MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat

Chapter 415 Ireland vs. Poland: Lightweight III

Collin struggled beneath Mateusz Garmrond's crushing pressure, his back pressed against the mat as the Polish fighter worked to secure control.

He wasn't making it easy.

Every time Garmrond tried to adjust his grip, Collin would create just enough space to disrupt the transition.

He wasn't a complete novice on the ground, his natural athleticism, balance, and instincts kept him alive.

But survival wasn't winning.

And Garmrond knew it.

Slowly, the Polish fighter shifted his weight, flattening Collin out, inching toward a more dominant position.

Collin's corner erupted with yells.

"Move your hips! Don't let him settle!"

"Turn into him! Frame! Frame!"

The grappling coaches were losing their minds, but it didn't matter, Collin was fighting off instincts, not technique. And instincts alone weren't going to save him for long.

Garmrond attempted to shift to full mount, but Collin buckled his hips, twisting his torso just in time to stop it.

He used his left arm to frame against Garmrond's neck, pushing, resisting.

But resistance wasn't control.

Garmrond kept working.

Kept grinding.

Kept chipping away at Collin's defenses, waiting for the mistake that would come sooner or later.

In the corner, Tommy Hughes was getting restless.

He rubbed his bald head, exhaling through his nose before snapping his head toward Damon.

His hand shot out, gripping Damon's arm.

"Oi, Cross, tell 'im what to do! He's drownin' out there!"

Damon, who had been watching silently, sighed through his nose.

He knew exactly what was happening.

Collin was stalling, not escaping.

If he didn't act soon, Garmrond would either take his back, mount him fully, or wear him down until there was no fight left.

Damon leaned forward, voice sharp.

"He's letting him dictate everything. Tell him to stop reacting and start disrupting, use the damn cage, create a wall, don't just frame, POST and move."

Tommy waved at the grappling coach to relay the message.

But the question was...

Would Collin be able to execute it in time?

The coaches shouted instructions from the corner, their voices frantic.

"POST AND MOVE, COLLIN! USE THE CAGE!"

"STOP REACTING, DISRUPT HIM!"

Collin gritted his teeth, his breath heavy as he processed the instructions. His arms burned from holding off Garmrond's constant weight, but he still had a chance, if he moved now.

He shifted his back closer to the cage, using his feet to inch himself toward it. Garmrond felt the movement and tried to flatten him out again, but Collin finally posted his left arm against the mat, pushing his weight upward.

The difference was immediate.

For the first time, Garmrond's control slipped.

Collin framed against Garmrond's chest, pushing his body up just enough to shift his hips. With his back against the fence, he bent his knee and planted his foot against the cage, creating an angle.@@@@

Garmrond stepped forward, his footwork precise, his eyes locked on Collin's every movement.

Then, he threw a right straight.

Collin instinctively moved his head to the left, avoiding the shot, but that was exactly what Garmrond wanted.

The moment Collin dodged, Garmrond's left hand twitched forward, feinting another punch.

Collin reacted instantly, trying to lean away, expecting the follow-up strike—

But it never came.

Instead, Garmrond suddenly dropped his level.

It was perfectly disguised.

It looked like a takedown.

It felt like a takedown.

And in Collin's mind, after everything he had just been through, it was a takedown.

He sprawled instinctively, lowering his hips, reaching to underhook—

And that's when it happened.

Garmrond exploded up.

His right hand, a thunderous uppercut—

Connected clean.

CRACK.

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Collin's head snapped back violently. His knees buckled, his body collapsed like a folding chair.

The entire arena gasped.

Irish Commentator: "OH SHITE! HE'S OUT, HE'S OUT!"

Polish Commentator: "ABSOLUTE PERFECTION FROM GARMROND!"

Collin hit the canvas, eyes glazed, arms limp.

But Garmrond wasn't done.

He rushed forward, dropping his weight, and began to rain down hammerfists.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Collin's head bounced against the mat, his body barely reacting.

The referee dove in, waving his arms frantically.

"STOP! STOP!"

Garmrond immediately backed off, standing tall, his chest heaving from adrenaline.

Collin?

Motionless.

The fight was over.

Garmrond walked away calmly, his face expressionless. He had set the trap.

And Collin had walked straight into it.