American Football: Domination

Lance looked up and saw an outstretched hand—

It was from Patrick Chung.

Despite being opponents on the field, seeing another Asian face in the NFL was a rare moment of connection, like a fleeting ember glowing in a vast expanse of darkness.

Lance grabbed Chung's right hand and, with a firm pull, was back on his feet.

Chung released him immediately, his voice calm but laced with determination.

"Watch out. Next time, you won't get that far."

With that, Chung gave Lance a pat on the shoulder, a brief smile, and turned to jog back to his position, readying himself for the next play.

Lance watched Chung's retreating figure for a moment, a slight grin forming on his lips. His blood was boiling now, but in the best way—he was only just warming up. If the Patriots didn't step up their game, well, it wouldn't be much fun, would it?

Exhaling softly, Lance quickly returned to the huddle, joining the rest of the offense as they prepared for the next play.

Eyes were everywhere.

It was impossible to miss the flurry of stares from all directions.

The Patriots' defense, led by cornerback Malcolm Butler and outside linebacker James Harrison, was practically boring holes into Lance with their glares.

There was disbelief, anger, and frustration.

Butler couldn't accept the embarrassment of being bulldozed. Harrison was stunned that his own crushing hit had failed to stop Lance. Their pride as part of one of last season's top-ranked defensive units was stung, and they weren't about to let Lance's debut game turn them into a mere footnote.

But something about Lance's performance left them puzzled.

What was going on here?

A brilliant start to the game, followed by a prolonged silence for most of the match, and now, suddenly, this display of unstoppable strength?

It felt like they were dealing with a geyser in the Grand Canyon—quiet one moment, erupting the next, impossible to predict when or how it would strike again.

The Patriots were caught between confusion and irritation.

Were they supposed to focus all their efforts on Lance, or just let him be?

From the broadcast booth, Al Michaels couldn't help but share his thoughts.

"Wow, that's quite the curveball."

"The Chiefs rarely use fake-pass-and-run plays to this extent, but Lance has just shown how effective it can be. Three separate tackles failed to bring him down, and he still managed to push for fifteen yards. That kind of individual brilliance adds a whole new dimension to Kansas City's offense."

"But here's the real question—was this an isolated moment, or can Lance deliver consistently?"

The Chiefs' offense regrouped at their 40-yard line. It was first and ten.

Would they stick to running the ball, or go back to passing?

The Patriots' defense wasn't waiting to find out. They initiated a blitz.

"Set, hut!"

Smith's voice rang out, and the Patriots' defensive line surged forward like a tidal wave.

The pocket began to collapse almost immediately.

The Patriots sent five players charging into the backfield, overwhelming the Chiefs' offensive line. The strategy was clear—pressure Smith into making a mistake and disrupt the rhythm of the play.

And it made sense.

Andy Reid was known for his preference for passing plays, and Smith had been throwing with pinpoint accuracy all game. A sudden blitz was the perfect way to catch the Chiefs off guard and dismantle their game plan.

The tactic was bold and calculated.

The pocket disintegrated rapidly.

Smith, standing amidst the chaos, looked like prey cornered by a pack of wolves. Though Smith wasn't entirely immobile, he was a traditional pocket quarterback. Against the onslaught of the Patriots' defense, he appeared helpless.

"Got him!"

Victory was within their grasp.

But wait—

Where was the ball?

Smith's hands were empty.

The defenders froze, their minds momentarily blank, as if they'd just discovered their carefully laid trap had been sprung on themselves.

And then, in their peripheral vision, a white blur shot past.

Lance.

A run play?

Yes, Reid had called another run play, back-to-back.

This time, there were no elaborate fakes or distractions. Smith had cleanly handed the ball to Lance, who darted to the right, escaping the collapsing pocket before the Patriots realized what had happened.

Ahead of him, Travis Kelce was clearing the way.

Lance stayed low, following closely behind Kelce like a shadow.

On the left side, a defensive end finally caught sight of Lance, readying himself to tackle. But before he could act, Lance had already slipped past, ghosting through the line of scrimmage and breaking into open space.

Behind him, the sounds of clashing helmets and grunts of exertion echoed.

But Lance was already gone.

The Patriots' defense was quick to recover, though. Their secondary and linebackers adjusted rapidly, forming a net to trap Lance as he moved forward.

It was like a scene from a Western—Lance and Kelce surrounded by a hostile posse, the odds stacked against them.

Kelce saw a cornerback charging toward them and took him head-on. With a powerful block, Kelce sent the defender sprawling.

Two plays. Two cornerbacks airborne.

But Kelce's work wasn't done. His eyes darted toward Lance, who was pushing ahead. Just as Kelce moved to follow, he noticed the next wave of defenders closing in.

There was no way through.

Kelce cursed under his breath, already bracing for impact—

But Lance didn't hesitate.

He picked a target—a linebacker slightly out of position—and charged straight at him.

When outnumbered, the best strategy is to focus your attack on a weak point, even if it means absorbing a few hits along the way.

Lance slammed into the linebacker, leveraging his power and momentum.

Bang!

The collision was thunderous.

Like a battering ram, Lance drove forward, his legs churning, his core igniting like a furnace.

He didn't stop. He didn't look back.

He refused to turn around, even as defenders piled on.

More players joined the fray, transforming the play into a chaotic scrum. But somehow, miraculously, the pile kept moving forward.

Lance, with Kelce by his side, was pushing the entire defense backward.

The sheer physicality of the moment sent the crowd into a frenzy.

"This is brute force at its finest!"

"It's raw. It's relentless. This is what football is all about!"

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Powerstones?

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