MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat

Damon stood before the mirror in his bedroom, shirtless, his reflection staring back at him.

He turned slowly, exposing his back to the mirror.

His gaze locked onto the large scar that stretched across his shoulder blades, a jagged, pale mark that had once been an angry red wound.

It had been years since he'd intentionally stood like this, scrutinizing it.

The last time he'd really looked at it, not just glimpsed it by accident, was back in Stockton.

Back when his frame had been smaller, his body leaner, and the scar stood out like a glaring wound on a boy not yet fully grown.

Now, with his broader shoulders and the added muscle that came with his years of dedication, the scar had shifted.

It got a little longer, and the edges pulled along the curves of his back.

No longer did it look like an open cut, but rather like a scar that would never go away.

The scar seemed almost smaller now in proportion to his larger frame, but it was still there, unmistakable, and impossible to ignore.

It wasn't just a mark on his skin, it was a mark on his past, on everything he'd endured to get here.

He ran his fingers lightly over it, his mind drifting back to the memories he tried to bury.

Back to the screams, the fear, the helplessness.

Back to the man who had left that scar, who had taken so much from him and his mother.

Why did I look at it…

It wasn't as if he'd never seen it before.

The scar was always there, faintly visible every time he took off his shirt, a permanent part of him.

But he never gave it much attention.

Today was different.

The conversation with Svetlana had stirred something inside him, emotions he hadn't allowed himself to feel in a long time.

As he stared at the scar in the mirror, her words echoed in his mind.

"I don't deal with it because it's part of me."

She had spoken about accepting her past, her pain, her scars, and how they shaped who she was now.

Damon wasn't sure if he could do the same.

His fingers hovered over the scar, then slowly traced its uneven surface.

He thought about what it meant, not just the pain it had caused, but everything it represented.

The fight to survive, the years of fear, the helplessness that had defined so much of his childhood.

But it wasn't just about the suffering.

But he couldn't feel what Lana felt. He couldn't just accept it as part of him, as she had.

How could he?

Every time he stared at the scar, every time his fingers brushed its uneven surface, he felt the same wave of emotions crashing down on him like a relentless tide.

Not pride. Not strength. Not survival.

He felt like a victim.

A victim of a man who had stolen so much from him, who had taken the safety and innocence of his childhood and twisted it into something dark and unrecognizable.

Hatred burned in his chest, a searing flame that had never truly gone out. He hated him.

The man who was supposed to be his father. The man who should have protected him, not hurt him.

But beneath that hatred was something even worse: sadness.

Sadness for the man his father had become.

For what could have been. For the life he and his mother could have had, a normal family, a safe home, laughter, love.

He thought about all the "what-ifs" and "could-have-beens" until the weight of them felt suffocating.

His mother deserved better. He deserved better.

Damon clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms.

He couldn't even remember the last time he let himself feel this deeply.

The last time he let himself confront these emotions instead of burying them under hours of training and fighting, numbing himself with the grind of the octagon.

He never even felt like he had been hiding them, as he never thought of them, while he thought of his father, it was always a fleeting moment... forgettable in that moment, but stuck forever in his memories. Continue your adventure at empire

But now, looking at the scar, the memories came flooding back like a nightmare he couldn't wake up from.

The sound of shattering glass.

The way his mother screamed, trying to shield him.

The suffocating fear as he curled up, waiting for it to be over.

The sharp, blinding pain when his father lashed out, the world spinning as he hit the ground.

His chest heaved, his breath quickening as he stared at the reflection in the mirror.

His body, now a weapon of precision and strength, seemed alien to him in this moment.

The scar didn't belong on a fighter, on someone who was supposed to be a symbol of control and dominance.

No.

The scar belonged to a victim.

And that's what he still felt like.

He wanted to scream, to punch the mirror until it shattered, to release the rage and helplessness that had been bottled up inside him for so long.

But he didn't.

He couldn't.

Instead, he sat on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands, the room closing in around him.n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

He hated the man who did this to him. But more than that, he hated that the man still had power over him.

Even after all these years.

Even after Damon had built himself into someone stronger, someone who could never be hurt like that again.

Tears welled in his eyes, blurring his vision, but he didn't let them fall.

He wouldn't give his father that satisfaction, even now.

Damon wanted to accept it, to move on, to let it be "just a scar."

But it wasn't.

It was a mark of everything he had lost. Of everything he still carried.

And he didn't know if he'd ever be free of it.

He took a step back from the mirror, his reflection feeling foreign, like he was looking at someone else entirely.

Regret washed over him, heavy and suffocating.

Why did he tell her? Why did he let the words spill out, unguarded, raw?

Why did he open up that scar, the one he worked so hard to keep buried beneath layers of strength and silence?

It didn't make sense.

Hours ago, he was happy, genuinely happy.

He'd laughed, smiled, felt the warmth of Svetlana's presence like a shield against the darker corners of his mind.

So why wasn't he smiling now?

His gaze returned to the mirror, and he felt small. Diminished. Like the scar wasn't just on his back but carved into his very being, a wound that had never really healed.

And honestly... it felt like kf never would.