MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat

After Announcement

When Damon and Cellan faced under the bright lights, you could feel their tension in the cage.

Damon couldn't take his eyes off of Cellan, who stood across from him with a sense of self-assurance that was almost arrogant.

Cellan's size was immediately noticeable. The weight difference was undeniable; he was clearly a natural light heavyweight after rehydrating, his physique filling out with muscle and power.

His broad shoulders and thick arms looked more suited for the division above.

When Damon and Cellan faced under the bright lights, you could feel their tension in the cage.

Damon couldn't take his eyes off of Cellan, who stood across from him with a sense of self-assurance that was almost arrogant.

Despite the weight size disparity, Damon kept his composure. His lean, athletic frame was built for agility and precision, and he knew how to use every inch of his 6'2" height and 185 pounds body.

Where Cellan was stocky and powerful, Damon was rangy and explosive, his movements economical and sharp.

While the crowd was talking, the referee stepped in between them. "Alright, gentlemen, you've both been given the rules. Protect yourself at all times, follow my instructions, and fight clean. Touch gloves if you wish, and let's have a good fight."

When Damon put out his hand, his face was calm but hard to read.

Cellan thought about touching gloves for a moment, and then he did it with a small smirk on his face that seemed to say, "You don't know what you're in for."

The two fighters backed away, each settling into their stances. Damon's hands were high, his posture relaxed yet coiled like a spring.

Cellan bounced lightly, but his huge size gave him an intimidating presence. His eyes showed a hint of doubt, though.

From the commentary booth, the analysts picked up on the energy in the cage.

"Look at the size of Cellan Gustalam," one commentator said. "He's fully rehydrated, and honestly, he looks like a natural light heavyweight in there. Damon Cross is going to have his hands full tonight."

The referee signaled for the fight to begin, his voice booming across the cage.

"Let's fight!"

Damon kept his stance light, bouncing on his toes, his eyes locked on Cellan Gustalam.

Across from him, Cellan looked monstrous.

He had rehydrated well, and every inch of him screamed power. Damon couldn't deny it, this was going to be a war.

Cellan moved forward immediately, his guard high and his steps measured. Damon circled, keeping his distance.

He wasn't going to rush into Cellan's range.

The crowd's energy was alive, even in this smaller venue, but Damon tuned it out. All he saw was his opponent.

Cellan threw a jab, testing the distance. Damon parried it easily, countering with a low leg kick that smacked against Cellan's lead leg.

It wasn't a big shot; it was just a warning. Cellan didn't even move. He pushed forward and closed the gap between them with quick, sure steps.

Damon threw another kick, aiming higher this time, but Cellan blocked it, stepping in with a quick left hook.

Damon ducked under it, but the sheer force of the punch created a gust of wind he could feel on his skin. Cellan wasn't just powerful; he was fast.

Damon jabbed, quick and sharp, trying to create space, but Cellan was not stopping.

He closed the distance again, throwing a one-two combo.

The first punch missed, but the second, a straight right, clipped Damon's guard, sending a small jolt through his arm. Damon pivoted away, resetting in the center of the cage.

Cellan growled, "Come on, kid." His voice was low but clear. Damon smiled but didn't say anything. He faked a kick instead, which caught Cellan's attention, and then he hit him in the face with a quick jab.

Cellan's head snapped back a little as it hit the ground. The crowd let out a mix of gasps and cheers.

Cellan grinned, wiping his nose with the back of his glove. "Alright. You've got some bite."

He surged forward, throwing a series of heavy punches.

Damon ducked, weaved, and backpedaled, his head movement keeping him just out of range, but the pressure was mounting.

Cellan wasn't giving him a chance to breathe. Damon tried another low kick, but Cellan caught it, lifting Damon's leg high and pushing him off balance.

Damon stumbled but recovered quickly, raising his guard just in time to block a thunderous overhand left.

The force drove him a step back, his feet sliding slightly on the canvas. He gritted his teeth. This wasn't just a fight; this was a storm.

Cellan changed levels suddenly, shooting for a takedown. Damon reacted instantly, sprawling hard and using his long frame to keep Cellan from wrapping his legs.

The crowd roared as the two fighters wrestled for position. Cellan's strength was apparent, but Damon's technique and leverage gave him the edge.

He managed to break free, pushing Cellan off and resetting again in the center.

Damon's breathing was steady, but he could feel the pace picking up.

Cellan's footwork was deceptively quick, cutting angles and forcing Damon toward the cage.

As Cellan stepped in, Damon quickly threw a jab, a cross, and a knee to the body.

When the knee hit the ground cleanly, Cellan grunted. He then hit back with a vicious left hook that bearly grazed Damon in the head.

When it hit, Damon saw a short flash of light. He stumbled a little, but his feet were stable, and his guard was back up. He couldn't show Cellan any signs of weakness.

"Nice shot," Damon muttered under his breath, his vision clearing.

Cellan smirked, stepping in again, his left hand cocked. Damon recognized the setup immediately.

He sidestepped just as Cellan threw the hook, countering with a spinning elbow that grazed Cellan's forehead.

It wasn't clean, but it made Cellan back off, giving Damon some breathing room.

The clock ticked down, and both fighters began to push harder.

Damon kept his range, peppering Cellan with leg kicks and jabs.

Cellan responded with heavy shots, his power showed in every swing.

Damon's height and reach were keeping him in the fight, but Cellan's relentless pressure was undeniable.

With ten seconds left, Cellan lunged forward, throwing a wild overhand right.

Damon ducked, slipping under the punch and countering with a sharp uppercut to Cellan's ribs.

The crowd erupted as the round ended, both fighters standing tall.

Damon wiped his sweaty forehead as he walked back to his spot. His mind was relaxed, but his heart was beating fast.

"Good start," Victor said, handing him water. "You're doing fine. Keep the distance, stay sharp, and wait for the openings."