MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat

Niklas had seconds to react. He knew if he didn't do something now, this fight would spiral completely out of his control.

Demaien was swinging with everything, throwing bombs with reckless intent. The crowd was on their feet, roaring for him to finish what he started.

Niklas's back was against the cage. No more room to retreat. He had to plant his feet.

As Demaien loaded up another right hand, Niklas finally bit down on his mouthguard and fired back.

A short, sharp left straight, right down the middle.

It snapped Demaien's head back.

It wasn't the hardest shot, but it was enough to disrupt his rhythm. Just enough to make him hesitate for a split second.

Niklas didn't waste that moment.

He dipped low, slipping under the next punch and wrapped his arms around Demaien's waist.

Polish Commentator: "YES! That's what he needed! That's exactly what he needed!"

Irish Commentator: "He finally stops the onslaught, but can he hold him here?!"

Niklas drove forward, pressing Demaien against the cage, locking his hands behind his back.

Demaien struggled immediately, trying to break free, but Niklas was no stranger to the clinch.

He shifted his weight, lifting Demaien slightly and sweeping his leg out from under him, forcing him down onto one knee.

Demaien grunted, trying to post up with one hand, but Niklas adjusted, shifting to his back.

It wasn't a full takedown, but it was enough to break the storm.

Niklas knew he couldn't just hold on and survive. He needed to take control again.

He slid his knee between Demaien's legs and began forcing him down further, inch by inch.

Irish Commentator: "Demaien needs to stay composed here. He's gotta fight for underhooks, or this could turn into a disaster."

Damon was watching closely from the corner, arms crossed, eyes sharp. He could see Demaien's posture was off, he was using too much strength, not enough technique.

Victor leaned in, yelling instructions.

"Breathe, lad! Stay calm and pummel inside! Fight the hands!"

Demaien gritted his teeth. He knew he couldn't let this slip away. Discover hidden content at My Virtual Library Empire

Niklas adjusted, trying to climb higher on his back, but Demaien finally reacted correctly.

He got his hands inside, broke the grip, and managed to get his back against the cage.

Niklas knew he couldn't hold him for long, so he switched tactics, he lifted a knee, slamming it into Demaien's ribs.

The first one landed clean.

The second one landed harder.

The third, Demaien finally blocked, but it still hurt.

Polish Commentator: "Niklas is chipping away now, these knees are money for him!"

Irish Commentator: "Yeah, but he's not doing damage that'll stop Demaien. He's just buying himself time."

And Niklas knew it.

He wasn't winning at this moment, he was surviving.

But survival was better than getting knocked out.

Demaien shifted, planting his feet, and finally started working to turn the position.

Niklas could feel the control slipping.

He had slowed Demaien down. But for how long?

Demaien gritted his teeth. He wasn't going to let Niklas stall him out.

He adjusted his posture, getting lower, getting stronger.

Niklas felt the shift. He had been holding control, but suddenly, Demaien wasn't just defending anymore, he was moving with purpose.

A hard hip bump. A sharp twist.

Niklas lost his balance for just a second.

And that was all Demaien needed.

Irish Commentator: "OHH! Beautiful reversal! Ncguygan just flipped the script!"

Demaien had shrugged Niklas off his back, turning into him with a quick explosion of energy. He got double underhooks and drove forward, forcing Niklas to the ground!

Niklas tried to scramble, but Demaien had already wrapped a leg around his waist, sinking his weight down hard.

Polish Commentator: "And just like that, he's on top! That was all one motion, look at the control!"

Demaien flattened Niklas out. This was where he thrived.

He slid an arm under Niklas's neck.

Irish Commentator: "Wait, wait, IS HE GOING FOR IT?!"

Demaien locked his hands.

Niklas knew what was happening. His arms flailed for a second, trying to break the grip. But Demaien had it tight.

Rear-naked choke. Deep.

The arena exploded.

Fans stood up.

The Irish corner was screaming.

Victor slammed his hand on the canvas.

Tommy Hughes, despite his earlier frustration, was now yelling at the top of his lungs.

"SQUEEZE IT, LAD! END IT!"

Damon leaned forward, eyes locked.

Niklas's face was turning red.

His hands reached out, searching for anything, Demaien's grip, the cage, his own fate.

He kicked his legs, trying to shift.

It wasn't working.

His arm lifted slightly, the universal signal that a tap might be coming.

Irish Commentator: "He's done! He's gonna tap!"

Polish Commentator: "This is deep, he's got nowhere to go!"

Then—

THE BELL RANG.

The ref immediately stepped in, breaking the grip.

Demaien froze for a second, confused, then frustrated.

Niklas sagged onto the mat, gasping for air.

Polish Commentator: "SAVED BY THE BELL! HE SURVIVES!"

Irish Commentator: "OH, YOU'VE GOT TO BE KIDDIN' ME! That was SECONDS away from bein' over!"

Demaien pushed off, shaking his head. He had it. He HAD it.

Niklas rolled to his side, eyes still wide, sucking in deep breaths.

He was still in the fight.

But barely.

The teams rushed into the cage, placing the stools down quickly.

The Polish corner was in full panic mode. Niklas was hunched over, still gasping for air, his face red, his eyes wide. His coach was speaking rapidly, his voice sharp.

Meanwhile, in the Irish corner, things were different. There was no panic, only focus. The energy was high. They knew Demaien had the momentum.

Tommy Hughes clapped his hands together, leaning in close.

"Lad, listen ta me! Win this feckin' round and win the match! That's all ye need! He's hurt, he's shaken, don't let him get comfortable!"

Demaien nodded, drinking from the water bottle handed to him, but his breathing was still heavy.

Damon stepped forward, taking the bottle and holding it for him.

His voice was lower, calmer, but carried the weight of absolute certainty.

"This is your last chance. Don't just win the round, win the match. Knock him out. Submit him. Whatever you like, but finish it before the bell rings. That's a win."

Demaien exhaled hard, his shoulders tensing.

Damon leaned in closer.

"You still have momentum. You saw him, he was helpless when you had him on the ground. So you know what to do. Capitalize on those mistakes on the feet. Don't let him breathe."

Demaien set the water bottle down and slapped his own thighs.

The ten-second warning clapper sounded.

The teams rushed out of the cage. The stools were yanked back, water bottles tossed aside.

Niklas was still shaking out his arms, trying to reset.

Demaien bounced on his feet, eyes locked in.

The referee stepped forward.

"FINAL ROUND!"

Irish Commentator: "Here we go! Ncguygan has a golden opportunity to finish this fight!"

Polish Commentator: "But Niklas is still in there, let's see what he's got left!"

Referee: "Ready? Ready? Fight!"

The final round began.