MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat

The bell went off sharply and loudly, resonating through the facility.

In the center of the cage stood Miles and Kofi, two towering figures ready to go to war.

Days had passed since the last elimination fight, and once again, Team Chemasov had chosen the matchup.

Much to everyone's surprise, they hadn't chosen Damon to face Kofi or anyone else. Not yet.

The house had been quieter with fewer fighters, but that only made the atmosphere more uncomfortable.

The trash talking had stopped, and a strange, suffocating tension had taken its place.

Even Brian, who had been a big part of the drama before, had kept his mouth shut.

But it wasn't a peaceful silence, it was the kind that signaled something bigger was coming.

Inside the cage, Kofi stood across from Miles, his massive frame dwarfing his opponent.

Although Miles was a middleweight, he looked more like a welterweight because of the size difference.

Kofi's eyes were locked on his target, his face a mask of calm.

The fighters circled each other cautiously, waiting for the first strike.

Kofi stood across from Miles, his face expressionless.

No smiles, no smirks, just cold, calculating eyes.

Miles, on the other hand, kept moving quickly and lightly, but he couldn't escape the weight of Kofi's presence.

It was like standing in front of a mountain.

Kofi moved first.

No feints, no testing the waters, just a thunderous right hand straight toward Miles' guard.

CRACK!

The sound was like someone smacking a slab of concrete with a sledgehammer.

Miles blocked it, but the force sent him stumbling backward, his eyes wide with shock.

It felt like he'd been hit with a brick, and his arms throbbed from the impact.

Kofi didn't waste time. He stalked forward, stone-faced, like a predator.

His footwork was deceptively fast for a man of his size, and before Miles could properly set his stance again, Kofi was on him.

Miles threw a jab, hoping to create some distance.

Kofi swatted it away like a fly and responded with a swift body kick.

THWAP!

The kick slammed into Miles' ribs, and he grunted, wincing as he tried to circle away. He knew he couldn't take too many more of those.

"Stay light, Miles!" Whittier called from the corner, his voice calm but urgent. "Don't let him trap you!"

Miles listened, bouncing on his toes, trying to stay elusive.

He threw a few more punches, quick jabs, trying to keep Kofi at bay.

But Kofi wasn't buying into it. He kept moving forward, unfazed.

Then it happened. Kofi, with the speed of a much lighter fighter, ducked under one of Miles' punches and shot in for a takedown.

It was quick, brutal, and Miles barely had time to react.

Kofi wrapped his arms around Miles' waist, and in one fluid motion, he lifted him clean off the ground.
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Miles felt his feet leave the canvas, his body suspended in the air.

For a second, everything went quiet in Miles' head. He was helpless, weightless.

And then

BAM!

He was slammed to the ground by Kofi with such force that the cage shook.

It wasn't just a takedown, it was a statement. The crowd gasped at the sheer power of it.

But Kofi wasn't done.

He stood over Miles, who scrambled to his feet as quickly as he could, only to be met with another crushing right hand.

CRACK!

The punch landed clean on Miles' jaw, and his legs wobbled, sending him stumbling into the cage.

Kofi advanced, throwing a barrage of strikes, lefts, rights, body shots, each one landing with precision and force.

"Miles, move! Get out of there!" Whittier yelled, his voice now tense.

Miles tried to circle out, but Kofi was relentless. He cut off the cage, trapping Miles against the fence.

With a quick move, Kofi ducked under again, grabbed Miles by the waist, and hoisted him into the air once more.

This time, he didn't just slam him down. He ran across the cage, holding Miles high, before driving him into the mat again with a brutal THUD!

The crowd was on its feet now, amazed by the display of raw power.

Miles groaned as he hit the canvas, struggling to get back up.

But Kofi was on him, like a shadow that wouldn't leave.

He postured up, landing short, powerful strikes, nothing wild, just controlled, calculated punches that kept Miles pinned and unable to escape.

Whittier was on the edge of the cage now, his hands gripping the fence. "Miles, you gotta move! Don't just sit there!"

Kofi stayed patient, landing clean, heavy shots every few seconds.

He didn't rush.

He didn't need to.

Every punch that landed drained more of Miles' energy, more of his will to fight.

Hank Binn watched closely, hovering nearby, his eyes locked on Miles' attempts to defend.

Kofi, sensing the end, grabbed Miles by the shoulders and dragged him back to the center of the cage, lifting him again like a child, before slamming him down a third time.

The slam knocked whatever fight Miles had left right out of him.

Miles was dazed now, his movements sluggish.

He threw up his arms to block, but it was clear he couldn't take much more.

Kofi postured up once again, landing another heavy shot that rattled Miles' head.

That was the last straw.

Hank Binn rushed in, pulling Kofi off just as he raised his fist for another strike.

"That's it! It's over!" Hank shouted, waving off the fight.

Kofi stood up, still stone-faced, barely winded as he walked back to his corner.

There was no celebration, no emotion, just cold, efficient dominance.

Miles lay on the canvas, breathing heavily, but there was no serious damage.

He was beaten, but Hank had stepped in just in time.

Team Chemasov erupted in cheers, while Team Whittier sat in stunned silence.

Kofi had made his statement loud and clear.

As Kofi left the cage, his eyes locked with Damon's for just a moment.

There was no challenge in Kofi's stare, just a cold indifference, like he didn't even consider Damon a threat.

Damon's jaw clenched.

He knew what this meant.

Kofi then smirked.

His expression changed as he exited the cage, a slow, almost imperceptible smirk forming at the corner of his lips.

The calm, stone-faced demeanor he'd worn during the fight faded, replaced by a silent satisfaction.

He glanced back at Miles, who was still recovering in his corner, then turned his head forward and walked toward Team Chemasov with measured, deliberate steps.

Two challenges in a row...

Four Loses in a row