MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat

Felipe tried to buck his hips, desperately trying to twist out from under Brian's weight, but it was no use.

The blows kept coming, harder and faster.

Brian's face was twisted in determination, his teeth gritted as he threw elbow after elbow.

Blood poured down into Felipe's eyes, blinding him as he tried to cover up.

The fighters in Team Whittier stood from their seats, their faces tense, as they watched their teammate get overwhelmed.

Damon leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he saw Brian's raw aggression take over.

Felipe's arms were growing weaker, barely able to block the onslaught.

His legs flailed beneath Brian's weight, but his body was betraying him.

He was stuck.

Another elbow cracked against his cheek, and his arms went limp.

Brian postured up, sitting tall on Felipe's chest, his breath heavy, sweat dripping down his face.

His eyes were cold as he looked down at his opponent.

With one last burst of energy, he grabbed Felipe by the throat and pinned him to the mat.

"Get ready to smesh!" Balim Chemasov roared from the corner.

Brian hit Felipe with a number of hammerfists, each one stronger than the last.

His knuckles smashed into Felipe's already swollen face, blood splattering with every strike.

Felipe's head snapped to the side, his body barely responding as the punishment continued.

Whittier jumped to his feet, his eyes wide with alarm. "Ref! Stop the fight!" he shouted, banging the cage with his hands. "He's done! Stop it now!"

But Hank Binn hesitated, watching closely, waiting for a complete lack of defense.

Felipe's hands twitched weakly, barely covering his face. His legs jerked, but there was no escape.

Brian growled through clenched teeth, his breath ragged as he lifted Felipe's head off the mat and slammed it down with force.

The crowd cringed as the brutal move landed, the sound of skull meeting canvas echoing through the gym.

Whittier was nearly in the cage now, his voice frantic. "For fuck's sake, Hank! Stop the damn fight!"

Finally, Hank Binn stepped in, grabbing Brian and pulling him off Felipe's limp body. "That's it! It's over!" Hank shouted, waving his hands as the crowd erupted.
Your next read awaits at m v|l-e'm,p| y r

Brian stood, his chest heaving, sweat dripping down his face as he glared down at the motionless Felipe.

The medics rushed into the cage, surrounding Felipe as they checked his injuries.

Whittier stood near the edge of the cage, his face pale with frustration.

He knew Felipe had been out of the fight long before Hank called it, but Brian had sent a brutal message.

Brian came out to his team, his eyes still red from how intense the fight had been.

As he made his way past Damon, their eyes locked, and for a brief moment, it felt like time froze.

Neither of them blinked, each refusing to back down in that silent exchange.

In that long moment, Damon saw it, the challenge, the threat. Brian didn't need to say anything.

The message was clear: what he had done to Felipe, he fully intended to do to Damon.

It was a promise of violence, and Brian's cold stare said it all.

But Damon didn't flinch.

He stood there and watched Brian walk by. His mind was already working fast.

He knew what Brian was trying to communicate, but Damon didn't buy it.

There was no fear, no hesitation in his thoughts.

If it came down to facing Brian, Damon was certain of one thing, he would destroy him.

Damon scoffed quietly to himself, barely a whisper, "As if."

He turned away, brushing off the stare-down like it was nothing.

As Damon moved toward the ring, he watched Felipe slowly get to his feet.

The medics were still checking him over, but it was clear that Felipe wasn't in any condition to think, let alone speak.

His face was swollen, his movements sluggish, and the look in his eyes said everything, they had lost again.

No one from Team Whittier said a word. There was no need.

The previous loss was still hanging like a sword over their heads.

And now, with another defeat under their belts, they all knew what it meant, Team Chemasov would get to pick the matchups again.

Damon clenched his fists, feeling the pressure build.

He closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a sharp breath. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath, his frustration boiling over.

He hated this feeling of powerlessness, the way things seemed to be slipping from their control.

Wanting to get some clarity, Damon walked toward Whittier, who was already deep in conversation with Hank Binn, the referee.

Whittier talked with Hank. He had a serious look on his face and a low, tense voice as he talked about how badly the fight ended.

Damon walked up and spoke up, his jaw tight as he did so. He asked, "Coach, what's the plan now?" His voice was steady, but there was displeasure in it.

Whittier turned, acknowledging Damon with a nod. "We need to regroup. We're not out of this yet. But I won't lie to you, Damon. They're going to pick the next matchups, and we need to be ready for anything."

He glanced at the ring where Felipe was still being helped out. "We can't afford another slip-up like that."

Damon nodded, and he could feel his concentration picking up. "Whoever they pick next, I'm ready."

Whittier looked at him, sensing the intensity in Damon's eyes. "Good. Because we're going to need you all sharp for what's coming."

After the fight, the teams gathered separately in their respective locker rooms to discuss their future plans.

In Team Chemasov's locker room, the mood was celebratory but controlled.

There were a few claps on the back and nods of approval from Balim Chemasov, but nothing over the top.

Despite the victory, they knew this wasn't the time to get complacent.

Brian sat with a towel draped over his shoulders, still catching his breath, while Kofi leaned against the wall, his arms crossed and a faint grin on his face.

Balim, always the calm and collected leader, clapped his hands to get everyone's attention. "Good job, Brian," he said, his thick accent adding weight to his words. "You did what you had to do, but now we plan for the next fight. No more games."

The room quieted down, everyone listening intently.

They knew this wasn't the time to bask in their win for too long.

Balim wasn't going to let them get comfortable.

Before speaking again, he looked around the room and stood still for a moment to look at each fighter. "We pick the next matchup. And next, we smesh them again."

Balim spoke, and the room paid close attention to his steady, deliberate speech.

"And the next target is..."