MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat-Chapter 640: The Clash of Titans

Damon bounced as the horn sounded in his ear, feeling every inch of the mat beneath his feet.

He kept his focus locked on Jon, who mirrored his intensity, eyes narrowed and jaw set.

The crowd roared around them, but it all faded into the background. In that moment, there was nothing else, just him, Jon, and the cage.

He started with a sharp jab, testing the distance.

Jon caught it on his glove, responding immediately with a heavy leg kick that thumped into Damon's thigh. Damon didn't flinch.

He pushed forward, snapping another jab into Jon's guard, then pivoting off the angle to stay out of range of Jon's power shots.

Jon pressed in, throwing a short combination, left hook, right cross, heavy punches that Damon had to respect.

Damon dipped low, rolling under the hook and coming back up with a short uppercut that just grazed Jon's chin.

He could feel the weight behind Jon's punches, the kind of power that could end a fight in an instant. It was exactly what he'd expected.

Damon stayed light on his feet, bouncing and moving. He kept his guard tight, reading Jon's timing.

Jon feinted a level change, drawing Damon's guard down, then fired a quick jab that popped off Damon's forehead. Damon shook it off, resetting his stance, his mind clear.

He answered with a crisp low kick that cracked into Jon's calf. He felt the impact travel up his own shin, and he saw Jon's leg buckle slightly. Damon grinned, knowing that even small shots like that would pay off later.

Jon grunted and pressed in again, backing Damon to the fence. Damon circled out, using his footwork to escape the trap. He fired a right hand as he moved, catching

Jon on the temple and forcing him to cover up. Damon felt the energy shift in the cage, he was finding his rhythm, but Jon wasn't going anywhere.

They traded in the center. Damon's punches were fast and sharp, Jon's were heavier, thudding against his arms and shoulders when they landed.

Each exchange was a test, a question asked and answered in the split second of a punch.

Jon threw a hard right to the body, and Damon felt it, a thump that echoed in his ribs. He didn't back up.

He planted his feet and fired a left hook to the head, then another to the body, feeling the weight of his fists sink in.

Jon grunted but didn't retreat. He just kept coming.

They locked eyes for a moment, both men breathing hard, sweat starting to bead on their foreheads.

Damon could see the respect in Jon's eyes, the recognition that this was going to be a war. Damon loved it.

He feinted a low kick, then snapped a jab up top, feeling the snap of his glove against Jon's cheek.

Jon stepped in, shoulder to shoulder, and they clinched for a moment, Jon's size and weight pressing in, but Damon's balance and leverage keeping him upright.

He slipped out of the clinch, using his left arm to frame Jon's face and create distance.

He fired a quick knee to the body as he broke away, then circled back to the center.

Jon's expression didn't change, but Damon could see the flush of red on his ribs where the knee had landed.

The crowd was loud now, chanting for both men. Damon didn't hear the words, just the roar, the pulse of the moment. He knew he was in a fight that would be talked about for years.

Jon came forward again, throwing a heavy right hook that Damon blocked, feeling the impact rattle up his arm.

He didn't back away. He fired a straight right down the middle, then a left hook that caught Jon on the jaw.

Jon staggered back a step, then came right back with a straight left that split Damon's guard and made him blink.

It was a back-and-forth rhythm. Damon moved, struck, moved again. Jon pressed, absorbed, and answered with power.

Neither man wanted to give ground, both testing the other with every feint, every punch, every breath.

Damon felt alive. His muscles burned, but he didn't care.

His mind was clear, focused on every tiny movement, Jon's shoulders, his hips, the way he shifted his weight. Damon stayed sharp, reading everything, responding in the moment.

He caught Jon's wrist as it came in, pulling it down and firing a quick right to the body. Jon grunted, throwing an elbow up top that just missed Damon's ear.

Damon ducked under it, pivoting off the center line and slamming a hook into Jon's ribs. Jon winced, but he didn't break.

They circled each other again, sweat glistening on their skin under the bright lights. Damon's breathing was steady, his mind calm despite the storm.

He could feel the weight of the fight, the gravity of every moment, and he loved it.

This was what he lived for, this test, this clash, this dance of violence and skill. Damon knew Jon felt the same. That was why they were here, in this cage, under these lights.

The crowd roared again as they met in the center, trading punches. Damon's left hook crashed into Jon's cheek, Jon's right hand smashed into Damon's ribs.

This was war, and Damon Cross was ready to throw down.

The commentators were leaning forward, caught up in the intensity of the back-and-forth.

"This has been an equal exchange with no one really taking dominance so far," the first commentator said, his voice tight with excitement. "I have to say, I'm surprised. I thought Damon might pull ahead faster, he won the last time they fought, and while this is a different weight class, it's still the same man he faced."

The second commentator nodded. "Jon Dlachovizc is showing why he's a force at light heavyweight. Damon's speed is there, but Jon's size and power are giving him all he can handle."

Inside the cage, Damon felt the pressure rising. He knew he needed to press harder if he wanted to take control.

He fired off a quick combination, jab, cross, hook, pushing Jon back a step.

He saw Jon's eyes narrow, felt the slight shift in his weight as he prepared to counter.

Damon didn't let up.

He stepped in with a hard left hook to the body, then came back up top with a right hand that cracked against Jon's temple. Jon's head snapped to the side, but he didn't go down.

Damon could feel the crowd getting louder, could feel the surge of energy as he tried to break Jon's defense.

But Jon wasn't done. Damon pressed in, his fists a blur, but Jon planted his feet and threw an insane overhand right, one that Damon couldn't avoid.

The punch crashed against Damon's chin with a thundering crack, his head snapping back as his vision went white.

The crowd gasped, the roar echoing through the arena. Damon stumbled, his legs giving way, and he dropped to the canvas.

"Oh my God! Damon Cross is down!" the first commentator yelled, his voice breaking with shock. "A huge shot from Jon Dlachovizc, and he's following him to the mat!"

Jon didn't waste a second. He dove down, his fists already swinging.

Damon tucked in, arms tight to his head, trying to protect himself as Jon hammered down shots from the top.

The canvas shook under the weight of Jon's attack, and the crowd was on its feet, screaming.