MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat - Chapter 603

Chapter 603: Chapter 603: The First and the Last
The commentator took the mic back, grinning wide as Damon handed it over and stepped back, still chuckling. The crowd roared again, riding high on his energy.

“Alright,” the commentator said, shaking his head, “you always know how to put on a show, Damon. That performance was dominant, smooth, surgical—honestly, one of your best. What was going through your head during that third round when you started breaking him down?”

Damon adjusted the belt on his shoulder, eyes gleaming.

“I was just having fun,” he said plainly. “That’s it. I felt the rhythm, saw his tells, and I knew I had him . I picked my shots, and when it was time to go—it was over.”

The crowd responded with more applause. The commentator nodded, clearly impressed.

“You’ve now done what no one else has. Two-time World Tournament champion. Still undefeated. Still UFA middleweight king. Are you chasing something specific now? Or are you just proving a point?”

Damon smiled, a little sharper this time.

“I’m just reminding people who they’re dealing with. There’s levels to this—and I built mine on every continent, in every gym, against every style. So yeah, I’m proving a point. I don’t care if you wrestle, strike, clinch, scramble—I’m the final problem you can’t solve.”

The arena echoed with cheers, some fans already chanting his name again.

The commentator lowered the mic slightly, then leaned in with the big question.

“Last one, champ. You’ve won it twice now. This tournament’s only been around for two years—and you own both of them. So, let’s ask the big one… are we going to see you here again in two years? Or was this the final curtain?”

Damon didn’t even hesitate.

He raised the belt higher, let the weight of it shine under the lights, then looked dead into the camera.

“I’m a double champion—UFA and here. I’m gonna defend until no one wants me to defend. I’ll make sure I’m the last soul to touch this championship. The first… and the last.”

The crowd exploded.

Flags waved, chants reignited, and the commentator laughed into the mic as he raised it one last time.

“Damon Cross, everybody—still undefeated, still unmatched, still the reigning king of the cage!”

Damon raised both arms, soaking in the moment. For now, the world belonged to him.

The camera followed Damon as he stepped out of the cage, belt draped over his shoulder, his team close behind.

Fans reached over the rails, trying to touch him, snap a photo, just catch a glimpse before he disappeared backstage.

The energy followed him, but the lens eventually turned—back to the center of the cage.

Joren Edlen stood beside the commentator now, towel around his shoulders, sweat still streaking down the side of his face.

His chest rose and fell steadily, but the way he looked down before facing the mic said everything—he wasn’t broken, but he felt it.

The commentator gave a respectful nod.

“Joren… you fought your heart out tonight. You made it to the final. You gave it everything. What’s going through your mind right now?”

Joren swallowed once and took the mic, voice lower than usual but steady.

“I’m disappointed, obviously. I trained for this. I believed I could win this… but tonight, he was better.”

He looked around the arena briefly, then focused again.

“He found his rhythm. I tried to adjust, tried to press, but he kept slipping the gears on me. That’s what champions do.”

The crowd gave a respectful applause. A chant of “JOR-EN! JOR-EN!” broke out in the background.

The commentator let the moment pass before asking the next.

“You’ve never lost before tonight. You’ve dominated in Dellator. How do you come back from this?”

Joren nodded slowly.

“I learn. I get better. You don’t quit because you lost. You go back. You figure out the why. You fix it. And then you come back.”

The commentator leaned in for one final question.

“Will we see you again in this tournament? Or was this your shot?”

Joren looked into the camera for the first time.

“I’ll be back.”

The crowd roared. Joren nodded once more, handed back the mic, and stepped away with his team.

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.

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It was unfortunate for him. He had fought all the way to the final, and he had even won the final, at least, the one he was supposed to.

But a titan just didn’t want to let go. He had to face the returning champion of the last tournament, and that turned the final into something more.

Joren had trained, fought, and bled through this tournament, only to fall at the last step. It was truly unfortunate.

Even more than that—it was discouraging.

But that was the sport. If not everything.

MMA didn’t hand out rewards for second place.

There were no participation trophies for training hard or almost getting there.

You were either the one standing or the one watching. No middle ground.

It was a brutal stage, a brutal life, and today, while Joren was still the reigning Dellator middleweight champion, his efforts for this tournament, this stage, this war, had dissipated the moment his hand didn’t get raised.

Because today, Joren faced a monster.

He faced someone who didn’t feel pity. Someone who expected to win before the match was even made.

Someone who didn’t need hype or talk—just a cage and a reason.

He faced a destroyer.

A killer in the cage.

A beast.

A king—if not an emperor.

Damon Cross wasn’t fighting to become the best in a division, or even the sport. His goal was to surpass history itself.

To climb so high that, when he was gone, not one could compare. That the next generation would be forced to live beneath his shadow.

Tyranny. That’s what it was.

He wasn’t just a fighter.

He was a monster.

A titan.

A tyrant.

A Ronin.

Whatever name you gave him, Damon represented that fully.

He was the monster to beat in the cage. The one you didn’t just plan for, but hoped you survived.

And in nights like this, you couldn’t help but wonder, when would the monster slayer finally arrive?

If one even existed at all.