MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat-Chapter 531: Clash of Chaos

The second round kicked off with a different energy. PDD stood looser now, bouncing on his toes, eyes sharp. Chemasov, by contrast, still looked tense, arms high, chin slightly up, but he was ready to storm.

The moment the bell rang, Chemasov exploded forward.

A sharp level change. He reached for the legs, trying to surprise PDD early.

But PDD was ready.

He sprawled fast, hips heavy, stuffing the takedown and landing a sneaky elbow behind Chemasov's ear as the Russian adjusted.

Jon Goodman: "Whoa! Right out the gate with a shot, Chemasov not wasting time!"

Marvin Duke: "I see you, PDD! That was a clean sprawl and some spicy mustard on that elbow!"

Rich Alvarez: "Yeah, but Chemasov doesn't panic in these scrambles. He's a grinder."

Chemasov clung to the hips, trying to pull PDD toward the cage. He got halfway there before PDD circled off, breaking away with a strong cross-face and reset in the center.

Chemasov nodded at him.

Then he shot again.

This time, PDD sprawled slower, he was starting to wear.

But he threw a knee up the middle that grazed Chemasov's chest.

Back to the feet. Chemasov wasn't letting up.

Another shot. This one went deeper. He got both hands locked.

Jon Goodman: "Uh-oh, he's in deep on that one!"

PDD widened his base, fighting hands, leaning his weight forward, face pressed against the crown of Chemasov's skull. He tried to build frames.

Chemasov lifted—

But PDD twisted out at the last second and threw a wild overhand out of the break.

It clipped Chemasov.

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Both men stood in the center now.

Breathing heavy. Respect building.

Marvin Duke: "This ain't clean technical war, this is raw steak with salt. No seasoning. Just chaos and guts."

PDD began chopping at the lead leg.

One low kick.

Then another.

Chemasov checked the third and charged in again, fists flying, swinging hooks, driving pressure.

He landed a clean right.

PDD backed up into the fence.

And then pivoted, throwing that patented awkward cross that caught Chemasov on the temple.

Chemasov stumbled for half a step, but shot again, grabbing a single leg and pushing PDD back into the cage.

They battled in the clinch. Chemasov landed a body shot. PDD returned a knee.

They separated.

Sweat flew off both men.

Jon Goodman: "This round's just cardio and willpower now."

Marvin Duke: "It's like two bulls running full speed through a minefield. Who trips first?"

They clashed again in the center, hook, cross, leg kick, clinch, break. The round was a meat grinder. The crowd couldn't look away.

And the horn sounded.

Both corners rushed in.

But both men refused to sit.

PDD's corner leaned in as he stood, pacing in place, chest rising and falling with sharp breaths.

"You're good, you're good," one coach said firmly. "He's fading. You're touching him. Keep chopping that leg, open the hands after. Don't brawl. You brawl, he shoots. Keep it sharp, keep it ugly."

Another voice chimed in, "You already slowed him. Just don't get greedy, keep the jab going. You break him with discipline, not chaos."

PDD nodded, clenched his jaw, and exhaled.

The third round began.

Chemasov came out slower this time, his pace slightly dulled. His movement wasn't as sharp, but the intent was still there.

PDD circled with purpose. Jab, jab, leg kick. Then he moved again. Chemasov tried to cut him off, but PDD slid away, resetting every time.

Chemasov shot.

It was slower than before.

PDD sprawled and framed fast, then shoved him off and cracked him with a short hook as Chemasov stood.

The crowd popped.

Jon Goodman: "That one stung!"

Marvin Duke: "He felt that, Chemasov's starting to drown, and PDD's the one pulling him under."

Chemasov swung back wild, caught air, and ate a body shot for his trouble.

PDD moved in, chopping another low kick, then one up top.

This round? It was his.

Chemasov was still dangerous, still firing, but the tides had shifted. The power, the pressure, PDD had taken the wheel.

Jon Goodman spoke over the roar of the crowd, his voice sharp with observation.

"That's the fourth failed takedown attempt, and we're barely into Round 3. Chemasov's shooting out of desperation now."

Rich Alvarez added, "He's usually a machine with these entries, but PDD's hips have been solid. Perfect sprawl timing, good frames, and he's making Chemasov pay for every miss."

Marvin Duke chuckled, "It's like trying to take down a statue that kicks you in the legs every time you try. He's got Chemasov second-guessing now."

Jon continued, "And let's not forget, Chemasov's game runs heavy on top control. If he can't get it there, he's stuck trading with a guy who's sharper, faster, and right now, just fresher."

Chemasov's eyes narrowed as he pushed forward again, biting down on his mouthpiece and throwing a looping overhand right, one of his go-to setups to close the distance. But this time, PDD saw it coming a mile away. He dipped just out of range and countered with a clean jab that snapped Chemasov's head back.

Jon Goodman chimed in, "That's the problem, he's loading up too much now. Trying to force something big instead of setting it up."

Chemasov reset, circling with urgency, but the fatigue was beginning to show. His movement wasn't as sharp. The bounce in his step had dulled.

Still, PDD made a rare error, he overcommitted on a right cross, and Chemasov capitalized, ducking under and finally wrapping both arms around the waist.

Marvin Duke shot up in his chair. "There it is! Big mistake by PDD, he leaned too far in!"

Chemasov hoisted him up, grunting with effort, but PDD spread his base, used the fence, and managed to land on a knee before popping right back up. He turned and pushed Chemasov off with an elbow to the side of the head.

Rich Alvarez, impressed, added, "Man, the scramble awareness is elite. PDD just doesn't accept positions. Even when he slips, he's already planning the recovery."

They reset in the center.

Chemasov's breathing was heavy now, nostrils flared, shoulders rising with every breath. But he wasn't quitting.

He threw another jab, this one sloppy. PDD slipped inside, ripped a body shot, then tagged the chin with a short uppercut that staggered Chemasov back into the cage.

PDD didn't rush. He feinted low, saw Chemasov drop his hands, then stepped in with a sharp left hook.

Chemasov covered up just in time, but his knees were soft.

Jon Goodman: "Chemasov's tough, no doubt. But toughness doesn't win if your tools aren't landing."

Marvin Duke: "He's in a bad spot, fellas. His shots aren't clean, and he's starting to reach. That's when you get slept."

The crowd rose, sensing the momentum swing.

PDD fainted again, stepped left, and lashed a brutal calf kick that nearly swept Chemasov's leg.

Rich Alvarez: "That leg is done. He's not switching stance 'cause he can't. He's gotta dig deep now or this gets ugly."

And as Chemasov reset, wobbling, the third round ticked into its final minute.