MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat

Both men stood in the octagon, the tension thick in the air as they faced each other.

Damon's focus was razor-sharp, while Calvin Oland wore his signature grin, a mix of confidence and swagger.

In the center of the cage stood Deuce Baffer, microphone in hand, his sharp suit glimmering under the lights.

Damon glanced at him briefly, a thought crossing his mind, when he eventually fought for a title, he hoped it would be Deuce announcing his name.

Hopefully, the legend wouldn't retire before then.

Deuce stepped forward, his voice booming through the arena, cutting through the noise of the crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is the featured bout of the evening! Three rounds in the UFA middleweight division!"

The crowd roared, their cheers filling the arena.

"Introducing first, fighting out of the blue corner! This man is a mixed martial artist holding a professional record of 7 wins, no losses.

Standing 6 feet 2 inches tall, weighing in at 185 pounds, fighting out of Ireland, Limerick …

Damon Cross!"

The crowd erupted as Damon raised a single fist, his face calm but determined.

"And his opponent, fighting out of the red corner! This man is a mixed martial artist holding a professional record of 24 wins, 9 losses. Standing 6 feet 3 inches tall, weighing in at 185 pounds, fighting out of Fort Worth, Texas... presenting

The Trailblazer

Calvin Oland!"n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

The arena exploded with cheers and boos as Calvin raised his arms, basking in the crowd's energy, his grin wide and full of confidence.

Deuce stepped back, his job done, as the referee moved between the fighters.

"Alright, gentlemen, we've been over the rules. Protect yourself at all times, follow my instructions at all times. Touch gloves now if you want, and let's have a clean fight."

Calvin stepped forward with his hands raised, but Damon stood still, his eyes locked on his opponent.

After a second, he gave a brief nod but didn't extend his gloves.

The referee nodded. "Alright. Back to your corners. Let's get this started."

The fighters turned, the crowd growing even louder as the moment they'd been waiting for drew closer.

The bell was almost here, so Damon took one last deep breath to calm down.

It was time.

The referee looked back and forth between the fighters and spoke in a strong, authoritative voice.

He looked at Damon first. "Ready?"

Damon gave a sharp nod, his gaze locked on Oland.

The referee turned to Oland. "Ready?"

Oland smiled big, and his sure confidence shone through. "Oh, I've been ready. Let's make it quick, though, I've got dinner plans after this."

The crowd laughed and cheered at the comment.

The referee stepped back. "Let's fight!"

The bell rang, and the arena erupted as both men moved out of their corners.

James Nix's voice cut through the noise as the fight began.

"And here we go! This highly anticipated middleweight matchup is underway, and I think we're in for a treat."

Damien Korvier chimed in, his tone excited. "Absolutely. You've got two completely opposite styles here, Damon Cross, calm, calculated and discipline in his striking, against Calvin Oland, also very calculated and unpredictability, and always dangerous."

"This is a clash of personalities and skills," Nix added. "Cross thrives on precision and timing, while Oland brings a storm of creativity and unorthodox attacks. The question is, who can impose their game plan?"

The fighters circled each other, the crowd roaring with anticipation as the first few moments unfolded.

Damon kept his eyes on Calvin Oland and carefully watched how he moved.

Oland was open and almost playful.

He was bouncing on his feet with his hands down and a smirk on his face.

He leaned forward a little and used his shoulders to fake while throwing small, slow jabs to check the distance.

It was unorthodox, unpredictable, and carefree.

He moved like he was having fun, as though this were just another sparring session.

Damon adjusted, settling into his own stance.

His Muay Thai base was clear to the trained eye, but for most, it looked unusual.

His hands were low but ready, his posture loose, and his movements fluid.

He wasn't rigid or textbook, blending his training into a style all his own.

Oland made the first move, stepping forward with a flicking jab that barely extended.

Damon didn't bite, keeping his stance steady and circling away from the cage wall.

"Classic Calvin Oland," James Nix called from the commentary table. "Hands low, throwing out feelers, trying to lure Damon into his game."

Korvier nodded. "This is exactly what Oland does. He'll bait you, taunt you, and then fire something unexpected. Damon needs to stay patient here."

Oland's jab flicked out again, and this time, he followed it with a quick low kick to Damon's lead leg.

It wasn't heavy, just a testing strike to see how Damon would react.

Damon checked the kick effortlessly, stepping back and returning to his loose stance.

Oland smirked, bouncing on his toes as he started talking. "Oh, you're patient, huh? You're one of those, huh?"

His voice was loud enough for the front rows to hear, drawing some laughs from the crowd.

Damon didn't respond, his focus unshaken.

The pace remained slow as Oland continued to dance around, tossing feints and light kicks while talking.

Damon, true to his style, stayed calm and waited, studying Oland's movements.

But then Oland stepped it up.

He feinted another jab but suddenly closed the distance with a lightning-fast right straight.

Damon slipped it just in time, his head moving cleanly to the outside.

Oland followed with a wild left hook, but Damon ducked under, backing away to reset.

The crowd roared, loving the exchange.

"Good defense from Damon Cross," Korvier said. "He's not letting Oland's antics get to him. That patience is key."

Oland chuckled, shaking his head as he backed off. "Alright, alright. You're slick. I like that," he said, hands still low, casually circling.

Damon finally made his move.

He stepped in with a sharp teep kick to Oland's midsection, landing it clean and forcing Oland to step back.

Damon followed with a quick leg kick, snapping it into Oland's lead leg with precision.

Oland smiled wide, nodding. "Oh, okay, I see you!" he said, stepping forward again.

This time, Oland exploded with a combination, a jab, cross, and a spinning back kick aimed at Damon's ribs.

Damon blocked the kick with his forearms, the force pushing him back slightly.

"He's trying to open up now," Nix said. "Oland loves to mix it up with creative attacks, but Damon's defense is holding strong."

Damon stayed patient, circling and landing sharp counters whenever Oland got too close.

A quick left elbow caught Oland on the clinch attempt, followed by a knee to the body before they separated.

Oland laughed again, holding his ribs briefly but staying in the pocket. "Alright, alright," he muttered, clearly enjoying the challenge.

But Damon wasn't playing games. He kept his strikes clean and precise, waiting for the right moment to capitalize.

The crowd was on their feet, the fight starting to heat up as both men began finding their rhythm.

This was the clash everyone had been waiting for.

But it was starting slow.