MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat

The energy in the arena was unlike anything before. The English crowd was loud, throwing every insult they could at Damon Cross, trying to drown him in noise, shake his confidence.

But Damon stood across from Darion Elwards, completely unfazed.

This wasn't new. This wasn't pressure. This was just another fight.

The referee looked at both fighters.

"You ready? You ready?"

Bell rings.

Darion Elwards exploded out of his corner. He didn't hesitate. He wasn't going to let Damon dictate the pace.

And he wasn't going to waste time.

With the full force of the crowd behind him, Elwards launched into the air, going for a flying knee straight out of a highlight reel.

It was fast.

It was dangerous.

It was stupid.

Because Damon saw it coming.

Before the knee could even reach him, BOOM!

Damon met him in mid-air with a brutal, surgical right hook.

It was timed to perfection.

Elwards' body shut down instantly, his momentum working against him as he collapsed, twisting violently to the canvas.

Out cold.

Not even a single follow-up shot was needed.

The crowd froze.

The referee barely had time to react before he sprinted in, waving off the fight, checking on Elwards, who lay motionless, his limbs stiff from the brutal counter.

The arena? Silent.

The commentators lost their minds.

"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT!?"

"OH MY GOD! HE CAUGHT HIM OUT OF THE AIR!"

"WE JUST WITNESSED A FINISH UNLIKE ANYTHING BEFORE!"

"This is unreal! Damon Cross intercepted a flying knee with a single punch! That's insane!"

The entire sequence? Four seconds.

A new record.

For the first time that night, the Irish fans roared in celebration.

A deafening eruption of pure shock and pride.

But just as quickly, the English crowd swarmed their cheers with an avalanche of boos. It was deafening, an entire arena of enraged, stunned fans who had just watched their guy get obliterated in seconds.

Damon didn't give a single damn.

He let the boos rain down, but instead of ignoring them, he embraced them.

A smirk tugged at his lips as he threw his arms out wide, pacing around the cage, nodding his head, daring them to keep going.

Louder.

Go on then!

He leaned against the cage, one arm draped lazily over the top, as if he was completely unbothered. He tapped his wrist as if checking a watch, mocking them.

"That's it? That's all he had?"

He pointed at the spot where Elwards was still lying, the medics rushing to check on him. Then he shrugged.

Like it was nothing.

Then, with pure disrespect, he dusted off his hands, shaking his head as if he had just completed the easiest task of his life.

The crowd? Livid.

Booing louder, cursing, screaming.

Damon? Loving every second of it.

He climbed the cage, perching himself on top like a king looking down on his kingdom, arms still spread, basking in their fury.

"I run this shit now."

The moment Damon climbed the cage, the officials rushed in, grabbing at his legs, dragging him down before things got even worse.

He didn't resist.

But he wasn't done.

Not even close.

As soon as his feet hit the canvas, a bottle flew from the crowd, hurtling straight at him.

Damon barely moved.

A small tilt of his head, and the bottle whizzed past, harmlessly crashing against the cage wall.

Instead of reacting with anger, Damon laughed.

Not a chuckle.

Not a smirk.

A full, deep, uncontrollable laugh.

The kind that made it seem like he was having the time of his life, standing in the middle of an enemy army, completely untouched.

That only made the English crowd more furious.

The booing intensified, more insults hurled at him, security moving closer to the barricades. Experience more on My Virtual Library Empire

Damon dropped back into the cage, letting the officials pull him away, but he was still grinning, still shaking his head as if none of this bothered him at all.

The commentary team was losing it.

"This is pure madness! Damon Cross just walked into enemy territory and made sure they hated him on the way out!"

"I don't even think he cares! Look at him! He's laughing in their faces!"

Security flooded the cage as the officials tried to get things under control.

But there was no controlling this moment.

Damon had stolen the show, and everyone knew it.

With the deafening roar of the crowd, a mix of outrage, insults, and the occasional thrown object, it was clear, announcing the result inside the cage would be idiotic.

So they didn't.

The officials didn't even try.

There was no way Damon's hand was getting raised in front of this English crowd without things escalating further.

Victor shook his head, standing just outside the cage, arms crossed, eyes locked on Damon.

He knew Damon was a wild card.

He let Damon be Damon.

But this?

This wasn't smart.

There would be consequences.

One of the officials rushed over, speaking directly to Victor, his expression serious.

"We can't do the announcement. We need to get him out of here. You, the team, everyone's being escorted to the back for safety."

Victor exhaled, rubbing his temple.

Of course.

Damon hadn't just won.

He had humiliated them.

Now, the officials were scrambling to stop this from turning into something bigger.

Victor looked at Damon, who was still smirking, still soaking in the chaos like it was fuel for him.

With a sigh, Victor gestured for him to come down.

"Let's go, kid. Time to leave while we still can."

Damon grinned, but he followed, letting the officials guide him toward the exit.

The moment they stepped out of the cage, the boos only grew louder.

Bottles. Cups. Even a flag was thrown their way.

But it didn't matter.

Damon had already won.

The moment they stepped into the back, the energy shifted. The deafening roar of the crowd was still vibrating through the walls, their outrage refusing to settle. Even here, behind the scenes, they could feel the weight of it.