MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat

The final round began with both fighters stepping forward, no hesitation.

This was it.

Everything came down to these last five minutes. Demaien knew it. Niklas knew it.

Neither of them wanted to leave it to the judges.

Niklas circled first, his footwork still light, but there was a difference now, there was no more arrogance, no more comfort.

The last round had humbled him. He had felt the danger when Demaien had nearly ended it.

But at the same time, he was still in this.

He flicked a jab, testing the range. Demaien didn't bite.

Demaien had his own fire now. The hesitation from earlier was gone. He stood taller, his guard sharper, his focus dialed in. He wasn't waiting anymore.

Niklas shot forward, throwing a crisp one-two. Demaien parried the first and slipped the second, but Niklas didn't stop, he mixed in a low kick, landing solid on Demaien's thigh.

Demaien grunted but stepped through it, answering back with a quick counter hook that clipped Niklas just enough to make him respect it.

They reset.

The crowd was on edge. Neither fighter was holding back now.

Niklas shot another kick, but Demaien was ready this time, he caught it and used the momentum to shove Niklas back.

Niklas stumbled but recovered quickly, bouncing back into his stance.

Irish Commentator: "That's the first time Ncguygan has properly stopped those kicks. If he keeps catching those, Lebrowski's in trouble."

Polish Commentator: "Yes, but Ncguygan is still not landing anything big either. They are matching each other now."

And that was true, both fighters were hungry, both refusing to back down.

Niklas stepped forward again, this time changing levels, he faked high, then went for a body shot. It landed clean, but Demaien didn't react like before.

Instead, he grabbed at Niklas's wrists, looking for control, forcing a clinch.

Niklas grunted, twisting, but Demaien locked his grip tighter, pushing him toward the cage.

The fight was reaching its boiling point.

Both fighters knew they had to dig deeper.

The energy in the arena was electric.

Neither fighter gave an inch.

Niklas kept poking at Demaien's defenses, feinting with jabs and low kicks, forcing him to stay on edge.

Every time Demaien tried to close the distance, Niklas would snap out a sharp counter, a straight to the body, a sneaky inside leg kick.

Demaien was feeling it, but he wasn't slowing down.

Niklas tried to step forward with another combination, a left hook into a right hand.

Demaien ducked the hook, but the right clipped his ear, sending him slightly off balance.

Niklas saw the opening.

He pushed forward, launching a knee up the middle—

Crack!

The knee grazed Demaien's chin. His head snapped back, his legs wobbled.

The crowd gasped.

Irish Commentator: "OH, HE'S ROCKED!"

Polish Commentator: "Ncguygan is hurt! Lebrowski needs to follow up, this is his moment!"

Niklas exploded forward, throwing punches to finish.

Demaien backed up, his vision shaking, instincts taking over. He raised his guard, absorbing a few shots. Niklas was relentless, walking him down, throwing everything.

Demaien felt the cage behind him.

He was trapped.

Niklas threw a looping hook, but that was his mistake.

Demaien dropped his level, ducking under, and shot forward.

A clean takedown!

The crowd erupted.

Niklas hit the canvas hard.

Demaien didn't hesitate, he climbed on top, pressing into full mount.

Polish Commentator: "What a comeback! He was almost finished, and now he has the best position in the fight!"

Irish Commentator: "That's Ncguygan's instinct kickin' in! This is where he's best, on top, controlling!"

Niklas tried to bridge, but Demaien shut it down, posturing up.

Then, he did something unexpected.

He didn't just posture to punch, he stood.

Niklas, confused, tried to turn onto his side, but before he could react, Demaien jumped.

A flying punch, Superman style, slamming straight down into Niklas's face!

CRACK.

Niklas's head bounced off the mat. His guard fell apart.

Demaien immediately grabbed his wrist, twisting—

Kimura!

The moment Demaien cranked the Kimura, a sickening pop echoed through the cage.
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Niklas let out a strangled yell, twisting violently to escape. His body moved, but his arm didn't react the way it should.

The referee stepped in, watching closely, but there was no tap.

Demaien finally released the hold, scrambling back to his feet. Niklas rolled away, his face a twisted mix of pain and frustration. He clutched his left arm close to his body, his posture suddenly uneven.

But he wasn't done.

Despite the damage, Niklas forced himself up. His face was smeared in blood from the flying punch earlier, and now his left arm hung stiffly, not moving properly.

Irish Commentator: "Oh, no. Look at that arm! That doesn't look right at all!"

Polish Commentator: "It might be out of the socket! But he's still standing, he's refusing to quit!"

Niklas took his stance again, but it was clear something was off. His left hand barely lifted. His footwork wasn't as sharp. His balance was compromised.

The referee saw the way Niklas's arm hung limp and immediately stepped in, pausing the fight.

Irish Commentator: "Ohh, look at that! The referee sees that arm, he's stopping the fight for a check!"

Polish Commentator: "No, no, no! This could be the end for Lebrowski! If the doctor calls it off, Poland is out!"

The panic in Niklas's eyes was clear. He knew exactly what this meant. If this fight ended due to a stoppage, he had lost. Poland had lost.

He looked at his left arm, it wasn't moving properly, hanging awkwardly. But Niklas didn't hesitate.

He gritted his teeth and grabbed it with his right hand.

Irish Commentator: "Wait, what is he doing?!"

A sharp pull. A twist.

A sickening pop.

Niklas let out a grunt, his entire body tensing as his shoulder snapped back into place.

Polish Commentator: "He just popped it back in! He just popped his own damn shoulder back in!"

The entire arena collectively gasped before erupting into chaos. Irish and Polish fans alike stood on their feet, roaring at the sheer insanity of what they had just witnessed.

The referee hesitated, looking toward the doctor who had already entered the cage. The medical official rushed toward Niklas, trying to assess him, but Niklas backed away, waving him off.

Niklas barked saying he can fight, rolling his shoulder, wincing but determined.

The doctor held up a hand, trying to reason with him, but Niklas kept raising and lowering his arm, proving he still had function.

Irish Commentator: "This lad is out of his mind! He just reset his own shoulder, and now he wants to keep going!"

Polish Commentator: "That's Polish toughness! That's warrior spirit!"

The referee looked at the doctor, who hesitated, checking Niklas's movement.

Then, seeing the fire in his eyes and the way he lifted his arm without immediate collapse, the doctor finally nodded.

The referee turned back to the fighters.

"Alright. Ready?"

Demaien watched Niklas carefully. He had just witnessed a level of grit and desperation that couldn't be ignored.

Niklas slapped his chest, taking his stance.

The referee pointed.

"Fight!"

The entire arena exploded.

This was a war.