MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat

The horn echoed sharply through the room, signaling the start of the third and final round.

Both fighters pushed off their corners, hands raised, faces marked with sweat and light bruising. There was no hesitation now. No feeling out. Just focus.

Around the cage, the teammates shouted, banging the cage panels, urging their man forward.

"Let's go, José!"

"Stay sharp, Dorian!"

"Finish strong!"

The energy shifted. Everyone knew the reality, this wasn't just about surviving the round. It was about taking it.

Winning this round meant staying in the house, staying in the tournament, and getting closer to that UFA contract. Losing it meant going home.

José and Dorian met at the center. They didn't touch gloves. No one expected them to.

They circled immediately, small feints traded as both men tested for openings. José still had that bounce in his step, but it was slower than before.

Dorian looked tighter now, more compact, his eyes locked onto José's midsection, watching every breath and twitch.

José jabbed first, light, quick, just to draw a reaction. Dorian slipped and countered with a low calf kick that slapped hard against José's leg.

Damon stood cageside with his arms crossed, stone-faced. Ivan was just as quiet, leaning forward with elbows on his knees, watching every detail.

The pace picked up quickly.

José threw a right hand that snapped Dorian's head back, but the Brazilian didn't follow up.

Damon nearly stood up out of instinct, frustrated again by the hesitation.

Dorian recovered fast and fired back with a stiff jab and a sharp body kick that made José grunt and reset.

Each man had moments in the exchanges.

José landed cleaner shots, especially when he caught Dorian with short punches in close, but Dorian was piling up volume, using kicks to control the range, keeping José from planting his feet too long.

A minute passed.

Then another.

Still close.

Then José began to press. Damon's voice cracked through the noise, "Pressure him, José! Don't let him reset!"

José moved in with more urgency now, cutting angles, dipping his head, throwing sharper combos.

He slipped a jab and landed a clean left hook to the body, then brought the same hand upstairs.

Dorian blocked it, but the impact made him take two steps back. José pursued, but again, no follow-up. He hesitated, just enough for Dorian to reset and throw a spinning back kick that grazed his ribs.

It wasn't perfect, but it was enough to stop the momentum.

The crowd around the cage, teammates, staff, production crew watched in silence, the tension mounting. Every strike felt heavier now.

Every breath was labored. Sweat dripped. Gloves were slower to return to the chin. They were both tired, but neither wanted to show it.

With just over a minute left, both corners were shouting instructions, voices overlapping.

"Cut him off!"

"Don't chase!"

"Let your hands go!"

"Circle, stay sharp!"

They clashed again, José landed a hard straight right. Dorian answered with a knee to the midsection.

They clinched briefly against the cage before breaking off, both breathing hard, eyes locked.

It was still anyone's round.

Still anyone's fight.

The final seconds ticked down, but neither man gave in.

José pushed forward, throwing a right hand that clipped Dorian's jaw, but the older fighter didn't fall.

He absorbed it and threw back, landing a clean hook to the temple that forced José to back off.

They stood for a moment, both slowing now, breathing through their mouths. Chests rose and fell in rhythm. Their eyes never left each other.

Then, almost as if on cue, they both surged again, one final exchange.

José landed a jab, then a body shot, but Dorian responded with a short elbow inside the pocket.

They traded, sloppy now, but raw and determined. Dorian's hands were lower, but his chin held.

José's footwork was still active, but his balance wasn't perfect. They circled one another, neither willing to back down.

Ten seconds.

The teammates shouted again, slamming the cage wall.

José threw a quick two-piece, jab, cross, both blocked. Dorian fired back with a low kick and a spinning backfist that barely grazed José's forehead.

They clinched up briefly, hands tangled, forearms digging in.

Five seconds.

They broke.

José tried a final right hook. Dorian ducked under it and stepped away. They both paused, just for a breath.

Then the horn sounded.

The fight was over.

Both men stood in place, not moving for a few seconds. Their arms hung low. Shoulders dropped.

They looked across at each other, no words, no handshakes yet, just mutual exhaustion.

Damon kept his face neutral as he approached the cage, stepping inside with the rest of the team.

He didn't speak right away. He gave José a pat on the back and handed him a towel.

Ivan did the same on the other side, giving Dorian a nod and helping him back to the stool.

No one celebrated.

No one slumped.

It was too close.

It wasn't clear.

This wasn't a knockout. It wasn't a dominant performance. It wasn't a highlight reel finish.

But it was a fight. Gritty, even. Back and forth. With enough missed moments and adjustments to show both skill and struggle.

And now it was out of their hands.

The referee motioned for both fighters to come back to the center. They stood side by side, bruised, breathing hard, their gloves resting on their hips.

The announcer stepped forward with the scorecard in hand.

Everyone watched.

The fighters stood in the center of the cage, their coaches just behind them. Damon folded his arms, standing tall but unreadable. Ivan kept his hands on his hips, watching the official with steady eyes.

The announcer stepped forward, microphone in hand. He waited a moment for the noise to settle, just the shuffle of movement and soft breaths filled the air.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, voice steady, "after three hard-fought rounds, we go to the judges' scorecards for a decision."

The camera cut to the teammates watching behind the cage wall, some bouncing nervously, others frozen still.

"All three judges score the contest…"

He paused.

"…29–28…"

Another pause. Tension locked the room still.

"…for the winner by unanimous decision…"

The fighters both looked ahead. Damon didn't blink.

The announcer took one final breath.

"And advancing forward in the tournament…"