The body, emptied.
The spirit, ablaze.
Both the Kansas City Chiefs and the Philadelphia Eagles had reached their physical limits, sustained now by sheer willpower alone. They clenched their teeth and pressed on, step by agonizing step.
The labored breaths and searing sweat thickened the air into waves of oppressive heat. Within the closed dome of Bank of America Stadium, it felt like the whole arena was suffocating.
Now, it was a test of will.
Moments ago, the Chiefs' no-huddle offense had whipped through like a hurricane. But the Eagles had caught their breath and seized a chance—just as the Chiefs were gasping for air, Philly struck back with a surge of defensive pressure.
2nd and 7—cornerback Jalen Mills made a leaping swat to break up a pass to Hunt. No interception, but the incompletion stood.
3rd and 7—the Eagles went all-in, dialing up a blitz. Linebacker Bradham disrupted Smith's timing just enough—after nearly throwing a pick last down, Smith flinched. He floated a ball to Kelce, but it was just too high. Kelce managed only to graze it with his fingers as the ball spun out of bounds.
4th and 7.
The tempo stayed tight. The Chiefs kept their no-huddle rhythm alive—but they'd drifted off their script. The Eagles defense had rallied just in time and seized back momentum.
There was no time to grieve. No room to regret. 4th down had arrived.
Smith stood frozen, hands on hips, his eyes flickering with doubt. A storm of bitterness and unwilling resignation churned behind his stare. His mind screamed—
Was this it? Were they truly out of gas?
The end zone was within reach. But it felt as far as ever—separated by a chasm that effort alone couldn't bridge.
Despair loomed.
"Captain!"
A voice shattered through his daze. A weight landed on his shoulder—Lance's hand.
Smith's eyes snapped into focus. He locked onto Lance's burning gaze:
"Just a little longer. Just a little more."
Yes, the final stretch was the hardest, the cruelest. But they were here—they couldn't give up now.
"Fourth down," Lance said.
Smith took a deep breath, forcing himself to re-center. His trembling pupils stilled.
Nobody on either team left the field.
Game clock: 14 seconds.
Ball: Eagles' 33-yard line.
Situation: 4th and 7.
Anyone could guess—there would be no punt, no field goal attempt. The Chiefs would go for it.
No timeouts for Kansas City. No way to reset or substitute. Even communication between coaches and quarterback was rushed, squeezed into milliseconds.
Philly still had three timeouts—but they wouldn't use one. Not now. Not when disarray favored their defense.
And then—
Incomplete passes became the Chiefs' saving grace.
Each incompletion stopped the clock. By rule, a team has 25 seconds to reset after an incomplete pass. Sometimes, when out of timeouts, quarterbacks will intentionally spike the ball to get those precious seconds.
Now, after two straight incompletions, the Chiefs had exactly that—25 seconds to regroup.
"In the first half, the Eagles delivered the 'Philly Special' on 4th and 1. A miracle that set the tone."
"Now, at the end of the second half, the Chiefs face 4th and 7. They need a miracle of their own."
"But…"
"Kansas City has one slight edge—they're within 40 yards of the end zone. They have time for two, maybe three more plays. They might not need a Hail Mary just yet. They can chip away."
Collinsworth's words tumbled out in a rush—no time to breathe. The Chiefs had already lined up.
"Attack!"
Smith clenched his jaw. Every cell in his body screamed. His knees buckled. He couldn't even stand straight.
But his will burned on. He launched the play.
Boom.
The Eagles rushed only four. The pressure eased.
Smith scanned quickly. The Chiefs' receivers shot out like shrapnel in a shotgun blast, surging deep. The Eagles' secondary backed off immediately, clinging to their man coverage scheme, clearly bracing for a Hail Mary.
They'd learned from the Patriots game.
But Smith didn't wait. There was no time.
Drop back. Plant. Adjust. Fire.
Muscles burning, wrist numb—his throwing touch dulled by pain—but his eyes remained sharp.
Whoosh.
A bullet pass. No arc. Quick and straight.
A short pass.
Linebacker Bradham: Damn it.
Cornerback Darby: Oh no.
They saw him—Lance.
He'd darted forward after the snap but hadn't gone full speed. At the ten-yard mark, he curled back.
Perfectly timed. Smith hit him.
A five-yard gain.
Bradham and Darby pounced.
Darby was a beat late. Bradham, locked on Lance all play, reacted instantly.
Collision. Pressure. Interference.
Bradham reached him before the ball even arrived—he was locked in.
Exhausted as he was, Bradham's eyes lit with fury. If he had to burn every last ounce of his soul, he'd stop Lance here.
He wasn't letting him make that catch. No way.
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Powerstones?
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