MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat

Chemasov blitzed forward again, no feeling-out process, just raw aggression. He feinted a shot low then exploded up with a right hand, but Damon read it clean.

He slipped just to the outside and caught Chemasov with a short, sharp check hook on the way in. It wasn't a knockout shot, but it sent a message, he saw everything.

Mike Brewer: "That hook landed! Cross is already timing him!"

Chris Dalton: "You can see the difference here. Damon's not rushing, he's picking him apart."

Chemasov snarled, wiping at his mouth as he circled. He shot in again, lowering his level, looking to wrap the hips, his bread and butter. But Damon sprawled hard. He got his hips back, underhooks in deep, and pushed Chemasov off like it was nothing.

Jim Logan: "That's not just takedown defense. That's dominance in the scramble."

Back on the feet, Damon stepped in with a stiff jab. Another. Then a low calf kick that snapped off Chemasov's lead leg. Then another. The champion kept trying to walk through them, but each one slowed him just a bit.

Chemasov lunged forward with a looping hook. Damon ducked and came up with a body shot that echoed.

"Oof," Mike winced. "That liver shot hurt him."

Chris: "It's the economy of movement, man. Damon isn't wasting anything. Everything has purpose."

Chemasov tried again. A double leg. A deep one.

Damon gave him the hips, lowered his base, and circled out. Again. It looked easy.

The crowd responded louder this time. The longer the round went, the more they were seeing the same thing: Damon wasn't just surviving Chemasov's pressure. He was calmly, brutally dismantling it.

He began walking Chemasov down now. Taking the center. Controlling the space. He feinted a level change and Chemasov flinched.

Jim Logan: "That's not good. You don't want to be reacting to everything this early. That means he's already in your head."

Another jab. A right cross. A leg kick. A body kick.

Damon was switching stances now, southpaw to orthodox, giving Chemasov different looks, different angles. He faked a step in, then went upstairs with a question mark kick that skimmed Chemasov's guard.

Mike: "The timing… the rhythm. Damon is just in the zone tonight."

Chemasov, breathing harder now, tried a wild blitz again. Damon stood his ground, leaned back just enough, and cracked him with a straight counter down the pipe.

Pop.

Chemasov staggered, just slightly.

Damon didn't rush.

He just pointed at him, nodded once. Like he was letting him know.

Jim: "That's psychological warfare, boys. Damon just told the champ: I got your timing, and I'm not impressed."

The crowd started to shift now. The cheers were louder. People started to chant.

"CROSS! CROSS! CROSS!"

Damon continued the pressure. Hands high, movement crisp. Everything Chemasov threw now was wild. Desperate. Damon punished each one.

Leg kick. Jab. Cross. Step back. Slip. Counter.

He was slicing him up.

Chris: "This is looking bad for Chemasov. He's eating shots, and he hasn't landed clean once."

Chemasov shot one more time.

Damon sprawled, stuffed, and spun around.

Damon circled out, bouncing on the balls of his feet. His breathing was steady, his eyes calm. He had just stuffed yet another takedown attempt with ease, spun off, and reset in the center of the cage.

Chemasov stayed crouched, hands up, nostrils flaring. He looked like a man trying to will himself into control, but his body wasn't listening.

Damon? He looked like he was just sparring. There wasn't even a scratch on him.

He moved forward again, jab, cross, kick to the leg, then angled off, making Chemasov swing at air. Damon gave a half-smile, not out of arrogance, but because it felt too easy. Too predictable. And that wasn't the fight he wanted.

This man across from him was the undefeated champion. Supposed to be the monster of the division. A terror on the ground. A mauler. But here? Damon was making him look slow.

And Damon didn't like that.

Not because he pitied him.

But because he wanted to prove something. Not just to win. Not just to take the belt.

He wanted to beat him at his own game.

So he changed.

Damon let Chemasov shoot again. He felt the timing, saw the dip in the shoulder, and instead of sprawling, he let it come.

Chemasov wrapped the legs.

Damon gave him just enough balance shift.

And for the first time in the fight, the takedown landed.

Jim Logan: "Wait, Damon let him get it?!"

Mike Brewer: "That looked way too easy. He didn't even resist."

Chris Dalton: "This might be one of the boldest moves we've seen. Damon Cross just gave a world-class wrestler top position, on purpose."

Chemasov landed in half guard.

He gritted his teeth and started to work. Trying to posture. Trying to flatten Damon out.

But Damon stayed tight. Calm. Breathing.

And smiling.

This was the fight he wanted now.

Not just to win.

But to dominate everywhere.

Damon's hands locked onto Chemasov's wrist the moment they hit the mat. The posture was tight. Chemasov tried to flatten him, but Damon angled his hips, placed a butterfly hook in, and immediately began threatening to elevate. There was no panic, just work.

Chemasov, for the first time tonight, felt something he understood, contact, drag, pressure, mat control. His body moved instinctively. He postured up, head low, chest heavy on Damon's hips, trying to grind out the position and land short shots. But Damon wasn't static.

He shrimped out an inch. Then another. Left hand slid up the back of Chemasov's head, pulling it down. Classic wrestler pressure, redirected by jiu-jitsu feel.

Chris Dalton: "This is wild. Chemasov is finally in his element, but Damon's not just defending, he's hunting positions."

Mike Brewer: "Watch that left underhook, he's going for a sweep."

Damon turned into him hard, building up to his elbow. He bumped with his knee, twisted his hips, and suddenly Chemasov was off-balance. Damon used the scramble to come up on a single leg. The crowd gasped as he drove up and reversed.

Now he was on top.

Half guard. Chest to chest. Heavy pressure.

Jim Logan: "He reversed the champ! That's not luck. That's skill. That's knowledge."

Chemasov gritted his teeth and tried to push on Damon's head, but Damon moved like water, flattening his weight, keeping his base low. He transitioned to side control with technical ease, knee sliding through like a scalpel. His arms pinned Chemasov's far shoulder, denying the turn-in.