MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat

The fight began with an immediate clash.

Demaien took the center fast, stepping in with a stiff jab that was too predictable.

Niklas saw it coming a mile away, slipping just enough to the outside and returning a sharp counter-right to Demaien's temple.

It wasn't clean, but it was enough to rattle him.

Demaien stumbled slightly but recovered, throwing another jab, this time even sloppier. His footwork was off, his stance too upright, making his movements telegraphed.

Niklas didn't fully capitalize, but he didn't have to. He kept his distance, bouncing lightly, testing with feints while Demaien's hands twitched awkwardly in a way that showed he wasn't comfortable on the feet.

Niklas flicked out a leg kick. Demaien tried to check it too late and took it clean to the calf, but instead of resetting, he panicked forward, lunging in without a setup.

Niklas instinctively stepped back, missing his chance to punish the rush, but Demaien wasted the opportunity just as fast, he went for a takedown with no setup, reaching for a double-leg with his head down.

Niklas sprawled easily, stuffing it, but his reaction was hesitant. He could have framed off and punished Demaien with elbows or knees, but he didn't commit.

Both men scrambled, resetting back to their feet in a messy exchange.

The pressure was getting to them.

Neither was fully composed, every attack was raw, every movement carried just a little too much hesitation or recklessness.

Demaien stepped in again, this time throwing a left hook that was more of a swing than a punch.

Niklas ducked under it, but instead of firing back, he backed away, missing another chance.

The Irish crowd was on their feet, roaring support for Demaien, trying to push him forward.

He nodded to himself, shaking out his arms, trying to reset.

Niklas, across from him, did the same.

Both fighters had landed some strikes. Both had missed opportunities.

It wasn't a polished battle of elite-level execution.

It was two young fighters trying to figure it out in real time.

The fight continued, and while neither fighter was bad, the pressure was showing.

Demaien moved forward, trying to force his game, but his strikes were stiff, forced. His jab came out again, too slow, too obvious.

Niklas slipped outside and fired a counter-right—but he hesitated just slightly, only clipping Demaien instead of landing clean.

The two reset.

Niklas feinted a level change, testing Demaien's reaction.

Demaien bit on it, hard.

He dropped his hands slightly, preparing to defend a takedown that wasn't coming. Niklas immediately launched a left hook, catching him on the chin.

Demaien stumbled back, not hurt, but his balance broken. Niklas followed up with a leg kick, and missed.

The moment was there for either of them to capitalize, but neither fully did.

The inexperience was clear.

In the Irish corner, Tommy Hughes was fuming.

"For feck's sake, what the hell is he doin'?!" he snapped, turning to the other cornermen instead of focusing on the fight. "We spent feckin' weeks workin' on this, and he's still throwin' his jab like he's punchin' through a bleedin' snowstorm!"

The other coaches weren't nearly as distracted.

"Hands up, Demaien!" one shouted. "Set up the shot! Set it up!"

Meanwhile, Damon stepped forward slightly, watching with sharp focus.

This was sloppy, but it was still a fight.

Across the cage, Niklas's corner was just as engaged.

"Stay patient! He's reaching, wait for the counter!"
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The commentators were picking up on the chaos.

"Well, this is turning into a bit of a wild one. You can see the nerves, the hesitation. They're both second-guessing themselves in there!"

"Aye, but ya can't blame 'em. First real international fight, carryin' a whole country's expectations? It's a lot. But Niklas seems to be settlin' in better."

"He does, but he's still missing big chances. Demaien's making mistakes, but Niklas isn't punishing them properly. That's why this fight is still wide open."

Back in the cage, Demaien shook his head, gritting his teeth.

He had to reset.

Niklas was getting the better of the striking, but the Polish fighter wasn't perfect.

And Demaien still had his best weapon.

His grappling.

Taking a deep breath, he adjusted his stance, ready to commit.

But Niklas saw it.

And he wasn't about to let him take the easy way out.

One of Niklas's coaches leaned in, voice sharp and direct, speaking in Polish.

"Zrób zwód. Zareaguje za mocno. Wtedy go ukarz." (Feint him. He'll bite too hard. Then punish him.)

Niklas nodded subtly, absorbing the instruction.

He feinted a level change, barely dipping his shoulders, and just as predicted, Demaien bit.

Too hard.

His hands dropped just slightly, preparing to sprawl, and that was all Niklas needed.

A crushing right blasted through Demaien's guard, landing flush on his chin. His legs wobbled instantly.

A sharp left hook followed. Demaien crumbled.

The Irish crowd gasped.

Niklas didn't hesitate. He swarmed, following Demaien to the mat, pressing him down.

His weight collapsed over Demaien's chest, pinning him in place as he raised a fist, and dropped it.

The first hammerfist crashed down.

The second one came just as hard.

Demaien covered up, but he was drowning.

The Irish corner erupted, voices clashing over each other.

"Move! Get out of there!"

"Shrimp! Work your way up!"

But it wasn't working. Demaien wasn't thinking. He was reacting, but without purpose, his movements panicked.

Then Damon stepped in.

His voice cut through the chaos, sharp and direct.

"Frame his hips, don't waste energy pushing his chest! Get a knee inside, elevate, don't try to bench press him, he's too tight on top!"

Demaien heard it.

And more importantly, he listened.

His arms shifted, stopping the useless shoving against Niklas's chest. Instead, he framed against the hips, shifting just enough to make space.

With that space, he slipped his knee inside, finally creating a real opening.

Niklas postured up, trying to reset for another strike.

And Demaien exploded.

A sudden bridge, using Niklas's momentum against him.

Niklas's balance broke, and Demaien slipped out from underneath.

The Irish fans roared.

The fight wasn't over.