MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat

[24 June 2027]

The commentators' voices filled the arena as the crowd settled in for the main event.

"And this main event has officially begun! Damon Cross versus Emarn Petrosin," one commentator announced with excitement as the referee stepped between the two fighters, laying down the rules.

"This is a fight we've all been waiting for," the other commentator chimed in. "It's been two months since Damon Cross last stepped into the cage. He accepted this fight on just four weeks' notice. Do you think we'll see any changes in his performance?"

"We'll find out soon enough," the first commentator replied. "If he feels confident enough to accept a fight against a dangerous opponent like Emarn Petrosin, you know he's got something up his sleeve. But make no mistake, this is a tough matchup."

The camera moved to Emarn Petrosin, a skilled kickboxer known for his powerful strikes.

He stood at 6'3", lean and muscular, bouncing lightly on his toes as he locked eyes with Damon.

He looked like he was ready to show off his skills, with a sharp, focused face.

"Unlike his last opponent, Cellan Gustalam, Emarn Petrosin is in incredible shape," one commentator pointed out. "He's well-prepared, and he looks ready to bang it out with the youngster."

The camera turned to look at Damon Cross. He was a little shorter than Emarn at 6'2", but it wasn't obvious. His body was leaner and more defined than before.

As Damon waited for the fight to start, he kept a cool and focused face and a loose stance.

Having spent the last two months in Thailand getting better at what he did, it showed in the way he acted.

Damon stood in a way that was both strange and interesting.

The way he was standing gave the impression that he was calm, but inside he was a fierce fighter.
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His posture revealed traces of Muay Thai, the high guard, and balanced weight distribution, but it was layered with a unique, fluid energy.

His hands floated slightly lower than a traditional stance, his lead hand hovering near chest level, ready to parry or feint, while his rear hand stayed close to his chin, protecting his temple.

His legs, slightly wider apart, allowed for quick adjustments.

It wasn't a textbook stance, not tied to any singular discipline. It was adaptive, versatile.

To the untrained eye, he might even appear too relaxed, almost nonchalant.

Even those who didn't understand would keep a cautious eye.

Across from him, Emarn Petrosin mirrored a stark contrast.

At 6'3" with a reach advantage, his stance was classic kickboxing, upright, balanced, and built for striking.

His lead hand floated high, his rear hand tucked by his chin, protecting his head while remaining ready to launch devastating power shots.

Emarn's stance and every move made it clear that he was dangerous.

And he was.

The referee stepped between them, his voice cutting through the anticipation. "Ready? Ready? FIGHT!"

And with that, the match was underway.

The cage door slammed shut, and the crowd roared as the fight officially began.

Damon moved lightly on his feet, his stance loose but calculated, his eyes locked onto Emarn Petrosin, not on his face, but his body.

This was one of the lessons Kru Wichan had drilled into him, the body tells the story.

The subtle shifts in balance, the twitch of a shoulder, or the positioning of the hips, all were cues to anticipate the attack.

The face was a distraction, the real truth was in the body.

Damon shifted slightly, testing his range as he circled, his breathing calm and steady.

Emarn, as expected from the tapes, didn't waste time. He rushed forward, aggressive and eager to set the tone early.

His lead leg bounced, the muscles coiling before he launched a sharp low kick, aiming for Damon's thigh.

Damon read it instantly.

The slight tilt of Emarn's torso gave it away. He stepped back just enough to avoid the impact, the whoosh of the kick cutting through the air.

The crowd let out a small cheer at the display.

Emarn pressed forward, unfazed. He snapped out a jab, followed by a fast high kick aimed at Damon's temple.

Damon ducked under the kick, his movements fluid, and countered with a quick jab to Emarn's midsection, testing his defense.

The strike landed, light but intentional, and Damon noted how Emarn absorbed it, his core tightening reflexively.

Damon kept moving, never staying in one spot for too long, his focus unwavering.

Emarn's aggression was relentless, but Damon had expected this.

The tapes had shown Emarn's tendency to start fast, throwing high-volume combinations to overwhelm his opponents.

But this wasn't Damon's first storm.

Emarn launched another low kick, then followed it with a swift jab-cross combination.

Damon slipped the punches effortlessly, his eyes glued to Emarn's body. The kick was heavy but lacked the full commitment Damon had seen earlier.

He noticed the slight shift in Emarn's rhythm, a fraction of hesitation as if testing the waters.

"He's looking for an opening," Damon thought, his instincts kicking in.

Damon didn't back away; instead, he moved forward, closing the gap before Emarn could restart.

When he faked a left hook, Emarn raised his guard.

He then quickly pivoted and delivered a leg kick to Emarn's lead thigh.

The shock was loud, a satisfying crack that made people in the crowd react.

Emarn winced, and for a moment he lost his balance. But he quickly got it back.

Damon gave a small grin, and his confidence grew.

He wasn't here to fight without thinking.

He planned to stay three moves ahead.

Again, Emarn pushed forward. His footwork was smooth as he fired another set of blows.

A jab, a body kick, and a spinning back fist.

He dodged, blocked, and parried, and his reflexes were quick.

He could feel the energy in Emarn's strikes, the raw power behind each blow, but there was a predictability to his movements.

Damon's training in Thailand had honed his ability to exploit those patterns. Every feint, every step, every counter, it was deliberate, calculated.

Damon moved fluidly, his eyes locked on Emarn's body, his mind calm but active.

As he weaved to the left, narrowly dodging a sharp straight punch from Emarn, his thoughts returned to the words of Kru Wichan "A fighter who fights like everyone is predictable."

Emarn wasn't like every fighter, not in skill or style. His kickboxing was sharp, his strikes powerful and well-timed.

But predictability didn't come from what a fighter did; it came from how often they did it.

Damon, having dissected countless hours of Emarn's tapes, knew how he thought, how he adjusted, and when he didn't.

He had trained to think like him, to see his openings and his blind spots, to know his tendencies before they showed.

As Emarn's punch missed, Damon pivoted with precision, his body shifting seamlessly into a counter.

A crisp left hook snapped across Emarn's guard, forcing him to step back and reset. The crowd roared, a ripple of excitement coursing through the arena.