American Football: Domination

The wind howled fiercely, a storm brewing as if the very air around was compressing and surging in waves. Smoke and flames seemed to roar together.

And yet, Lance was savoring the moment.

Exhilaration. Excitement.

Calmness. Rationality.

His movements were deliberate, his steps measured. Instead of rushing forward, Lance hesitated for a moment, a choice that might appear foolish to others but gave him a crucial advantage in timing and positioning.

He watched as the defensive end lunged forward, losing the chance to readjust. Only then did Lance spring into action.

He advanced, meeting the charge head-on.

Using stillness to counter motion.

As their collision seemed imminent, Lance's nimble footwork, as graceful as a dance on the edge of a blade, shifted. In an elegant yet razor-sharp move, he brushed past the defensive end, a smooth sidestep that saw him slip to the left, just grazing his opponent's right.

So close.

The sleeve of Lance's jersey brushed against the air between them, sparks seemingly igniting from the friction.

And then he was gone—

Ninety-eight, Trey Flowers, felt his arms grasping at thin air. He had been ready to close the trap, certain the rookie was within his grasp.

But there was nothing. Not a jersey. Not even a shadow.

Where did he go?

Flowers had kept his eyes locked on Lance the entire time, reacting in real time. How did the rookie vanish?

Before Flowers could ponder further, gravity reminded him of its presence. He tumbled forward, the green turf rising to meet him.

Outmaneuvered.

This was Lance.

Calm under pressure. Sharp. Dangerous. Precise.

Lance's escape from the first obstacle revealed a broader field ahead, but it was far from open. Two defenders quickly converged, cutting off his path.

One was cornerback Malcolm Butler, moving laterally across the field. Initially targeting Kelce, Butler's focus shifted mid-play—wait, why was the ball over here?

The other was a linebacker, stationed to monitor and react, not fooled by Smith's feint. His eyes were locked on Lance.

This was NFL football at its best: high-speed chess, played by athletes with split-second reactions.

Smith's fake pass to Kelce had created a gap on the left side, clearing space for Lance, but the Patriots' defense adjusted quickly.

It wasn't one player but two who now barred Lance's path.

And further back, a safety was closing in to tighten the net.

To some, it might seem like Lance's earlier hesitation had cost him an opportunity, forcing him into this high-pressure situation.

But Lance saw it differently.

He wasn't flustered.

His senses heightened, the field came into sharp focus. He had anticipated this, even as he sidestepped Flowers.

A true tactician plans three moves ahead.

Without breaking stride, Lance veered toward Butler.

Butler's grin widened.

This was exactly what he wanted.

Malcolm Butler had made a name for himself during Super Bowl XLIX, where he intercepted Russell Wilson's goal-line pass to clinch the game for the Patriots.

At the time, Seattle was just two yards from victory. A simple run with Marshawn Lynch seemed like the obvious play, but the Seahawks gambled on a pass. Butler's interception became one of the most iconic plays in NFL history.

Undrafted in 2014, Butler went from an unknown rookie to a Patriots legend in one game. Though not the most physically dominant cornerback, Butler had a big-game mentality.

Now, staring down Lance, Butler saw his chance.

In Butler's eyes, Lance was nothing more than a flashy rookie—talented, sure, but inexperienced.

Butler had little respect for high draft picks, considering himself and Brady as proof that greatness wasn't determined by draft position.

He thrived on proving such players wrong, relishing the opportunity to humble them.

And as Lance charged toward him, Butler smirked, confident he had this play figured out.

The linebacker had Lance's outside lane sealed off, and Butler was closing the inside. Lance had no escape.

It was time to teach the rookie a lesson.

Or so Butler thought.

Crash.

Butler's plan unraveled in an instant.

Lance didn't try to sidestep or juke. Instead, he lowered his shoulder and drove straight into Butler's chest.

The collision was jarring, a direct hit that sent shockwaves through Butler's body.

Butler had intended to tackle low, aiming for Lance's legs, but the rookie's sheer explosiveness caught him off guard.

A split second was all it took for Lance to gain the upper hand.

Butler faltered, his momentum stolen.

For a fleeting moment, time seemed to freeze. Butler could see Lance's eyes through the helmet—focused, unwavering, treating him as nothing more than an obstacle to be overcome.

And then, gravity took over.

Butler was airborne.

He felt himself lifted off the ground, crashing down hard onto the turf.

Silence.

Back in 2014, Michaels and Collinsworth had been in the booth to call Butler's game-winning interception.

Today, they were witnessing Butler being bulldozed.

Michaels' voice trembled.

"Oh… oh my."

Collinsworth was speechless.

Lance didn't pause. The collision with Butler fueled his momentum, and he sprinted toward the left sideline, recalibrating his balance as he ran.

The crowd erupted.

"Unbelievable!"

"New England's 92, James Harrison, is closing in! He's going to force Lance out of bounds!"

Harrison lunged for a hit, but Lance stayed upright, managing to keep his balance just inches from the sideline.

"Five yards! Ten yards!"

"And finally!"

"Safety Patrick Chung puts an end to Lance's incredible run, shoving him out of bounds. But not before Lance manages to push forward for an additional five yards!"

"Fifteen yards!"

"Lance just carried the ball fifteen yards after nearly losing his footing. His balance, power, and determination turned what seemed like a dead play into a spectacular gain. If that's not making magic from chaos, I don't know what is."

----------

Powerstones?

For 20 advance chapters: patreon.com/michaeltranslates