MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat-Chapter 844: Boxing Debut

Music blasted through the arena as Blake made his entrance, surrounded by flashing lights and cameras.

A well-known rapper walked beside him, hyping the crowd while performing the custom walkout track written just for the night.

The fans roared, waving signs and phones, recording every step. Blake fed off the energy, smiling, nodding, hands raised like he already won.

The commentary team spoke over the noise.

"I mean, there's been a lot of talk leading up to this fight, and this man has never lacked confidence. Love him or hate him, Blake Cole knows how to own the moment."

Blake climbed the ring steps, spreading his arms as pyrotechnics flashed behind him.

His attire was white and gold, clean, flashy, expensive.

His robe had a feathered trim along the shoulders, matching his oversized ego, and his team surrounded him like a personal parade.

He shadowboxed in the corner while his music faded, still wearing that smug grin that drove fans wild and furious at the same time.

Then, the arena went dark.

A deep bass line hit. Green and gold lights swept across the crowd in rhythm, pulsing from the tunnel to the ring. The fans started shouting before Damon even appeared.

When he did, the energy shifted.

Damon walked out calm, robe drawn tight, head slightly lowered. His robe was black with dark green patterns woven into the fabric, gold streaks running across the seams.

The design was sharp and refined, built for presence rather than spectacle. His gloves matched perfectly, shining faintly under the tunnel lights.

Joey had offered to bring in a singer or performer for the entrance, but Damon turned it down.

The commentary continued over the roar.

"And here he comes. The global sensation himself. One of the greatest MMA fighters to ever enter the octagon, not my words, those are from UFA president Ronan Black. This man's rise has been nothing short of phenomenal. Thirty one wins, undefeated, and hold two championships, and tonight, he steps into a boxing ring for the very first time."

As Damon approached the ring, the camera caught his expression, composed, cold, focused. He didn't look around nor did he play to the crowd.

He climbed the steps, ducked between the ropes, and entered the ring like it was another cage, another hunt.

Blake stood across from him, pacing and smirking, trying to catch his eyes.

The announcer entered the ring and began the introductions, his voice echoing across the packed arena.

The ring was crowded, not just with the fighters and referee, but with camera crews, officials, and a few people Damon couldn't even identify.

It was a far cry from the UFA setup, where only the essentials stood inside the cage.

He watched quietly, taking it all in. The boxing world moved differently. The pace was slower, more theatrical. Every name, every sponsor, every record got its moment.

When the announcer reached his name, the list of accomplishments went on longer than he expected. Championships, records, accolades, it almost felt like a roll call of everything he'd ever achieved.

The crowd cheered after every mention, and one of the commentators even joked, "With a list of accolades that long, it sounds more like a threat than an introduction."

Damon couldn't help but smirk. He liked this kind of announcement.

It wasn't like the UFA's, where the voice of Deuce Baffer made every word feel like a war cry.

Those moments were raw, primal, the kind that pumped adrenaline straight through his veins and made him feel like a gladiator stepping into the colosseum.

This, though, had a different flavor. It didn't make his blood rush, but it had weight. It carried pride. It stroked his ego in a way the UFA never tried to, not by calling him a warrior, but by presenting him like royalty.

And standing there, under the bright lights, with the crowd chanting his name, he had to admit, it felt good.

The referee motioned for both fighters to step forward. Damon and Blake walked from their corners, the lights above catching the sweat already forming on their shoulders. The crowd's noise softened to a low rumble as the referee raised his hands between them.

He spoke with the kind of authority that came from years of doing this. "Alright, gentlemen, you both know what's on the line tonight. This is a twelve-round professional boxing match under unified rules." He paused briefly, making sure both were listening. "No holding. No hitting behind the head. No shots below the belt. No punches after the break. When I say stop, you stop. When I say fight, you fight. Protect yourselves at all times, and obey my commands at all times. You understand?"

Both men nodded, eyes still fixed on each other.

The referee stepped closer, gripping each of their wrists in turn and lifting them slightly for the cameras, the gold trim of Damon's gloves brushing against Blake's white ones. "We went over the rules in the back," he continued. "I expect a clean fight. Let's keep it professional."

He pushed their gloves together, forcing the traditional tap. The contact was brief but tense. Blake tried to linger, smiling like he wanted to bait a reaction, but Damon didn't give him the satisfaction. He pulled back immediately, turning and walking to his corner without breaking eye contact.

The referee pointed to both corners. "Back up. When the bell rings, come out ready."

Damon rolled his neck once, then adjusted his gloves, exhaling through his nose. His breathing was steady. 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝒆𝒘𝙚𝓫𝙣𝙤𝒗𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

Across the ring, Blake bounced lightly, mouthing something the cameras couldn't catch. Damon didn't care. He'd heard enough talk in the weeks leading up to this.

The referee checked both corners one last time, then raised his hand to signal the timekeeper.

The crowd began to rise, the noise swelling again as the final few seconds ticked down. Damon tightened his stance, one glove near his chin, the other hovering just below.

Damon reached his corner, turning just as Victor stepped forward from behind the ropes.

He placed a hand on Damon's shoulder, leaning close enough for only him to hear.

"You got this, son," Victor said, his voice low and steady. "Do what you do best. Nothing changes. Just fight your fight."

Damon nodded once, eyes locked across the ring. His gloves came together with a light pop as he loosened up his stance.

The crowd buzzed with anticipation as the referee checked both corners. Commentators' voices filled the airwaves, excitement building as the camera zoomed in on the two men.

"And here we go," one of them announced. "The Ronin, Damon Cross, the undefeated two-division UFA champion, making his boxing debut tonight against The Bad Kid himself, Blake Cole. Cross in the green and gold trunks, Cole in the white and gold."

The bell rang.

"Round one, and we're on!"