MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat - Chapter 822

Chapter 822: Chapter 822: Final Steps

Damon slowed as he reached the edge of the cage, where the official waited.

The man held up his hands, running them quickly over Damon’s gloves, tugging on the straps to check the tape. Satisfied, he patted the wrist once and nodded.

“Cup,” the official said flatly.

Damon gave a small grin and patted his groin guard with the back of his glove.

The official gave it a quick knock for confirmation, then dipped his fingers into the jar of Vaseline.

He rubbed it across Damon’s cheekbones and forehead, a thin sheen catching the light.

“Good luck,” the official muttered, giving him a final pat on the shoulder.

Damon exhaled through his nose, eyes locked on the cage door. The chants of his name shook the rafters.

He stepped forward as the door swung open, his eyes immediately finding Ivan on the other side. Ivan’s stare was locked, not even blinking, and the interim champion didn’t move as Damon circled in.

Damon bounced lightly on his toes, rolling his shoulders loose, pacing around his side of the cage. He looked relaxed, but every glance at Ivan carried weight.

The music cut, the arena lights snapped back to their full brightness, but the chants didn’t stop.

“Da-mon! Da-mon!”

Thousands of voices rose together, shaking the building. Ivan shadowboxed in place, chin lifted, unfazed by the noise.

Damon smiled faintly, taking in the energy, feeding off it as he shadowed his own steps along the fence.

Both men were ready. The storm was about to break.

The cage door shut with a heavy clang, and a moment later, Duece Buffer strode inside. His suit was sharp, his voice ready, the microphone already in hand.

Jim Logan noted it from the desk. “And here we go, folks, Duece Buffer inside the Octagon. That means it’s time for the official introductions.”

The roar of the crowd softened, thousands of voices dropping into an eager hush. The chants didn’t die completely, but they dipped, replaced by a low buzz of anticipation. Everyone knew what was about to happen.

Damon paced slowly in his corner, bouncing lightly on his toes. Ivan stood tall across from him, arms loose at his sides, his eyes never leaving Damon.

Duece Buffer lifted the microphone, his voice booming through the arena with practiced authority.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN … THIS IS THE MOMENT YOU’VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR!

LIVE FROM LAS VEGAS, NEVADA, THIS IS THE MAIN EVENT OF THE EVENING!”

The stage was set.

The Crowd Erupted, their cheers echoing through the arena.

“SANCTIONED BY THE NEVADA STATE ATHLETIC COMMISSION. OUR THREE JUDGES SCORING THIS CONTEST AT OCTAGON SIDE ARE SIKE HELL, JERK EARY, AND DEM B’EMETO. AND WHEN THE ACTION BEGINS, OUR REFEREE IN CHARGE OF THE OCTAGON: DANIEL SINCLAIR!!”

“THIS CHAMPIONSHIP BOUT IS BROUGHT TO YOU BY CRIME HYDRATION, TORSOPROTECTION SPORTS DRINK, AND BEASTIAL ENERGY.”

“AND NOW, FOR THOSE IN ATTENDANCE AND UFC FANS WATCHING AROUND THE WORLD,

THIS IS THE MOMENT YOU’VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR!

LIVE FROM THE SOLD-OUT DELTA CENTER IN LAS VEGAS , CALIFORNIA…”

He paused, letting the anticipation build.

“IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT’S

TIIIIIIIIIIIIIME!”

“FIVE ROUNDS FOR THE UNDISPUTED UFA MIDDLEWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP OF THE WORLD!”

“INTRODUCING CHALLENGER, FIGHTING OUT OF THE BLUE CORNER.

A MIXED MARTIAL ARTIST HOLDING AN UNDEFEATED PROFESSIONAL RECORD OF 14 WINS, NO LOSSES! STANDING SIX FEET TALL, WEIGHING IN AT 184 POUNDS. HE IS THE REIGNING UFA INTERIM MIDDLEWEIGHT CHAMPION … FIGHTING OUT OF MOSCOW, RUSSIA,

IVVVAAANNNNNN!!!

NOOOOOOOOVVAK!!!!”

Ivan lifted his arms, expression cold, as his corner shouted behind him. Cheers and boos clashed in the crowd, but the chants for Damon still hummed under the noise.

Buffer pivoted, turning sharply toward the blue corner.

“AND HIS OPPONENT,

INTRODUCING THE CHAMPION

FIGHTING OUT OF THE BLUE CORNER!

A MIXED MARTIAL ARTIST, WITH A PERFECT UNDEFEATED PROFESSIONAL RECORD OF 30 WINS, NO LOSSES!

STANDING SIX-FOOT-TWO, WEIGHING IN AT 185 POUNDS.

He IS THE REIGNING UFA LIGHT HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION, THE REIGNING UFA MIDDLEWEIGHT CHAMPION, AND A TWO-TIME MIDDLEWEIGHT WORLD TOURNAMENT CHAMPION … FIGHTING OUT OF LIMERICK, IRELAND

THEE!! IRISH RONIIIIIINNN!!!! …

DAAAAAMOOOOON

CROOOOOOOOOOSSSSSS!”

The crowd exploded, shaking the rafters. Chants of “Da-mon! Da-mon!” drowned out everything else as Damon raised his arms, calm but locked in, bouncing lightly as the energy of the arena washed over him.

Duece stepped back, his booming finish ringing out. “When the action begins, your referee in charge, Daniel Sinclair.”

The fighters moved toward the center, the anticipation hanging thick. The world was ready for the storm.

As the fighters squared up in the center for the referee’s instructions, the commentary desk broke down what was at stake.

Jim Logan leaned in. “Look at these two, Damon Cross versus Ivan Novak. On paper, Damon has almost every advantage. He’s taller, he’s longer, his power is something we’ve never seen at this division, and his achievements… they speak for themselves. Two belts, two tournament titles, thirty wins, no losses.”

Damian Kormier nodded. “Yeah, that’s why Ivan is the underdog here. He’s undefeated, he’s got the interim belt, but when you stand across from Damon, you’re looking at one of the most complete fighters we’ve ever seen. Ivan’s going to have to work harder than ever to impose his game here.”

Nix added calmly, “And that’s exactly why this fight matters. Ivan has wanted this shot for years. He knows he’s not favored, he knows Damon carries the accolades, but that can fuel a fighter. If Ivan can push this into deep waters, drag Damon out of his comfort zone, he could shock the world tonight.”

Jim Logan spoke up as the camera zoomed in on Damon. “What do you even consider Damon’s ‘outside of his comfort zone’? The guy’s excellent everywhere, the ground, the feet, the clinch. He’s managed to broaden his skills year after year, and that’s why he’s so complete. You can’t point to an obvious weakness.”

Back inside the cage, Damon stood tall and calm, bouncing on his toes, while Ivan’s stare never wavered. The referee gave his final instructions, then sent them back to their corners.

The crowd reached a fever pitch. The storm was seconds away.