MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat

Time moved fast. The fight game never stopped. The sport was always evolving, producing new stars, new champions, and new legacies.

But once in a while, an athlete emerged who wasn’t just great. They weren’t just dominant. They were something beyond that, something rare.

A fighter who didn’t just win but defined an era.

These were the athletes who transcended competition. Who became legends. Who rewrote the very standard of excellence in their sport.

And for them, a title was given.

GOAT.

The Greatest of All Time.

A title not handed out lightly. A title that took years, decades, to solidify. A title that belonged to the select few who stood so far above their peers that their presence alone shifted the course of history.

The world had seen GOATs before. In boxing. In football. In basketball. In every major sport.

MMA had seen its share of GOATs. Fighters who dominated their divisions, stacked title defenses, conquered multiple weight classes, and carved their names into history. The debate was endless, who had the toughest resume, who fought the best competition, who truly defined the sport? Read exclusive content at NovelBin.Côm

There was always a measuring stick, always a statistic, always a number to point at. But no matter how undeniable a fighter’s achievements were, the argument never ended.

Because there could only be one king.

It was an unspoken rule in sports, in combat, in life itself, two tigers cannot live in the same cave. Even if two fighters were equally great, the world would never allow them to share the throne. There was always a push to separate them. Always a need to crown one above the other.

So when fighters aimed for GOAT status, when they staked their claim as the best ever, was it enough?

Was being called the GOAT truly the pinnacle? Or was there a step beyond?

Maybe the real way to cement yourself in history wasn’t just through belts, records, or titles. Maybe it was about erasing all doubt. About removing the debate entirely.

True greatness wasn’t just measured, it was undeniable. The ones who truly ruled were the ones who outclassed everyone. The ones who didn’t just stand with the GOATs but made them look like mortals in comparison.

If GOATs were the peak of combat sports, then there had to be something above them. A level where no argument could be made.

Maybe the real best weren’t GOATs at all.

Maybe they were the shepherds.

And the GOATs?

They were simply the ones being led.

Damon took a deep sip of water, letting the cold liquid wash away the lingering heat from the fight. He barely felt tired. The adrenaline was still coursing through him, and his body had barely taken any damage. Another fight, another dominant win.

Tommy Hughes stood off to the side, silent. There was nothing for him to say. Nothing he could say.

What was he going to do? Critique a flawless performance? Try to lecture the man who had just carried Ireland’s entire reputation on his back? Damon Cross knew his worth. If anything, Tommy was lucky to even be called his coach, to even have his name associated with him.

Victor, walking beside him, was far more relaxed. He had his hands in his pockets, a slight smirk on his face. He knew what this meant.

"Y’know," Victor said, keeping his tone casual, "when you get back to UFA, you might as well be treated like a double champ."

Damon raised an eyebrow, glancing at him.

Victor chuckled. "Because by the time I’m done negotiating, every fight from now on is gonna have that kind of money attached to it."

Damon snorted, shaking his head. It wasn’t surprising. Victor had always been business-minded, always making sure his fighters got paid what they were worth, and right now, Damon’s worth was skyrocketing.

The tournament wasn’t even over yet, and already, his stock was rising to ridiculous levels. He wasn’t just a prospect anymore. He wasn’t just a contender. He was the guy.

And everyone knew it.

Damon didn’t waste any time heading to the locker room for a shower. The post-fight buzz was still lingering in his body, but he needed to cool down. Before he could, though, there was one thing he had to do, see Svetlana.

He found her waiting near the hallway leading to the private rooms, her arms crossed, but the slight curve of her lips showed she was happy. As soon as she spotted him, she pushed off the wall and walked toward him.

"You don’t even look tired," she said, tilting her head slightly. "Was that even a fight?"

Damon smirked. "I was hoping for more of a challenge, but you saw what happened."

She shook her head with a small laugh. "You make it look easy."

They stood there for a moment, away from the noise of the event, just talking. Svetlana asked him how he felt, and Damon shrugged, physically fine, mentally locked in. She reminded him that he still had more fights ahead, and he nodded.

Eventually, he sighed. "I should shower before I start reeking."

She grinned. "Probably a good idea."

Damon smirked and gave her a quick nod before heading off. As much as he wanted to linger, the sweat, blood, and Vaseline were sticking to him like glue. He needed to get freshened up before anything else.

The rest of the night went on without trouble. Damon, still riding the high of his dominant performance, handled his post-match obligations with ease.

First came the post-fight interview. The media swarmed him, eager to get his thoughts on the fight, his game plan, and what was next.

He answered each question with his usual calm, never revealing too much but giving just enough to keep them talking.

He kept it simple. "One fight at a time."

After the media duties, he took some time with the fans. They were waiting outside the arena, some still chanting his name, others shoving shirts, posters, and gloves in his direction.

Damon took his time, signing autographs, taking pictures, and shaking hands. It was something he didn’t mind, he respected the ones who supported him.

And then, finally, he was able to just be with Svetlana. Away from the cameras, away from the noise. The two of them took a picture together, just something simple.

She leaned into him, smiling, while he wrapped an arm around her and held up a fist.