MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat - Chapter 526

Chapter 526: Chapter 526: Control and Pressure

Damon smirked as he hovered over Desayen. To anyone watching, it looked like bullying.

Calculated, technical bullying.

Desayen was down, and Damon followed immediately, not giving him even a second to breathe. He pressed him against the cage, using his forearm to post on the neck while his lower body controlled Desayen’s hips.

Desayen tried to scramble, his instincts sharp even through the haze, but the angle was awkward. One leg was pinned underneath, the other pressed to the base of the cage, offering no real drive. His elbows were tucked in, trying to create frames, but Damon wasn’t giving him space.

The position was entirely Damon’s. It wasn’t just about the takedown, it was about what followed.

He didn’t stall. He didn’t rest. That would give the referee a reason to stand them up.

Instead, he kept busy, short, sharp knees to the body. Nothing wild. But each one landed heavy, sinking into Desayen’s ribs.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Each knee landed like a slow drum, targeting the body. The kind of damage that didn’t look dramatic right away, but would add up. Especially in the later rounds.

Desayen tried to pull Damon’s posture down. He tried to shrimp, to turn into him, but every shift was met with resistance. Damon would lean his weight in, cross-face him briefly, and go back to the ribs.

Another knee.

Another.

Rich Alvarez: “This isn’t just control, this is damage. Damon knows exactly what he’s doing.”

Jon Goodman: “He’s targeting the gas tank. You throw those knees again and again, and even the best strikers slow down.”

Marvin Duke: “That’s championship-level ground work. No rush, no panic, just pain. Constant, calculated pain.”

Desayen’s breathing was now clearly heavier. He’d spent energy trying to get up, and now he was paying for it.

Damon adjusted his grip, sliding one arm under the armpit and trapping it, limiting Desayen’s defensive motion even more.

Another knee landed. Then another. No wind-up. Just precision.

The crowd wasn’t roaring, but every fighter watching understood exactly what they were witnessing.

This was how wars were won. Not just with knockouts. But with control. With pressure. With quiet, punishing violence.

But many MMA fans never agreed with this part of the game.

They called it boring. They booed from the stands. They posted online, calling it hugging or stalling, complaining that there weren’t enough punches flying.

They forgot, or ignored, that this was mixed martial arts. Striking and grappling. Not just a brawl.

They overlooked the discipline, the timing, the positioning it took to hold another trained fighter down. To stay a step ahead while that person used every ounce of their strength and technique to escape.

It looked easy from the outside. But it wasn’t easy to hold down a grown man.

And not just any grown man.

A man who was highly skilled. Who had trained for years. Who had been in wars. Who had won championships.

That’s what Desayen was. And right now, Damon was controlling him with precision and composure.

This was why grapplers, when elite, always held dominance. Why wrestlers and judokas could come into the sport and dictate where the fight went. And if they had sharp striking to go with it?

They were nearly unbeatable.

Those who couldn’t grapple, who couldn’t fight back from the ground or defend a takedown, were often left overwhelmed.

And Desayen? He wasn’t helpless. But this wasn’t his world right now.

It was Damon’s.

He might have had grappling defense.

He might have spent hours drilling escapes, watching tape, and preparing for every scenario a high-level wrestler could bring.

But Damon was just better.

There was no middle ground.

Desayen was surviving, but only just.

Against the cage, Damon shifted his weight, dropping his hips slightly and adjusting his grip to prevent any meaningful movement. His pressure was steady, patient, almost methodical. He wasn’t in a rush, but the moment Desayen made a mistake, Damon reacted.

A knee slipped through the side, catching Desayen in the ribs.

Then another.

Damon lowered his head to Desayen’s shoulder, controlling posture, and suddenly adjusted, pulling Desayen’s left arm away from his base and dragging him flat again.

Now there was space.

Damon transitioned to side control.

The crowd reacted, half in awe, half unsure what was happening.

From side control, Damon kept heavy pressure on Desayen’s hips and upper body, keeping him from turning in or creating distance.

Then came the first attempt.

Damon slid his right knee across the belly, isolating Desayen’s far arm.

He stepped over.

It looked like a mounted crucifix, but Desayen tucked his elbow just in time, rolling slightly to defend it.

Damon flowed immediately, reaching under Desayen’s neck and fishing for a d’arce choke. He latched on, sat through, and tightened.

Commentary lit up.

Jon Goodman: “Damon’s attacking now, he’s going for the d’arce!”

Rich Alvarez: “It’s deep! Desayen’s in trouble here, he needs to turn into it or he’s done!”

But Desayen kept calm.

He turned his body just enough to relieve the pressure, forcing Damon to adjust.

Rather than waste energy, Damon bailed on the choke and reset into a dominant top half position.

Marvin Duke: “That’s the difference with Damon, he doesn’t cling to things. He flows, resets, attacks again. That’s top-level grappling IQ.”

Back on top, Damon slid his knee across once more, but Desayen tried to frame and shrimp out.

Damon beat him to it, moving ahead of the escape and taking the back.

Hooks in. Chest to back.

Desayen reached for the hands, peeling them off as Damon slowly snuck one arm under the chin.

The choke wasn’t there, so Damon faked the rear-naked.

Desayen bit on it.

And Damon transitioned again, body triangle locked, one arm under the neck, the other ready to adjust.

But Desayen fought it. Turning his chin down. Grabbing at the wrist. Surviving.

Still, the control was suffocating. Damon wasn’t giving an inch.

And with each minute that ticked by, Desayen was spending more and more of his gas tank just trying to breathe.

And more and more, it looked like that was Damon’s goal.

He wasn’t just going for the submission.

He was forcing Desayen to work, defend, twist, bridge, peel off grips, roll with every threat.

He’d go for a kimura, and just when Desayen adjusted, he’d switch to a triangle setup. The transitions weren’t lazy either, they were fast, technical, and clean. But Damon never fully committed to locking any of them in.

Every time Desayen thought he had room to breathe, Damon shifted again. Elbows from guard. Wrist control. A short punch to the ribs. A sudden trap attempt on the arm.

It became clear to anyone paying attention.

He wanted Desayen to keep working. Keep fighting. Keep spending that gas tank.

And it was working.

Desayen was defending, yes. But his movements were slowing. His hands a little less tight on the breaks. His posture more reactive than proactive.

Rich Alvarez on commentary picked up on it quickly.

“He’s not chasing the finish, he’s chasing exhaustion. Every one of those attempts makes Desayen move. Makes him flex. Makes him panic, even if for a second.”

Marvin Duke added, “And panic burns more energy than anything else in a fight.”

Jon Goodman nodded. “This is classic control. Grappling at the highest level. You’re watching Damon Cross systematically wear down one of the most skilled strikers the sport’s seen.”

Damon threw in another armbar attempt, not fully locked, just tight enough to make Desayen react again.

Desayen had to posture up to escape. He did, but his elbow flared slightly on the way out, giving Damon just enough space to land a hard upkick to the shoulder before reestablishing guard.

Desayen didn’t look panicked.

But he looked tired.

And that’s what Damon wanted.

The crowd grew restless, as fans who didn’t understand the depth of the ground game started murmuring. Some even booed faintly.

But Damon didn’t care.

This wasn’t about putting on a show right now.

This was about the long game.

The second Desayen made a big mistake… Damon would end it.

But until then, he was going to drain him dry.

And then, the horn rang.

End of round.

Damon let go immediately, rolled away, and stood with ease.

Desayen sat up slower this time. Not broken. But heavy.

His chest rising faster now.

Damon didn’t even glance at him.

He just walked back to his corner, like it was all going exactly to plan.