MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat

Max charged forward immediately, picking up right where he left off.

He fired a hard body kick, then launched into a four-punch combo that had the crowd roaring.

Ronny slipped two of them but ate a hook on the temple, forcing him to circle off.

Jim Logan couldn't hold back. "Max right back on him! Nonstop pressure!"

Ronny reset, bouncing lightly, his shoulders relaxed.

He waited for Max to storm again, then snapped a jab to the nose, followed by a laser-straight left that landed flush.

Max stumbled but didn't back up, he fired back a right hand that clipped Ronny across the cheek, forcing him to cover.

Damian Kormier's voice cracked. "Ohhh! Ronny landed clean, but Max just bit down and came right back!"

Max dug to the body now, hooks slamming into Ronny's ribs, mixing upstairs and downstairs with relentless pace.

Ronny kept his composure, slipping and countering with sharp uppercuts and kicks to the legs that started to leave red welts.

Nix spoke steadily, almost in awe. "Max is throwing in combinations like a machine, but every time he opens up, Ronny punishes him with precision. That's the chess game right here, volume versus accuracy."

Two minutes into the round, Max pushed Ronny against the cage, unloading a wild barrage.

The crowd roared with every shot, even the ones that bounced off Ronny's guard.

Suddenly, Ronny ducked, pivoted, and cracked Max with a counter left uppercut that sent sweat flying.

Jim shouted, nearly out of his seat. "Big shot from Ronny! That stunned him!"

Max staggered back, legs wobbling for a moment.

Ronny stepped forward, smelling blood, firing another one-two down the pipe.

But Max shook it off, grinned through his mouthguard, and yelled, "Come on!" before charging right back into the pocket, trading bombs with reckless abandon.

The crowd lost its mind as both men stood toe to toe, Max throwing five-punch combinations, Ronny firing sharp three-shot counters in return. Every strike drew gasps and cheers.

Damian was almost laughing. "This is madness! Max just refuses to go away, and Ronny's landing bombs but can't get him out of there!"

The round closed with Max forcing Ronny backward again, swinging wildly as Ronny circled off the cage, picking his shots until the horn finally sounded.

The crowd rose to their feet, the arena deafening.

Jim Logan leaned back, shaking his head. "That was unbelievable. Max just won't stop, and Ronny's landing the cleaner shots, but my god, how much can Max take?"

Nix chimed in. "This fight is everything it promised to be. We've got chaos against calm, and neither man's giving an inch."

Both fighters walked back to their corners, battered and breathing hard, but still standing tall.

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The horn sounded for Round 3, and both fighters rose slowly from their stools.

Their bodies carried the marks of two hard rounds, Ronny's ribs showing red from body shots, Max's cheek swollen and his lip split. The crowd roared as they met in the center again.

Max came forward, but this time he wasn't as wild.

His head moved side to side, weaving under Ronny's jab and slipping the first left cross that came his way.

He landed a jab of his own, then pulled back from a counter, forcing Ronny to reset.

Jim Logan pointed it out immediately. "That's smart from Max. Moving his head now, good adjustment. You don't ever wanna just test your chin over and over."

Max grinned as he slipped another jab, throwing back a short hook to the body. But his pace was different now.

The storm of punches had slowed. His shoulders rose with each breath, his output coming in shorter bursts.

Damian Kormier nodded. "Yeah, the volume's dropping. He's still coming forward, but you can see the exhaustion. That pressure style burns a lot of gas."

Ronny's composure showed early in the round, his stance loose, his shots sharp.

He peppered Max with teeps to the body, leg kicks, and his signature left hand down the pipe.

But as Max kept slipping and making him miss, a flicker of impatience started to show. He began throwing harder, stepping in deeper, looking for the finish.

Nix kept it steady. "This is where Ronny has to stay disciplined. He's winning the cleaner exchanges, but he can't get greedy. Max is dangerous even when he's tired."

Max pushed forward again, bobbing under a hook, then answering with a right to the ribs.

The crowd cheered as he followed with an uppercut, but it landed glancing as Ronny pulled back and fired a counter straight that snapped Max's head back.

Jim's tone rose. "Ronny's accuracy still on point, but look, Max keeps coming. Even tired, even hurt, he won't go away."

Halfway through the round, both men's exhaustion was visible.

Max's punches came in shorter combinations, two and three at most, instead of the endless flurries he threw earlier.

Ronny's timing was still there, but he was pressing harder now, missing wider when Max slipped or ducked.

Damian shook his head in disbelief. "Man, Ronny's usually ice-cold, but you can see it, he's getting impatient. He wants the finish bad."

The crowd roared again as Max landed a short right hand that pushed Ronny back a step.

Ronny snarled, snapping another left across Max's chin, but Max answered with a hook to the body, forcing another wild exchange in the center of the cage.

Both men were bleeding, both breathing heavy, and the arena was on fire as the final round pushed into the last two minutes.

From the back, Damon sat with his arms folded, eyes locked on the monitor.

He expected this.

Both fighters were stubborn, both were skilled, and both carried striking styles that clashed in the best way.

Max brought chaos, endless forward pressure, the kind of energy that smothered opponents and forced them into mistakes.

Ronny was the opposite, calm, precise, built on timing and patience.

It was exactly how Damon thought it would play out.

Each man was showing the best of themselves. Max's relentlessness kept Ronny from settling into his rhythm, but Ronny's composure and sharp counters punished Max every time he left an opening. Different styles, different weapons, but equal in heart.

On the screen, Max threw another heavy combination, only to eat a stiff left down the pipe.

The crowd roared, the commentators shouted, and Damon allowed himself a faint smile.

Both of his fighters were putting on a show, and no matter who won, it would reflect back on him.