MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat

The moment the bell rang, Damon Cross didn’t rush in.

He didn’t even step forward. Instead, he bounced lightly on his feet, circling, his arms low, his posture relaxed, almost mocking.

He didn’t just look like a fighter, he looked like a performer, someone in complete control of the stage.

Leandro "O Gigante" Silva stormed forward, expecting immediate engagement.

But Damon? He slid back effortlessly, dodging a reaching jab with a slight tilt of his head, then a low kick by lifting his leg just in time, making it look like child’s play.

The Irish crowd cheered, sensing the show about to unfold.

"Oh, look at this! Damon Cross is putting on a show early! Hands down, head movement sharp, this is pure confidence!" One of the commentators couldn’t hide his excitement.

"Confidence or straight-up disrespect?" the other countered. "Leandro Silva is a dangerous man, biggest middleweight in the tournament! But look at Damon! He’s moving like he’s in a sparring session!"

Damon continued circling, switching stances fluidly, tapping his chin with his glove as if daring Leandro to try something.

When Leandro feinted a right hand, Damon mimicked the feint back at him, smirking.

The crowd loved it.

Leandro, not one to play games, lunged forward with a looping right hook.

But Damon saw it coming a mile away. Instead of just dodging, he leaned back dramatically, letting the punch whiff past his face by mere inches.

He exaggerated it further, dropping his hands completely and wagging a finger at Silva like Anderson Silva in his prime.

"He’s making Silva chase shadows right now! Look at this movement!"

Leandro’s frustration grew. He came forward again, this time throwing a heavy one-two combination.

Damon casually slipped both shots, then cartwheeled out of range, landing smoothly and striking a relaxed pose, arms out, chin up, like he was on a highlight reel.

The Brazilian fans booed, sensing their fighter being toyed with.

Leandro, now visibly annoyed, stomped forward with a teep kick aimed at Damon’s midsection.

Damon caught it on his forearm, then rolled his shoulders as if it did nothing. He exaggerated his reaction, shaking his head like, ’That’s all you got?’

He then dropped his hands completely and tilted his head sideways, leaving his chin open, baiting Silva.

Leandro fell for it. He threw a wild left hook.

Damon pulled back just enough to let it miss, then countered instantly with a lightning-fast jab that snapped Leandro’s head back!

The crowd exploded.

"Damon Cross is toying with him!"

"I don’t know if this is brilliance or recklessness! He’s showboating in front of a powerhouse!"

Damon stepped forward, bouncing his feet, flicking his lead hand toward Silva’s face without actually throwing anything, just playing with range, testing him.

Then he started moving his hands in circles, rolling his shoulders like a boxer, classic Anderson Silva energy.

Silva was getting irritated now. He stomped forward with aggression, swinging another heavy shot.

Damon ducked under it smoothly, popping up and flicking a question mark kick that barely missed Silva’s head.

"Oh my God! That was close!"

Damon chuckled, pretending to dust off his shoulders.

The referee watched closely, aware of the antics but letting it play out.

Damon then did something even crazier. He turned his back to Silva for a split second, feinting like he was about to walk away, only to suddenly spin back with a no-look jab that landed clean!

The crowd lost it.

"Did he just… what the hell was that?! A no-look jab?! This man is putting on a show!"

"He is completely styling on Leandro Silva right now!"

Silva had had enough. He let out a growl, charging forward with a flurry of wild punches.

Damon? He literally dodged them all without even lifting his hands.

Slip. Lean. Duck. Step back. Angle out.

It was like he was in the Matrix, reading Silva’s every move, every punch missing by the smallest of margins.

The Irish fans were on their feet.

"This isn’t just a fight, this is a show! Damon Cross is showing why he’s one of the most skilled fighters in the tournament!"

Damon finally put his hands up for the first time. He gave Silva a small nod, acknowledging that the fun was over.

Then, in the blink of an eye, he switched from showman to predator.

He took a hard step forward, landing a crushing body kick that echoed through the arena. Silva grunted, stepping back involuntarily.

Damon pressed in, cutting off the cage. A stiff jab snapped Silva’s head again. Then another. And another.

The show was over. Now came the real fight.

Leandro "O Gigante" Silva had a decent defense, a high guard, solid footwork for a man his size, and a willingness to take shots to land his own.

But Damon Cross wasn’t interested in just beating him, he was going to break him.

Fights weren’t just about strength or skill. They were about control, taking away a fighter’s weapons, piece by piece, until they had nothing left to fight with.

Damon stepped forward, pressing Silva back toward the cage, testing his reactions. Leandro kept his guard tight, moving laterally, trying not to get trapped.

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Good. Damon wanted him to move.

The Plan:

1. Attack the Base.

2. Force Hesitation.

3. Manipulate the Guard.

4. Dismantle His Will.

Step 1: Attack the Base

Damon knew that Silva relied on his size to pressure opponents, but that kind of power needed a stable base.

If he took that away, Silva’s punches would slow, his ability to counter would weaken, and his entire defense would start crumbling.

So, he went after the legs.

Damon fired a low calf kick, chopping at Silva’s lead leg. It landed with a crack, making Silva grunt as he tried to adjust.

Damon didn’t let him.

Another calf kick, this time, Silva flinched before it landed, showing that he was already worried about it.

Damon grinned. That was exactly what he wanted.

He mixed it up, inside leg kicks, oblique kicks to the knee, even quick stomps to the foot.

It wasn’t about doing instant damage, it was about making Silva second-guess every step.

"Smart work from Damon Cross here," the commentator noted. "He’s attacking the foundation, when the legs go, the power goes."

Silva tried to fire back with a heavy right hand, but Damon saw it coming.

He slipped just enough to avoid it, then immediately slammed a teep kick into Silva’s gut, forcing him backward again.

Silva’s breathing changed. His stance was already starting to shift, he was trying to protect his lead leg now, which made him predictable.

Step 1: Complete.