MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat-Chapter 449: And New!

Damon approached Shane Brickland, his expression unreadable.

The fight was over, the result undeniable, but there was no need for gloating.

Shane looked up at him, his face battered, his breathing heavy, but he didn’t hesitate. He extended his hand.

Without a word, Damon took it, giving a firm shake. No trash talk, no unnecessary theatrics. Just two fighters acknowledging the reality of what had transpired.

The moment passed quickly, and soon the cage began to clear.

Medics helped Shane toward his corner while Damon stepped back, rolling his shoulders as he caught his breath.

The fight had been dominant, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t taken effort.

He could still feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins, his muscles buzzing with energy.

Deuce Baffer entered the octagon with his signature stride, microphone in hand.

The tension in the air shifted, not because the outcome was in question, but because this was the final formality, the moment the victory would be made official.

The crowd quieted slightly, anticipation thick despite the obvious result.

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The referee stepped forward, taking the wrist of each fighter, standing between them as Baffer raised the mic to his lips.

The entire world was watching.

Damon stood in the center of the cage, his chest rising and falling steadily as the crowd roared around him.

His team lingered behind him, their faces of pride and excitement.

Shane Brickland was still on unsteady legs, barely regaining his composure after being dismantled in the first round.

His face was marked with the damage of Damon’s precision, swollen eye, split lip, and a deep frustration in his expression.

Deuce Baffer stepped forward, microphone in hand, preparing to make it official.

The cage cleared slightly, coaches stepping back as the referee positioned himself between the two fighters.

He grabbed both of their wrists, holding them firm as the anticipation in the arena built to a fever pitch.

The Irish fans were already celebrating, chants of "Cross! Cross! Cross!" echoing through the venue, while even the American fans had to respect the display they had just witnessed.

Deuce’s deep voice boomed through the speakers, commanding attention as the official decision was about to be announced.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN… THE REFEREE HAS CALLED A STOP TO THIS CONTEST AT FOUR MINUTES, TWENTY-SEVEN SECONDS OF ROUND NUMBER ONE… DECLARING THE WINNER BY KNOCKOUT… AND STIIIIILL UNDEFEATED… DAMON CROSS!"

The referee lifted Damon’s arm high into the air. The crowd erupted.

The cameras zoomed in on his expression, calm, composed, like a man who had expected nothing less.

The flashes from ringside photographers captured the moment, while social media was already in overdrive, posts flooding in about Damon’s domination over a reigning UFA champion.

Shane exhaled sharply, shaking his head slightly before stepping back, already on his way out of the cage.

He knew he had been outclassed tonight, and there was nothing more to say.

Victor and the rest of Damon’s team swarmed him, clapping him on the back, congratulating him.

Damon walked through the tunnel leading to the backstage area, the adrenaline still fading from his system. His body felt fine, better than fine, but his mind was already shifting forward.

Now, wearing a fresh shirt over his slightly damp skin, Damon only had one thought in mind, a shower. He needed to wash off the sweat, the Vaseline, and the lingering scent of the fight.

As he stepped into the back, his team trailing behind him, his eyes landed on Svetlana.

She stood near the hallway, arms crossed, an amused expression on her face as she waited. The moment she saw him, her lips curled into a small smirk.

She didn’t say anything at first, just took in the sight of him, calm, unbothered, like he had just gone through another training session instead of dismantling a reigning champion.

Then, after a moment, she shook her head and let out a soft laugh.

"You really just did that," she said, her voice filled with something between pride and amusement.

Damon exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulders slightly. "Yeah," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Guess I did."

Svetlana stepped forward, her hands resting briefly on his biceps before sliding up to adjust the collar of his shirt, a small, absentminded gesture. "You barely even got touched."

He smirked. "That was the plan."

She studied him for a second, then shook her head again. "You need a shower."

Damon chuckled. "Yeah, I was just thinking that."

She leaned back slightly, nodding toward the hallway. "Go. I’ll wait."

Damon glanced toward Victor and the rest of his team, who were still discussing the fight in the background.

He gave them a nod, then turned and made his way toward the locker rooms.

Even with the fight over, the night wasn’t done. There were interviews.

But for now, all he wanted was a moment to himself, to cool down, reset, and figure out what came next.

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Damon stood under the steady stream of hot water, letting it wash away the remnants of the fight.

As much as he would have liked to stay longer, he knew he couldn’t. There was still too much to do.

With a sigh, he shut off the water and grabbed a towel, drying himself quickly before throwing on a fresh set of clothes.

As he reached for his duffel bag, his phone slipped from the side pocket, hitting the floor with a dull thud.

He picked it up, flipping it in his hand. The fight was already over, but the world was still buzzing about it.

An idea seeded itself in his head.

Without hesitation, he opened Chirper, the app loading instantly, flooded with reactions, clips, and commentary about his victory.

He scrolled briefly, glancing at some of the posts, people losing their minds, media figures breaking down the fight, even fighters reacting to what had just happened.

He smirked.

His fingers moved swiftly over the keyboard. He didn’t need to say much.

"And Newwwww!"

That was all.

He hit Post, locked his phone, and tossed it back into his bag.

The internet would take care of the rest.