MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat-Chapter 474: The Battle for the Final

The announcer stepped forward, the energy in the arena reaching a fever pitch. The crowd roared, split between deafening boos and passionate cheers, their voices clashing like a storm overhead.

He took his time, letting the anticipation build before raising the mic to his lips.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN… THIS IS THE SEMI-FINALS OF THE WORLD MMA TOURNAMENT!"

The noise exploded, fans on their feet, flags waving wildly as the intensity of the moment settled over the arena.

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The announcer turned toward the blue corner.

"INTRODUCING FIRST! FIGHTING OUT OF THE BLUE CORNER! A MIXED MARTIAL ARTIST HOLDING A PROFESSIONAL RECORD OF 18 WINS, 7 LOSSES! HE STANDS SIX FEET TALL, WEIGHING IN AT 185 POUNDS! FIGHTING OUT OF PINAR DEL RÍO, CUBA! PRESENTING… NOAAAAAAL ’THE SOLDIER OF HAVANA’ RAMMEIROOOO!"

The Cuban fans erupted, chanting his name as Noal raised a fist, his expression as stone-cold as ever. He didn’t blink, his eyes never leaving Damon.

The announcer shifted his stance, turning to the red corner.

The boos started before he even spoke.

"AND NOW, INTRODUCING HIS OPPONENT! FIGHTING OUT OF THE RED CORNER! AN UNDEFEATED MIXED MARTIAL ARTIST HOLDING A PERFECT RECORD OF 19 WINS, NO LOSSES! HE STANDS SIX-FOOT-TWO, WEIGHING IN AT 185 POUNDS! FIGHTING OUT OF LIMERICK, IRELAND! PRESENTING… DAMON ’RONIN’ CROSS!"

The arena erupted, but this time, the noise was chaos. Half the fans booed, the other half screamed in support.

Damon took a slow breath, his face calm, absorbing the moment. He had heard it all before. He welcomed it.

The announcer stepped back.

The referee moved forward.

It was time.

Commentators’ Build-Up to the Fight

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As the fighters stood in their corners, the energy in the arena was undeniable. The anticipation had been building for weeks, and now, it was finally time. The commentary team kept their voices measured but made sure to highlight the key narratives.

Commentator 1: "Alright, folks, this is it, Damon Cross versus Noal Rameiro, the semi-final of the middleweight tournament. The stakes are sky-high, but the conversation around this fight has been just as intense as the fight itself is expected to be."

Commentator 2: "Absolutely. Damon Cross is undefeated, coming off the fastest knockout in the tournament’s history. But what’s kept his name in the headlines isn’t just his performances, it’s everything surrounding them."

Commentator 1: "Right, his last fight against Darion Elwards ended in seconds, but his celebration, the tension with the crowd, and the fine that followed, those have been the real talking points. And let’s not forget, after negotiations, Damon agreed to apologize after this fight."

Commentator 2: "Regardless, that’s secondary now. Because right across from him is Noal Rameiro, a former champion, one of the most durable and explosive fighters in MMA history. This is a man who’s fought the best of the best, and he’s here to prove that experience beats hype."

Commentator 2: "Rameiro has openly said he doesn’t care about the drama, he’s here to fight. And if there’s anyone who can test Cross in a way we haven’t seen yet, it’s him. He’s built like a tank, his explosiveness is legendary, and he’s seen every style imaginable. He’s not going to be intimidated."

The referee called both fighters to the center of the octagon, their intense gazes locked as they stood toe-to-toe. The crowd’s energy was palpable, a mix of anticipation and raw emotion.

"Gentlemen," the referee began, his voice firm and authoritative, "we’ve gone over the rules in the back. Remember to protect yourselves at all times, obey my commands at all times. Fight clean, fight hard, and fight fair. Any questions from the blue corner?"

Noal Rameiro shook his head, his expression unwavering.

"Any questions from the red corner?"

Damon Cross remained silent, his eyes never leaving Rameiro’s.

"Touch gloves if you wish," the referee instructed.

Both fighters extended their fists, tapping gloves, a brief moment of sportsmanship before the impending battle.

"Back to your corners," the referee ordered. "Let’s get ready to fight."

As they retreated to their respective corners, the arena’s atmosphere reached a fever pitch. The time for talk was over. The semi-final bout was about to begin.

The referee took a step back, arms raised as he looked between the two fighters.

"Ready?"

Both men stood firm.

"Ready?"

Damon and Noal Rameiro nodded.

"Fight!"

The moment the referee’s hand dropped, Rameiro exploded forward. There was no feeling-out process, no hesitation, he was coming straight for Damon.

Damon saw it immediately. The Cuban’s approach wasn’t reckless, but it was aggressive. He moved fast for his size, deceptively light on his feet. Damon knew this was coming; Rameiro had always been a pressure fighter, and if he got his hands on you, it was a nightmare.

But Damon was no ordinary opponent.

Rameiro launched a heavy left hand, but Damon slipped just outside of range, his head movement crisp. He pivoted out, creating an angle while flicking out a sharp jab. It was more of a measuring tool than anything, just a way to disrupt Rameiro’s approach.

The Cuban kept advancing, his hands tight, his eyes locked onto Damon like a hunter stalking his prey.

"He’s closing distance fast," one commentator noted.

"That’s what he does," the other replied. "Rameiro doesn’t like long exchanges; he wants to get inside, turn this into a grind. If he does, that’s where he thrives."

Damon knew it too. He had to keep Rameiro on the outside.

Damon fired off a stiff teep kick, slamming it into Rameiro’s gut, but the Cuban didn’t even flinch. He kept moving forward, throwing a heavy overhand right, this time, Damon ducked under it, rolling out to the side.

Rameiro adjusted quickly. He feinted a jab before launching into a level change.

Damon reacted instantly, sprawling hard, stuffing the takedown attempt.

But Rameiro wasn’t done.

Like a coiled spring, he shot up from the failed takedown and threw a vicious uppercut.

Damon barely got his head out of the way, feeling the wind of the punch just inches from his chin.

"Beautiful adjustment from Rameiro! Even when he can’t get the takedown, he turns it into a strike!"