MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat-Chapter 573: Champion of the world!

But Damon took his time.

He looked around at the faces in the crowd, wide-eyed, cheering, lit up by flashes and phones. Some shouted his name. Some just screamed. All of them were locked in.

He started his walk, slow at first.

Damon made his way to the cage, each step deliberate, the bass of his walkout still pulsing through the arena. The crowd didn't sit, if anything, the energy kept rising. Camera flashes popped from all angles.

"This is his first title defense," one commentator said, voice steady but excited. "Since capturing the championship from Chemasov, Damon Cross has been quiet, focused. But now, he returns to prove it wasn't a fluke."

"Exactly," the other added. "And across from him, PDD. He lost that belt to Chemasov. Now he wants it back… and he wants it by going through the man who took down the guy who beat him. That's real legacy talk right there. The old lion trying to reclaim his crown from the new young king."

Damon reached the steps and stopped at the official outside the cage.

He peeled off the hoodie and handed it off without a glance.

The arena lit up again.

His torso was carved, shredded muscle, veins tight against the skin. A fighter's body in peak condition. Calm expression, shoulders relaxed, he looked like he hadn't even broken a sweat yet.

He stretched his arms out as the official began checking him. Tape, gloves, fingernails. A small nod was exchanged as the official motioned for the cup check.

Damon casually dropped his left hand and lifted the bulge of his cup through the tights, nodding once as he did.

"All good," the official confirmed.

Vaseline was applied quickly, cheeks, brows, nose.

Then the gate opened.

And Damon stepped inside the cage.

Damon stepped into the cage, not crouching, not stalking low as usual, but upright, loose, bouncing lightly on his feet as he entered.

His shoulders rolled once, then he jogged casually to the far side, tapping the fence with both gloves.

The lights hit him full now. Sweatless. Sharp. Alive.

He turned and looked around the arena, scanning the ocean of faces and noise. Then his gaze settled on the only one that mattered.

PDD.

The former champion stood across from him, bouncing side to side, eyes locked in.

Damon moved to his side of the cage, settling into his rhythm. Shoulders relaxed, feet light. But his eyes never left the man across from him.

He was testing something new.

[Presence of a Champ]

It was a subtle mental pressure. A force that worked best on the unsteady, the overconfident, the ones pretending they weren't afraid.

He didn't blink. Just stared.

Waiting to see if PDD would flinch, glance away, stall his movement. Something.

But nothing came.

PDD kept bouncing, grinning slightly now. He was staring back. Meeting Damon's gaze head-on.

Confident, Damon thought.

Either real or well-acted.

Didn't matter.

He was going to find out soon enough.

Deuce Baffer stepped into the center of the cage, the arena lights dimming as anticipation built. The crowd hushed, awaiting the iconic announcement.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN… THIS IS THE MOMENT YOU'VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR!"

The crowd erupted in cheers.

"LIVE FROM THE SOLD-OUT FRONTIER ARENA IN DALLAS, TEXAS!"

"THIS IS THE MAIN EVENT OF THE EVENING!"

"Sanctioned by the TEXAS DEPARTMENT OF LICENSING AND REGULATION, Executive Director: MICHAEL THOMPSON."

"Our THREE JUDGES scoring this contest at cageside are: SARAH JENKINS, CARLOS RAMIREZ, and ANTHONY LEE."

"And when the action begins, our REFEREE IN CHARGE: MARK REYNOLDS."

"This championship bout is brought to you by FREAKY ENERGY, FUEL YOUR FIGHT!"

"AND NOW! FOR THOSE IN ATTENDANCE AND UFA FANS WATCHING AROUND THE WORLD—THIS IS THE MOMENT YOU'VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR…"

"IIIIIT'S… TIIIIIIIME!!!"

"FIVE ROUNDS FOR THE UNDISPUTED U! F! A! MIDDLEWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP OF THE WORLD!"

"Introducing first… FIGHTING out of the RED CORNER!

A mixed martial artist holding a professional record of TWENTY-ONE WINS, FIVE LOSSES.

Standing SIX FEET ONE INCH tall, weighing in at ONE HUNDRED EIGHTY-FIVE POUNDS,

fighting out of PRETORIA, SOUTH AFRICA…

presenting the FORMER UFA MIDDLEWEIGHT CHAMPION…

PEDIS! DE! DICUS!!"

PDD raised his gloves, acknowledging the crowd with a confident nod.

"And now, introducing the CHAMPION! FIGHTING out of the BLUE CORNER!"

A mixed martial artist holding an UNDEFEATED professional record of TWENTY-TWO WINS, NO LOSSES.

Standing SIX FEET TWO INCHES TALL, weighing in at ONE HUNDRED EIGHTY-FIVE POUNDS,

fighting out of LIMERICK, IRELAND…

presenting the

REIGNING!!!

DEFENDING!!!!

UNDISPUTED!!!

UFA MIDDLEWEIGHT CHAMPION OF THE WORLD…

DAMON 'THE RONIN' CROSS!!"

Damon stood poised, eyes locked on his opponent, exuding calm determination.

Deuce Baffer exited the cage, and the referee brought both fighters to the center for final instructions.

The atmosphere was ELECTRIC. The stage was SET.

The championship bout was about to begin.

Referee Mark Reynolds stepped between the two fighters and motioned them to the center.

Damon walked out with a relaxed pace, his expression unreadable. PDD met him with a steady bounce in his step, jaw clenched tight, eyes sharp.

The noise of the crowd dimmed into background static as both men stood face to face, inches apart under the lights.

Reynolds raised his voice just enough to be heard over the ambient buzz.

"Gentlemen, this is for the undisputed UFA Middleweight Championship of the world."

He looked between the two, firm and calm.

"You know the rules. I want a clean fight. Obey my commands at all times. Protect yourselves at all times."

He paused for a beat, making sure they were both listening.

"If you want to touch gloves, do it now."

Damon didn't move. PDD didn't either.

Reynolds gave a short nod. "Back to your corners."

The final steps began.

The war was seconds away.

"READY!?"

"READY!?"

"FIGHT!!!"