MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat

The moment the bell rang, both fighters were up and moving, sharp, composed, like two men just getting started rather than entering the second round of a war.

Neither showed fatigue.

Neither showed hesitation.

They still looked fresh.

New.

Like round one hadn't happened.

Malikin's corner had done good work during the break. The cut above his eye had been sealed, the bleeding stopped, for now. But Damon knew better.

It wouldn't take much.

One clean shot, and it would open up again.

And this time, it wouldn't stop.

Damon moved forward first.

Pressure from the start.

His footwork crisp, cutting angles as he feinted high and low, forcing Malikin to react.

Malikin stayed patient, his hands up, his stance wide, but Damon could see it, the slight shift in his weight, the hesitation in his lead leg.

He'd felt those kicks.

He was already thinking about them.

The crowd roared as they closed the distance.

And the second round was underway.

Absolutely. Let's continue with Damon executing Victor's game plan, blending his striking with calculated grappling attempts. We'll keep it tight, technical, and smart, showing Damon's high fight IQ.

Damon stayed behind his jab at first. Sharp. Precise. Testing Malikin's reactions while controlling the distance.

Every time Malikin reset, Damon was there, feet planted, reading him. He didn't waste energy throwing wild shots. Everything was with purpose.

He slipped a jab from Malikin and immediately answered with a stiff right to the body. The punch thudded into Malikin's ribs, just under the elbow, forcing a sharp exhale from the Russian. Damon circled out, resetting.

Victor's voice echoed in his head.

Test his takedown defense.

Damon feinted high with a quick hook, drawing Malikin's guard up, then dropped low and shot in for a double-leg takedown.

It wasn't reckless. It was smooth, set up by the hands. His level change was fast, and he got deep on Malikin's hips.

But Malikin was strong.

He widened his base, dug underhooks, and stuffed the initial shot.

Damon adjusted immediately, switching to a single-leg and driving Malikin toward the cage.

The crowd roared as they hit the fence, Damon grinding his shoulder under Malikin's chin, making it uncomfortable.

"Smart transition from Cross," one commentator said. "He's not forcing it. He's making Malikin work."

Damon dropped for an ankle pick, briefly destabilizing Malikin's balance, but the Russian recovered. Still, it was a test, and now Damon had answers.

Malikin's takedown defense was solid, but the scramble had taken effort.

And effort meant energy.

Damon disengaged cleanly, backing away without eating a shot. He circled out, firing a low calf kick that cracked against Malikin's lead leg.

Malikin didn't check it.

Damon noticed.

He stepped in again. This time, the jab came quick, popping Malikin's head back, and followed by a tight left hook to the body.

Then he faked the takedown again, Malikin bit, dropping his hands for a split second, And Damon fired a sneaky uppercut after a shot on the cut that landed flush on the chin.

"Big uppercut from Cross!"

"That cut's opening again!"

Sure enough, the gash over Malikin's brow was leaking. Not much yet, but it was coming back.

Damon stayed calm.

No rush.

He pressured, forcing Malikin to circle into his power side.

Then he unloaded another sharp low kick, deadening the Russian's thigh. Malikin gritted his teeth and fired back with a heavy right hand. Damon slipped it, countering with a sharp elbow that clipped the eyebrow again.

Blood streaked across Malikin's face.

He blinked it away, but the damage was done.

Damon could feel it shifting.

This wasn't about breaking him in one exchange.

This was a slow fracture, piece by piece.

Malikin closed distance again, trying to clinch.

Damon allowed it, just for a moment, then reversed the position, landing a knee to the liver before shucking Malikin off and creating space.

"Cross is mixing everything up beautifully," one commentator said. "Strikes, takedown attempts, clinch work, it's a masterclass right now."

Malikin pressed forward again, but slower. More cautious. Damon didn't give him time to think. He snapped a teep into the midsection, then slid out of range, forcing Malikin to chase.

As he did, Damon planted and fired a short right elbow. It wasn't clean, but it glanced off Malikin's temple, forcing him to reset again.

Damon stayed patient.

Kept applying steady pressure.

Malikin was still dangerous, his power hadn't faded, but Damon could see it now.

The small hesitations.

The labored breaths.

The blood dripping, streaking down toward his eye.

Victor called out from the corner.

"Keep touching him, Damon! Don't let him breathe!"

Damon obliged.

He threw another jab.

Another low kick.

Another body shot.

Each one adding up.

Each one breaking Malikin down, inch by inch.

Malikin's eyes narrowed. Damon saw it, the shift. The moment Malikin decided it was time to change the pace.

He was tired of the stand-up chess match. Tired of getting chopped up on the feet. And Damon knew what was coming before Malikin even twitched.

The Russian dropped levels. Fast. Explosive. A deep double-leg shot aimed to blast Damon clean off his feet.

But Damon was ready.

As Malikin drove forward, Damon reacted instantly, his hips dropped lower, his balance razor sharp. Instead of sprawling, Damon stuffed the head and shifted his weight over Malikin's back, wrapping his right arm under Malikin's chin as he pivoted.

And then he moved.

Smooth.

Technical.

Cruel.

Damon whipped his hips around in a tight arc, using Malikin's own momentum against him. In one motion, he wrenched Malikin forward and twisted, rolling through the takedown and reversing the position entirely.

"Whoa! Cross reverses the takedown attempt! Beautiful!" one of the commentators shouted.

Malikin hit the mat hard, on his back. Damon landed square in top position, already moving into side control before Malikin even realized what had happened.

The crowd erupted as Damon settled his weight down, pinning Malikin's far arm under his knee. Malikin bucked, trying to shift his hips, but Damon's pressure was perfect, calm, crushing, suffocating.

"Picture-perfect reversal," the second commentator said. "That's years of drilling right there."

Damon didn't rush. He flattened Malikin with his shoulder, grinding his forearm across the cut above the Russian's eye as he worked his position. Blood smeared beneath it, streaking across Damon's glove.

Malikin's breathing was heavier now.

More labored.

And Damon could feel it.

This was where he thrived.

He faked an attack on the far side, then slipped his arm under Malikin's neck, threatening the setup for a head-arm choke.

Malikin defended, but Damon transitioned again, smooth as silk, sliding to mount for just a split second before Malikin bridged hard.

Damon posted with one arm and let him move, only to trap him again in half guard, dropping a heavy elbow across the ribs as he did.

The crowd roared as Damon stayed on him, heavy, relentless.

Victor's voice cut through the noise from the corner. "There it is! Stay on him!"