Step, step.
Kelce and Jenkins tangled with each other—faking, feinting, nudging. Neither made a bold move.
But Kelce stayed focused. He knew the play. He was waiting for the right moment.
He noticed Jenkins's distraction but didn't pounce. Instead, he leaned into Jenkins, drawing his attention back, using subtle feints to cloud his judgment.
And then—without warning—Kelce exploded.
One stride forward, shoulder into shoulder—
Impact.
Using his momentum, Kelce bulldozed through. Jenkins was thrown off balance, and Kelce bolted ahead, unleashing every ounce of remaining energy.
He broke free.
Jenkins stumbled, caught off guard. His focus had been split between Robinson and Hill. Now, suddenly, everything blurred.
Like a power outage—total disorientation.
Jenkins flailed to recover, hands grasping, legs pumping, desperate to catch up.
But Kelce? He was gone.
Though speed wasn't his strength, he summoned every shred of fuel left in his tank. He flew.
Above the field, beneath the dazzling lights of Bank of America Stadium, a spiraling brown arc shimmered—spinning tightly, slicing the air.
Every eye, on-field and off, fixated on that ball.
Alan, too—he couldn't look away.
The 20-yard line.
The 10-yard line.
The football arced down like a scythe through silence, lifting every heart into the air, then plunging it down.
End zone.
The ball descended. Kelce was right there—hands up, eyes locked in.
Pop.
The football nestled into Kelce's arms.
Caught.
But then—
Jenkins leapt. A diving, missile-like tackle at Kelce's knees.
One second.
That's all it took.
He wrapped up Kelce with every ounce of weight and strength, hurling them both into a tangled crash in the end zone.
Gasps exploded around the stadium.
The two tumbled violently—Jenkins locking on, Kelce crumpling.
The ball popped loose—bounced up.
A gasp.
And then—hands.
Two hands shot up from the chaos like claws from the grave—just like the final jump scare in Carrie.
Kelce. Snatched the ball back before it could escape.
Then—
He stood.
He stood.
Right hand high.
Still holding the ball.
"God! A tackle!"
"Jenkins hit him clean—but it might be a penalty!"
"A fumble?!"
"No! No, he's got it!"
"WAIT—LOOK!"
"IT'S KELCE!"
"My God—HE CAUGHT IT!"
"A pass from Lance!"
"What are we witnessing?!"
"The Kansas City Chiefs' running back, Lance, just threw a 30-yard touchdown to tight end Kelce—IN THE END ZONE!"
A touchdown.
Kelce rose from the pile like a bloodied gladiator, chest heaving, soaked in sweat, pulsing with fury. He stared down Darby, who had charged in too late, and roared in his face—rage and triumph bursting from his eyes.
"AHHHH!"
"AHHHHHH!"
The ball? His.
The touchdown? Undeniable.
They'd been on the edge of the cliff, balancing on a tightrope above hell.
But they threw everything in—and made it. They did the impossible.
KELCE ROARED.
"CHAMPIONS!"
In the broadcast booth, Collinsworth finally found his voice, overwhelmed.
They were witnessing history.
"Philadelphia delivered an epic. They drove the Chiefs to the edge of the abyss. One hand on the trophy…"
"But the Chiefs—they did it again."
"This transformed Kansas City team—again made the play at the moment of truth. Their third in this postseason alone."
"Coach Reid dialed up the perfect trick play. From Smith to Hunt to Lance—then this rookie running back—YES, a rookie—launched a 30-yard bomb."
"And it was perfect. Hit Kelce in stride, in the end zone, with defenders swarming."
"A BUZZER-BEATER!"
"UNREAL. ABSURD. IMPOSSIBLE!"
"Lance—22 years old. A rookie. In just his second year playing football. And now, on the Super Bowl stage, he channels LEGENDARY poise."
"With everything on the line, he leads the Chiefs to a stunning, all-out, epic climax."
"Even watching it—being here—I can't believe what I've just seen."
Breathless. Red-faced. Arms flying. Collinsworth couldn't stop.
Because this was madness.
Because the Chiefs had turned this into a fairytale.
Because the entire game had been thrilling from the opening whistle to the final gasp.
Because the suspense—lasted until the final second.
Brilliant. Breathtaking. Completely bonkers.
"The Eagles' 'Philly Special' blew the roof off in the first half."
"But that—THAT—was just the beginning."
"The second half? Kansas City's 'Chiefs Special' detonated the entire continent. With heart, with fury, with finesse—THIS was football at its highest level."
"No one expected the opening."
"No one predicted the end."
From the first second to the last, this game was a masterpiece of chaos and courage.
"In a turbulent, stormy 2017 season, THIS is what greatness looked like."
"A Super Bowl for the ages."
"Final score: 43–44."
"Super Bowl 52 Champions: THE KANSAS CITY CHIEFS!"
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Powerstones?
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