MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat - Chapter 650

Chapter 650: Chapter 650: Spreading wings
The room was dark, the air thick with the scent of dust and rusted iron.

A single bulb swung from the ceiling, throwing long shadows across the cracked concrete floor.

The walls were lined with steel pipes and flickering neon signs, their glow casting an eerie red hue over the scene.

A man stood at the center of the room, his coat hanging heavy over broad shoulders.

His name was Kade, and he was every bit as dangerous as the rumors said.

He paced slowly, his boots scraping against the floor, the dull clink of metal echoing with each step.

In the doorway, another figure emerged, Talon. Lean and coiled, his presence was like a blade. His eyes never left Kade, every breath measured and calm.

“Thought you’d never show,” Kade said, his voice low and almost amused.

Talon stepped forward, his boots silent, his hands loose at his sides. “I don’t like to waste time.”

Kade smirked. “Good. Neither do I.”

For a moment, there was silence, just the hum of the neon, the faint buzz of electricity in the air. Then they moved.

Kade lunged first, his fist cutting through the air in a brutal arc.

Talon ducked under it, pivoting on his heel and slamming his elbow into Kade’s ribs. Kade grunted, twisting with the impact, but didn’t back away.

He grabbed Talon’s arm, pulling him in close and driving a knee up toward his stomach.

Talon twisted, slipping to the side just in time. He fired a sharp hook to Kade’s jaw, the crack echoing in the narrow space.

Kade stumbled back a step, but his eyes only grew sharper.

They closed in again, no wasted motion, no hesitation. Talon snapped a low kick at Kade’s leg, the thud of shin against muscle sharp in the confined space.

Kade gritted his teeth, grabbing Talon’s shoulder and driving him back against the wall.

Talon didn’t flinch. He planted his foot and pushed off the wall, launching a headbutt that cracked Kade’s brow. Kade blinked, blood running from the cut, but he smiled through it.

“Not bad,” he growled, his fists tightening.

They circled, breath ragged, eyes locked. Kade swung wide with a looping right, but Talon slipped inside, his own fists a blur as he worked the body, short hooks, every one landing with brutal precision.

Kade snarled, grabbing Talon’s head and slamming it down toward his knee. Talon twisted, the blow glancing off his shoulder.

He used the opening, driving his fist up under Kade’s chin, snapping the bigger man’s head back.

They separated for a heartbeat, sweat and blood dripping from their faces. Then they charged again, colliding in the center of the room like two animals locked in a dance of violence.

Talon feinted high, then slipped low, sweeping Kade’s leg and sending him crashing to the ground.

Kade rolled, coming up in a crouch, his breath ragged. Talon didn’t give him the chance to reset.

He stepped in, fists up, and let his hands go, left, right, left, each punch landing clean.

Kade tried to clinch, but Talon twisted, slipping around and hammering a hook to the ribs that made Kade gasp.

He finished with a spinning elbow that cracked against Kade’s cheek, sending him sprawling across the floor.

Kade lay still for a moment, breathing hard. Talon stood over him, his own breath coming in harsh gasps, his fists still clenched, ready for more.

Then the room went quiet. A voice from the shadows called out.

“CUT!”

The lights snapped on, and the tension vanished, leaving only the echo of the fight in the dusty air.

Damon, still catching his breath, let his hands drop as the director called out to him. “Amazing job there, Damon,” the man said with a wide smile. “I think that’s enough scenes for today.”

Damon gave a small nod, his chest still heaving from the fight choreography. He turned and sat down on the old sofa that had been pushed against the wall, sinking back into the cushions with a deep sigh.

Shack Morris joined him, moving with that easy confidence that never seemed to waver.

He dropped onto the sofa beside Damon, his elbows resting on his knees as he gave Damon a small grin. “Not bad for a fighter, huh?” Shack said, his voice warm and amused.

Damon laughed softly, wiping sweat from his brow. “It’s harder than it looks,” he admitted. “Acting, all the timing and remembering the lines… it’s not the same as a fight.”

Shack’s grin widened a little. “No, it’s not. But you made it look good, kid.”

Four months. That’s how long it had taken to get through it all, the takes, the stunts, the endless days of repeating scenes until everything was just right.

Damon had to admit, it had been interesting. A new kind of challenge, a new way to test himself. But he missed the fight.

Missed the sweat and the roar of the crowd, the feeling of a real punch landing.

As he sat there, letting the adrenaline drain from his muscles, he knew he’d have to be back for the premiere or something.

Another round of cameras, lights, and crowds. But his mind was already back in the cage, already thinking about the next time he’d be able to let his fists do the talking.

But this project had done something Damon hadn’t expected, it made him more curious, more willing to look beyond the cage.

He’d never really thought about doing more than fighting. MMA was everything, the world that shaped him.

But after four months on set, feeling the different kind of rush and challenge, Damon realized he liked it. He liked testing himself in new ways.

Even if it was fighting scenes for a camera, or just standing there under the lights delivering lines, he found something satisfying in it.

It made him think about what else he could do outside of MMA. He didn’t know exactly what, maybe another film, maybe something totally different.

But he knew one thing for sure, he wanted to spread himself out more. To find that balance of serious competition and just having fun with life.