MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat-Chapter 492: Grip for Grip, Move for Move

Damon stayed heavy on top, pressing his shoulder into Malikin's jaw, making every inch of space a battle.

He worked methodically, his hips low, knees tight. This wasn't a scramble; it was a dismantling, brick by brick. But Malikin wasn't going quietly.

The Russian adjusted quickly, showing why he was a champion in two other divisions. He bridged hard, turning toward Damon, and slid his knee between them to create space.

Damon anticipated it, shifting his weight, but Malikin was already moving, snaking his left arm under Damon's far leg and attacking a deep half-guard sweep.

"Malikin's not just a power wrestler," one commentator warned. "This guy has a serious grappling pedigree."

Damon adjusted, but Malikin used the momentum to explode, tipping Damon sideways for just a moment.

Not enough to reverse completely, but enough to create space.

Malikin scrambled to his knees, his hands locking around Damon's waist in a tight body lock.

"Malikin looking for the takedown reversal now!"

Damon planted his feet, widening his base as Malikin drove forward.

They hit the fence hard, grinding against it, both searching for position.

Malikin worked for an inside trip, but Damon stayed balanced, his underhook digging deep.

In an instant, Damon reversed the pressure and hit a slick outside trip of his own, bringing Malikin back to the mat.

This time, Damon landed in half guard, instantly working to pass.

The crowd roared at the pace, the ground battle as intense as any striking exchange.

Read 𝓁at𝙚st chapters at ƒrēenovelkiss.com Only.

Malikin, to his credit, stayed composed.

He framed with his forearm, slid his hips, and regained butterfly guard for a moment.

Then he swept his leg inside, trying to elevate Damon for a sweep.

But Damon posted, shifting his weight perfectly, and flattened Malikin again.

"He's one step ahead," one of the commentators said, almost in awe. "Damon Cross is putting on a clinic right now."

But Malikin wasn't done.

In a flash, he snapped his legs up high and locked Damon in a loose rubber guard, cranking his left leg over Damon's shoulder.

Then Malikin reached behind Damon's head, threatening a triangle.

The crowd surged as Malikin tightened it, crossing his ankles, starting to lift Damon's trapped arm.

"Triangle setup! Malikin's got something here!" the commentator shouted.

Damon's face didn't change. He postured up, his hands digging in at the hips.

He adjusted his angle, kept his weight low, and suddenly burst free with a sharp turn of his shoulder, breaking the lock.

Malikin shifted immediately, transitioning to an armbar attempt.

Damon spun with it, stacking him, keeping his elbow safe.

Then he drove Malikin's knees to his chest and slammed him into the mat to break the hold.

"He's out! Unreal defense from Cross!"

"This is a high-level grappling match, folks."

Damon floated over Malikin's guard and into side control again, this time pinning Malikin's near arm with his knee.

He dug his left arm under the neck again, sliding into a head-arm choke setup.

Malikin defended, keeping his chin tucked, but Damon adjusted his grip, tightening the squeeze, his bicep flexing around Malikin's throat.

"He's got it! Cross is tightening the head-arm choke!"

Malikin shifted his hips desperately, bridging hard, walking his feet toward the fence.

He managed to create just enough space to relieve the pressure and Damon released it, realizing it wasn't there.

Instead, Damon postured up and drove a brutal elbow down into Malikin's face.

The cut over Malikin's eye opened again, blood smearing across Damon's forearm.

But Malikin was still fighting. He exploded again, framing off Damon's neck and scrambling to his knees.

This time, Damon let him come up, only to snap him down into a front headlock.

"Cross with the front headlock! Is he thinking guillotine?"

He adjusted his grip, threatening it, but Malikin was wise to it and circled out, back to his feet.

Both men stood.

Breathing heavy.

Blood running down Malikin's face.

Sweat pouring from both of them.

The crowd was on its feet, the commentators nearly breathless. "This is as high-level as it gets," one of them said. "Grappling, striking, pace, pressure, this is world championship fighting."

Damon smiled slightly.

Malikin wiped the blood from his eye.

And they stepped forward again.

No hesitation.

Ready for the next exchange.

Damon didn't wait.

As soon as Malikin reset on his feet, Damon closed the distance. Sharp, aggressive footwork carried him in tight.

He fired a fast jab, snapping Malikin's head back. Then came a brutal inside leg kick, landing with a sickening thud that buckled Malikin's lead leg for half a second.

But the Russian bit down on his mouthpiece and fired back.

A heavy right hand screamed toward Damon's head.

Damon slipped just inside it, but the glove grazed his temple.

Close.

Too close.

They were in a phone booth now. Damon fired a left hook to the body, folding Malikin slightly, and followed with a savage elbow up top. It cracked against Malikin's brow, splitting the cut wider.

Blood streamed down the Russian's face now, getting into his eye.

But Malikin wasn't backing down.

He threw a knee that smashed into Damon's thigh, followed by a short uppercut that clattered off Damon's jaw. Damon's head snapped back, but he stayed upright, firing back instantly with a right hook that rattled Malikin's skull.

The arena was electric. The crowd surging on every strike. Both fanbases screaming, as Irish and Russian chants echoed together.

"Unbelievable exchange! These two are leaving it all in the cage!"

"Neither man is giving an inch!"

Malikin shot for another takedown, dipping low, his timing sharp.

But Damon saw it.

He sprawled hard, stuffed the shot, and immediately circled behind him, latching onto Malikin's waist.

Damon lifted.

And slammed Malikin to the mat with authority, drawing a thunderous roar from the crowd.

"Big takedown by Cross! That's huge!"

"You don't see Malikin get manhandled like that!"

Damon didn't waste a second.

He transitioned straight into mount.

Malikin bridged, but Damon rode the wave, staying tight, his hips low, his posture deadly calm.

He postured up just enough and rained down a vicious elbow.

Then another.

Blood splattered across the canvas as Malikin tried to cover up, his defense tight but slipping.

Damon mixed it up, hammer fists, elbows, short punches to the body, never letting Malikin settle.

"He's overwhelming him! Cross is putting on a clinic!"