MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat - Chapter 816

Chapter 816: Chapter 816: Heart Over Everything

The last two minutes of the final round ticked away, and both fighters were running on fumes.

Sweat poured, their chests heaved with every breath, and every step seemed heavier than the last.

But neither Max Taylor nor Ronny McGregor showed a hint of quitting.

Max pushed forward again, his footwork less sharp now, his combinations shorter.

He slipped a jab but ate a stiff cross to the cheek, his head snapping back.

He gritted his teeth and pressed on, ripping a hook to Ronny’s body, then another upstairs.

“Man, they’re exhausted,” Jim Logan said on commentary, his voice raw with excitement. “But they’re still throwing leather!”

Ronny circled, hands low, his shoulders loose but his breathing loud.

He flicked a jab, followed by a front kick to Max’s midsection, buying himself a little space.

Max growled, almost taunting, and stormed right back into range, swinging wild hooks.

One landed, the others grazed, but it was enough to make Ronny plant his feet and fire back.

Damian Kormier nearly shouted. “This is where it gets dangerous! When both guys are tired, the defense goes out the window.”

And he was right.

With just over a minute left, both men abandoned the chess match.

Max bit down on his mouthpiece and threw a five-punch combination, his arms heavy but relentless.

Ronny took three of them on the guard, then countered with a brutal left hand that cracked Max square on the jaw.

Max stumbled, his knees dipping, but somehow stayed on his feet, throwing another punch right back.

The crowd exploded, the entire arena on its feet.

“Ohhh!” Nix barked, almost stunned. “How is Max still standing after that?!”

Ronny’s composure was gone now. The calm sniper had turned into a brawler, his sharp counters replaced with wild overhands and hooks.

He landed another heavy shot, a right hand this time, but Max ate it and answered with two uppercuts in close.

The two of them stood in the center of the cage, heads snapping back with every strike, the exhaustion clear but the willpower louder.

Jim Logan was nearly yelling. “Neither man wants to back down! They’re trading shots in the middle, this is insane!”

Max’s legs wobbled again as a left cross landed clean, but he shoved forward, pressing his forehead against Ronny’s and swinging until his arms nearly gave out.

Ronny fired back, their heads clashing briefly as sweat sprayed with every punch.

Damian’s voice carried over the chaos. “They’re just emptying the gas tanks now. No more setups, no more patience, it’s all heart!”

With seconds left, both men swung until the horn, neither giving ground, both looking half ready to collapse. The crowd erupted at the bell, the roar deafening.

The final ten seconds flashed on the screen.

Max lunged forward, his legs heavy, but his fists still flying. He threw a right hand, then a left hook, both sloppy, both desperate.

Ronny slipped the first, ate the second, and fired back with a straight left that cracked clean on Max’s jaw.

Max’s head snapped back, sweat spraying, but he didn’t fall. He gritted his teeth and threw one more looping right.

“Ten seconds! Ten seconds!” Jim Logan shouted.

Ronny caught the punch on his guard, then ripped a counter uppercut. Max staggered, his knees buckling, but somehow stayed upright. The crowd lost its mind.

Damian Kormier’s voice broke with disbelief. “How are they still standing?! These guys are on pure heart!”

With the last five seconds, both fighters planted their feet and unloaded everything left in them.

Max threw wild hooks, Ronny answered with straight shots down the middle.

Each punch snapped their heads, their bodies jerking with every connection. Neither backed down, not even an inch.

Ding!

The horn blared.

Both men froze in place, chests heaving, their arms hanging heavy. The crowd rose in a standing ovation, roaring louder than they had all night.

Max leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees for a moment before straightening up.

Ronny shook his head, smiling faintly despite his split lip. Without hesitation, Max extended his glove.

Ronny slapped his glove against it, then pulled him into a hug.

Both men stood there for a moment, drenched in sweat, their faces battered but their respect undeniable.

The war was over.

The arena was still shaking as the fighters separated from their embrace, both of them battered, both barely able to lift their arms.

Doctors slid into the cage immediately, shining lights into their eyes, checking cuts, and pressing towels against their faces.

At the desk, the commentary team struggled to put it into words.

Jim Logan exhaled hard. “Wow… I don’t even know what to say. Both these young men gave everything they had in there tonight. This is what The Supreme Fighter is all about.”

Damian Kormier nodded, his tone almost reverent. “Yeah, they left it all in the cage. Max with that relentless pace, Ronny with the precision and power. They pushed each other to the absolute limit. Honestly? Both of them looked incredible.”

Nix leaned in, his voice steady. “But the reality is only one of them can walk out of here as the Supreme Fighter and with that UFA contract. That’s the hard truth. You hate to see either of them lose after a fight like that, but that’s what makes this sport so brutal and so beautiful at the same time.”

Back inside the cage, Max sat on a stool, a cut man working quickly over his swollen cheek.

Across from him, Ronny leaned against the fence, an ice pack pressed against his ribs, nodding at the officials as they cleaned the blood from his lip.

Both looked like they had been through a war, and they had.

The crowd’s cheers never dipped. They knew they’d just witnessed something special.

Soon enough, the referee called both fighters to the center of the cage. Max Taylor rose from his stool slowly, his face bruised and swollen, but his chin high.

Ronny McGregor pushed off the fence, blood still streaked across his lip, his ribs wrapped with an ice pack just moments ago.

They stood side by side, both battered, both exhausted, as the doctors cleared away.

Behind them, Duece Buffer held the scorecards in hand, his suit crisp under the lights.

He scanned the numbers quickly, his expression unreadable, while just over his shoulder UFA president Ronan Black leaned in close, whispering something in his ear.

Duece gave a small nod, his eyes back on the paper, before turning to the microphone in his hand.

The crowd buzzed louder, the tension rising, everyone waiting to hear who would be crowned the Supreme Fighter.