"Tereira answers with a classic low kick. And it landed. That's what he wants. Chipping away at the legs early."

Damon didn't back off. He came right back with a three-punch combination.

Jab, cross, then a left hook that barely missed.

But it wasn't about landing clean yet. He was warming into it, seeing how Alex handled pressure.

Alex blocked high, then stepped forward behind a tight guard, throwing a short left hook of his own. Damon slipped it clean and stepped off at an angle, keeping his movement light.

He knew what kind of power Tereira carried. Getting caught clean wasn't part of the plan.

Then Damon level changed.

He dropped fast, shooting low. Not a deep double-leg, but a snatch at the hips, forcing Alex to react.

Alex sprawled immediately, using his height and strength, pushing Damon's shoulders down.

But Damon didn't commit fully. He let go, popped back up, and used the transition to snap a left hook into the body.

It landed.

Alex's guard dropped slightly. Damon backed out before anything came in return.

"That body shot from Damon, did you see that? That wasn't just a dig, that had speed on it. That might have been one of those hidden ones, he's been known for body work nobody sees."

Alex reset. His expression didn't change, but his feet edged closer. He flicked out a jab of his own. It missed. But the message was clear: you hit me, I'm here to hit back.

Damon took the center this time.

He rolled his shoulders, bounced twice in place, then stepped in behind a high right hand that tapped against Alex's gloves.

As he did, he launched a quick combination. Left to the body, right to the head, and then a hidden third punch, the ghost punch.

The body shot was visible, but that ghost punch came off the rear shoulder and vanished mid-throw. It clipped Alex clean in the ribs.

He didn't grunt or fold, but he stepped back.

The crowd noticed.

Alex came back with a sudden counter, a left hook high that forced Damon to duck low. But Damon stayed close.

He clinched, hand on the back of the neck, the other latching onto the wrist. His grip locked instantly.

There was no wiggle room. Alex tried to turn out, but Damon's grip held like it was molded from stone.

The two struggled for underhooks, shoulder pressure grinding.

Damon adjusted one foot inside and tripped Alex's stance, dragging him partially off balance.

Alex used his strength to stay upright, but the effort cost him position.

Damon backed off and circled again. Still relaxed. Still loose. But now he knew Alex wasn't immovable. The body shots were landing. The clinch was working.

Alex switched stances. Right foot forward now. A rare adjustment from him. He didn't like what he felt.

Damon saw it.

He tested the new stance immediately with a low calf kick to the lead leg, then followed it with a jab to the forehead. Both landed.

Then Alex exploded forward.

It wasn't wild. It was precise. A straight left from the southpaw stance, thrown hard and fast.

Damon barely leaned off line. The punch grazed the side of his cheek.

But Alex kept coming. A right hook followed, forcing Damon to retreat, covering up. For a second, Tereira smelled blood.

He threw a knee.

Damon caught it. Not fully, but just enough to slow the momentum.

He shoved off, then countered with a front kick to the stomach that pushed Alex back.

They reset.

Each man had taken something. Damon with the body work, Alex with pressure and power.

But Damon was still loose. Still bouncing. He hadn't even tapped into his full rhythm yet.

He rolled his neck, kept his guard low again, and started moving side to side.

Then he burst forward. This time no feints. Just a real step-in right hand, hidden behind a jab. Alex covered, but Damon went low again.

This time, he locked the waist.

And lifted.

The arena jumped.

Tereira went up. Just enough.

Damon drove through and landed the takedown.

The crowd erupted. Alex hit the mat but posted fast. Damon adjusted instantly, gripping under the arm and dragging him back down.

Tereira tried to roll. Damon floated with him.

He didn't try to finish. Not yet.

He was riding the position. Feeling the shifts. Adding shoulder pressure. Making the champion work.

The commentary was fired up.

"Damon Cross with the takedown! That was clean!."

Damon moved to half guard. Tereira tried to hip escape.

Damon flattened him.