MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat
Chapter 740 - 740: First Strike

"Okay, you got this. Go on there and show them hell."

Max nodded without saying a word. He stepped forward with purpose, shoulders squared, jaw set tight.

The house wasn't as loud as a real arena, but the energy was real, fighters watching from the sidelines.

His music played low, but Max barely heard it. His mind was already inside the cage.

He entered with calm steps, no showboating.

His eyes locked onto Pedro Santos, who was already inside, bouncing side to side, arms loose, head tilting with small jerks like he was warming up a rhythm.

Pedro looked calm, but sharp. He gave Max a nod, more polite than friendly.

Max nodded back, muttering something under his breath.

A habit he'd picked up long before this show, part affirmation, part self-check. He stepped to the center as the ref called both men forward.

The referee stood between them. "You know the rules, protect yourselves at all times, listen to my commands at all times. Fight clean, fight smart. Touch gloves if you wish."

Max raised his hand. Pedro did too. The gloves met with a brief smack.

They stepped back. Max rolled his neck. Pedro bounced once more on his toes.

The ref looked at them both. Then he stepped back.

And the fight was on.

The moment the ref waved his hand, Pedro launched a snapping low kick, sharp and fast.

Max checked it, barely lifting his leg in time, then fired back a jab. Pedro slipped just enough and countered with a right hook that grazed Max's cheek.

Max grunted, stepped in, and answered with a heavy left to the body. The thud echoed.

Pedro flinched, but his return came fast, three-punch combo, all aiming high. Max blocked the first two, ate the third. His head jerked, but he stayed upright.

The tempo exploded.

Pedro threw a spinning back kick. Missed. Max stepped in and ripped a right hook into Pedro's ribs.

The impact made Pedro backpedal, but only for a second. Then he rushed forward, eating a jab just to land an overhand right.

Max's head snapped back. He wobbled, but his feet stayed under him.

"Step off the center, Max! Don't stand still!" Damon yelled from the corner, voice sharp.

"Pedro! Work the legs, don't chase him!" Ivan shouted back, just as loud.

They didn't listen. Not fully.

Both men were locked in. Max ducked a left, slipped a right, and fired a brutal uppercut that skimmed Pedro's chin.

Pedro stumbled, but stayed on his feet. Max swarmed, jab, jab, low kick. Pedro blocked, took a step out, then shot back in with a right cross and a clean left hook.

Max took them both. He circled right, breathing hard, sweat already dripping.

Pedro smirked and pointed. "Come on!"

Max nodded, gloves up, and stepped back in. The crowd, fighters and staff, were already on their feet.

They clashed again. Pedro landed a sharp elbow in close range, but Max answered with two knees and a brutal hook to the ear.

Pedro backed off, only to come back with another leg kick that cracked hard against Max's thigh.

"That's it! Break the legs, Pedro!" Ivan barked.

"Don't let him slow you down, Max! Make him work! Move!" Damon roared.

Max's breathing was steady, but heavy. He started feinting, quick steps in, small shoulder twitches.

Pedro read one wrong, and Max caught him with a cross right down the middle. Pedro's head snapped back, and this time he backed up with real caution.

Max pressed. Pedro fired off a wild combination, but Max ducked and landed a nasty hook to the liver. Pedro folded a little, just a second, but it was a real opening.

"NOW!" Damon shouted, both hands clenched.

Max closed the gap, unloading a flurry, left, right, left again. Pedro covered up, clinched, and tried to stall.

Max kept digging short punches to the body and thigh. The ref came in to break them up.

They reset. Both men were sweating hard, breathing through their mouths, but neither backed down.

Max raised his guard. Pedro rolled his shoulders and came forward again.

They met in the middle and started trading.

Left. Right. Kick. Elbow.

It was a war, and it had only just started.

Max came forward again, shoulders loose, chin tucked, legs pulsing beneath him as he pressured.

Pedro bounced in front of him, light on his feet, but Max stayed in range, just enough to make every move feel like a threat.

"Let your hands go! Put your damn guard down and fire!" Damon barked.

Max heard it clear. He adjusted, hands slightly lower now, his movement more reactive, reading Pedro's rhythm instead of flinching through it.

His foot slid in. Pedro fired off a strike from the right, but Max tilted his head just out of the way and returned with a fast step-in that forced Pedro to shuffle back.

Max kept coming. His arms were loose, but now there was danger in his movement. Every small twitch made Pedro flinch.

Pedro lashed out again, going high this time, but Max ducked under, pivoted to the side, and lit him up with a smooth two-touch to the ribs.

Pedro's hands dropped for a second, just enough for Max to step forward and drive his knuckles across the cheek.

Pedro stumbled sideways and caught himself against the cage.

"Now! Pressure him, don't wait!" Damon's voice rang out again.

Max pressed in. Pedro swung wild, trying to reset, but Max used his legs, sharp steps in, short pivots, to cut the cage off. Then he fainted low, just enough to make Pedro twitch his hips backward.

Max didn't know why he did it, but he ducked in and grabbed Pedro's waist. The shot was too high.

His head was up. No drive through. Pedro sprawled without much effort, stuffing it halfway, and tried to slip behind.

Max panicked for a beat. His grip tightened. He didn't reset and he forced the motion.

Somehow, Pedro's leg got caught under him, and Max ended up dragging him down in the ugliest way possible, legs tangled, shoulder off-line, nearly falling over himself. But they hit the mat. Max was on top, chest over Pedro's back.

He paused.

He had no idea what to do next.

Pedro scrambled, posting a knee. Max reached to hold the hip but his hand was too high. Pedro shook him. Max adjusted too slow.

"Flatten him out, hook the legs!" Damon yelled, but Max was just holding on. He didn't hook, or even put in anypressure, he just ketp trying not to get reversed.

Pedro sat up. Max slipped down the side and barely kept top. His grip was too loose. The crowd was loud now, some cheering, others shouting instructions.

Pedro tried to bump and roll.

Max stayed heavy out of instinct, not technique. His breathing was fast, hands clumsy on Pedro's arms.

He reached for the head but had no control. Pedro turned his body, tried to slip out the back. Max grabbed him again, chest to shoulder, but again, it was off balance.

Damon stood now. "Posture up or let it go! You're wasting it!"

Max finally heard that. He backed off slightly, trying to stand over Pedro.

Pedro kicked upward, missed, but used the moment to slide backward and start standing.

Max swung a wild shot downward. Pedro ducked it and got up.

They were both up again. The moment was gone.

Max stood there, arms half-raised, breathing hard.

Pedro's eyes narrowed.

They walked forward at the same time.

The war picked back up.