Ah—ah, ahhh!
Annie's eyes went wide. She threw her arms high, mouth gaping in a silent cheer, heart leaping so hard it felt like it might burst into the roaring wind of the whole world. She stared at her friends in disbelief.
Felix clenched his fists and pumped them, again and again. Even thousands of miles away, he fought alongside the team in this moment. Passion. Fire. His life force burned like a furnace.
This was the deciding moment—the knife's edge.
The Kansas City Chiefs surged, raising both tempo and intensity. Offense and defense ignited together, unleashing a flurry of blows that left the Seattle Seahawks stunned.
Pete Carroll blinked—
Wait, what just happened?
A heartbeat ago, the two teams were locked in a brutal stalemate. In the blink of an eye, the balance shattered and the Chiefs pulled away. Carroll couldn't read it.
But Carroll was no fool. The man who built Seattle's Legion of Boom and nearly forged a dynasty wasn't going to wilt now.
Crisis hit—and Carroll stood tall, shuffling his pieces once more.
The game wasn't over. If Seattle's defense could hold the next Chiefs drive, Wilson would get another shot.
But first—the defense had to stop them.
Mahomes faked left to Watkins, then fired right. Lance and Kelce ran a twin route, screening for each other—Lance took the catch and, with Kelce springing him free, surged twelve yards.
Next, a quick short pass to Kelce. Lance and Watkins blocked like bodyguards. Three yards turned into eleven.
Then, a play-action fake—Mahomes zipped one to Watkins, who danced and twisted through Seattle's second line for another ten.
Tempo. That was the key.
Conventional wisdom said Reid should have slowed it down. The Chiefs led, the clock ticked under four minutes. Pound the ground with Lance, bleed time, maybe slip a pass for a first down. That was the book.
And Reid knew it. He also knew the Chiefs were already playoff-bound. No need to burn out here chasing the number one seed.
Carroll banked on it. He sent the front seven crashing forward, betting on disruption and a quick three-and-out.
But Reid flipped the script. No stalling, no caution. He went no-huddle, hammering short passes at Seattle's overextended defense.
Seattle's formation cracked.
Then came the dagger—this time, a real handoff.
Mahomes shoved the ball into Lance's chest. The run game finally arrived.
"Perfect," Wagner thought. He crouched, shadowing every step, crab-walking in sync with Lance's lateral moves. The trap was set.
Lance crossed the line of scrimmage. Wagner lunged—cutting him off like a wall, arms wide, a crab with steel claws.
This time, Wagner had it right.
Lance juked right.
Wagner smirked. Already ready.
Lance juked left.
Wagner stayed locked in. The earlier burns had taught him. No more mistakes.
Then Lance feinted right a third time.
But his legs looked heavy. Slower. Wagner refused to bite. He went all in—one stride, a dive, arms wrapping tight.
Got him.
Wagner's arms cinched around his target. His chest swelled with triumph—until he realized.
Too easy. Too light.
The red jersey filled his vision, smashing into his chest.
Direct hit.
The impact froze Wagner's body. A grunt stuck in his throat.
Then Lance took one more half-step—just half a step—and Wagner's center collapsed.
In the same motion, Lance spun. A full circle. Wagner slid past, left reaching at air.
Their eyes met for a fleeting instant. Lance's smile flickered—"Sorry, gotta run."
And he was gone.
Wagner staggered back, chest hollow, forced to watch Number 23's red blur storming away.
Lance exploded. His strides thundered across CenturyLink Field, a cyclone tearing through Seattle.
Two safeties closed in, flanking. Lance cut tight off McDougald's shoulder, using him like a shield. He leaned toward the sideline, danger looming.
Out of bounds? No.
Lance snapped forward, bursting free at the last instant. McDougald lost footing and flew into the white chalk, while Lance stayed upright, storming downfield.
He cut. He surged. He soared into the end zone.
Light. Swift. Deadly.
CenturyLink bowed its head. The devil's den had turned to a sick cat. Furious, but helpless.
"Lance!"
"It's Lance again! God, Lance just made Seattle's defense look like paper—helpless, shredded at will."
"A twenty-seven-yard touchdown run! That's the dagger! Lance kills the suspense, silencing the stadium!"
"People thought Kansas City was in for another war. But Lance had other plans."
"Unstoppable. Ruthless. Lance just extinguished Seattle's last hope with back-to-back strikes."
"Two touchdowns, one three-and-out, all in the last five minutes—Kansas City destroyed everything."
"The game is over! Ended in stunning, brutal fashion!"
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Powerstones?
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