MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat-Chapter 855 - 856: I Am 100%

"ITTTSSSSSS TIMMMEEEE!"

Deuce Baffer's voice blasted through the arena and sent the crowd into another wave of noise. Damon rolled his shoulders once, calm and steady. Shenil kept his chin tucked, eyes locked forward.

"For the fans watching around the world," Deuce continued, pacing across the center of the cage, "this fight is scheduled for five rounds in the UNO–UFA Middleweight Championship Super Bout!"

The spotlight snapped onto Shenil first.

"Introducing first… fighting out of the blue corner! A mixed martial artist holding a perfect professional record—five wins, zero losses! All victories by KO or TKO! Representing UNO Championship and fighting out of the Dagestani mountains… Sheniiil 'The Mauler' Ardigoooon!!"

The crowd erupted with a mix of cheers and pressure. Shenil barely blinked.

Deuce turned.

"And his opponent… fighting out of the red corner!"

The crowd suddenly got louder.

"A mixed martial artist with a professional record of thirty two wins, zero losses! He is the reigning UFA Middleweight Champion, the reigning UFA Light Heavyweight Champion, a two-time World Cup MMA Champion, and one of the most dominant fighters on the planet!"

Fans rose to their feet as Deuce pointed toward Damon.

"Fighting out of Limerick, Ireland… presenting the two-division world champion… THE RONIN—DAMON CROOOOSSSSS!!"

The arena shook. Camera flashes lit up the cage. Damon lifted his gloves, calm but confident.

The referee stepped forward.

"Gentlemen, you know the rules. Protect yourselves at all times. Follow my commands. Touch gloves if you want to."

Shenil stepped forward with his glove out.

Damon didn't hesitate. He touched it lightly.

Both stepped back.

The cage door locked behind them with a sharp metallic click.

The commentator whispered, almost excited, "Oh boy… here we go."

The referee raised his hand.

"Ready… ready…"

He chopped the air.

"FIGHT!"

"Man, I haven't been this excited since I saw Desayen and Tereira," the commentator said as the horn sounded. 𝘧𝓇ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝘣𝓃ℴ𝓋𝑒𝑙.𝑐𝘰𝑚

The crowd quieted for a moment.

Damon locked his eyes on Shenil's legs and footwork, reading every shift. Shenil bounced lightly, testing distance, pushing forward with small steps.

He threw the first strike—a sharp calf kick.

Damon checked it clean.

"Good read from Cross," the co-commentator said. "He's dialed in already."

Shenil stepped in again, this time feinting a jab and lowering his level. It was a classic Dagestani entry, fast and explosive.

He shot for the takedown.

Damon sprawled instantly and stuffed it without moving an inch.

"NO WAY!" the commentator shouted. "Cross shut that down like it was nothing!"

Shenil tried to chain into a single leg, but Damon broke the grip and circled off effortlessly. Damon didn't even look rushed. He just reset, hands high, calm.

Shenil pressured forward again. Another jab. Another feint. Another level change.

This time Damon punished it.

A tight right uppercut slipped straight through the guard and snapped Shenil backward.

"OH! OH THAT LANDED CLEAN!"

Shenil stumbled for half a second but stayed up. He bit down and swung a heavy hook.

Damon blocked it and fired a short left straight down the pipe.

Shenil froze.

Then Damon stepped in and unloaded.

A right hand. Another right hand. A sharp left hook. A body shot that folded Shenil slightly. Damon didn't blitz wildly—every punch was placed clean, accurate, and fast.

Shenil backed into the cage.

The entire arena rose.

"He's hurt! HE'S HURT BAD!"

"Cross is picking him apart! This is surgical!"

Shenil threw a desperate overhand.

Damon slipped under it like he had seen it a hundred times.

He came up with a hard counter right that landed flush.

Shenil dropped to his knees.

The commentators exploded.

"NO WAY—NO WAY—SHENIL IS DOWN!"

"CROSS SAID FIRST ROUND AND HE IS DOING IT!"

"This is unreal! He looks unbeatable!"

Shenil tried to grab a leg to survive, but Damon sprawled and flattened him out. Shenil covered up, shaking from the impact.

Damon didn't hesitate.

Three clean hammerfists.

One.

Two.

Three.

The referee sprinted in and tackled Damon off.

"STOP! STOP! THAT'S IT!"

The horn had barely finished echoing when the crowd detonated into pure noise.

"OH MY WORD!" the main commentator shouted. "DAMON CROSS JUST DID THAT! HE WALKED THROUGH AN UNDEFEATED FINISHER LIKE IT WAS NOTHING!"

"This is scary," the co-commentator said. "The man is not human. He is not human."

Damon stood, breathing steady, unmarked. Shenil lay on his back, blinking, still trying to figure out what hit him.

The ref grabbed Damon's wrist.

The arena shouted in unison.

"CROSS! CROSS! CROSS!"

The hand went up.

"AND JUST LIKE HE SAID—FIRST ROUND!"

"He called it. He landed it. He dominated it."

"This man is carrying the sport on his shoulders."

Damon stepped back, adrenaline still running through him. He climbed the cage wall in one smooth motion. The crowd exploded the moment he stood on top, raising both arms as cameras flashed from every angle.

The commentary team jumped right in.

"Everyone knows Damon is fighting two times in this event," the main commentator said. "Two different weight classes, two different weeks, and the biggest concern going in was whether he'd take damage tonight. People thought he might come into the next fight at less than a hundred percent."

The co-commentator shook his head. "But that's gone now. That worry is done. He didn't take a single clean shot. No cuts. No swelling. Nothing. Damon is walking out of this cage exactly how he walked into it."

"He is a beast," the main commentator added. "That's the best way to say it."

The co-commentator nodded. "I can't say it any better. This performance makes the incoming fights even better. If he is this sharp for the light heavyweight matchup… good luck to Enton."

Damon jumped down from the cage and went straight to his corner team. They hugged him, slapped his back, and checked him for any injuries out of habit. There were none.

He looked relaxed, almost refreshed.

Damon looked directly into the lens for a brief second, calm and confident, like he had just finished a warm-up instead of a championship fight.

He was ready for the next one.