At the 42-yard line, 2nd and 7.
In the crisp, dry air, Mahomes' snap count pierced the sky, blue and gold pouring down like a waterfall.
A roar filled the ears.
"Attack!"
Mahomes caught the ball, quickly shuffled left—
A screen pass.
You could see Kansas City's strategy at a glance: Mahomes and the entire offensive line shifted left, but the real key was the blur of receivers streaking outward.
Two on the left, two on the right. Hidden inside the left-side pocket: Lance.
Unpredictable.
Even on this screen play, Mahomes kept his options wide open. The Ravens' defense had no choice but to shift right in lockstep, shadowing tightly.
Collisions. Entanglements. Contact.
At this moment, Baltimore's defensive experience showed—
Facing a screen look where they'd lost initial leverage, defensive end Urban reacted instantly.
He followed the line's leftward movement for a half-step…
Then stopped cold.
Mismatch created.
The pocket was now wide open.
Urban restarted his rush, slashing into the pocket's side.
He might not have been fast enough to reach Mahomes, but the threat was there.
Even if Urban didn't land the hit, Mahomes was exposed.
Meanwhile, the Ravens' defensive front and linebackers unleashed a chaotic, swirling stunt in the trenches—trying to disrupt Kansas City's offensive line and carve a path up the gut.
Hard to execute? Very.
But Baltimore's defenders swung their limbs like octopus tentacles, battering Mahomes and stirring chaos.
Pressure everywhere.
Vision obstructed.
Decision-making disrupted.
Mahomes looked left, looked right—
All he saw was madness.
It was hard to read whether his targets were open.
He needed space to reset.
But the right side was collapsing; Urban kept coming.
Mahomes had no choice but to drift left.
Even that space was tightening fast.
The tension soared—
It was about to break.
Mahomes pivoted right, then flicked a quick pass diagonally backward.
The defenders hadn't spotted the throw.
Before they knew it, the ball was already in motion.
Right side. Who?
Lance.
Lance had slipped quietly behind Mahomes, moving from left to right, pausing just long enough to make the catch.
Screen pass?
No. Play-action run.
And after Lance had already been stuffed on 1st down, Kansas City fed him again on 2nd down.
Simple reason:
Baltimore's pressure on Mahomes was relentless.
Mahomes was being forced into quick throws—this wasn't his preferred style.
Reid was trying to reset the tempo, reassert control.
So Lance got the ball again.
Urban was the first to notice—
Perfect.
From his angle, Urban could see Mahomes' handoff to Lance crystal clear. No secrets here.
Urban was already moving.
Brake.
Turn.
Dive.
Lance had just set his feet for the catch when Urban launched himself—
A swirling storm engulfing Lance.
Milliseconds!
But Lance's feet stayed planted.
His upper body arched back along the ball's flight path.
A "bullet time" move straight out of The Matrix—
Somehow evading Urban's tackle.
Pop.
The ball settled securely into Lance's left arm.
Not done yet.
In a split-second, Lance danced backward, dodging under Urban's tackle line.
One motion vertical; the other lateral.
Next instant: Lance crouched, planted his right hand on the turf, and pushed.
Bang.
Weight transfer.
Like a panther, Lance flung himself forward, leaning almost parallel to the ground.
Teetering.
On the verge of falling.
But he kept pumping his legs.
A breeze—
He slipped right past Urban.
Without leaving a trace.
Urban: ???
What… just happened?
Urban never even saw how Lance escaped—
It was like watching a Houdini act.
But Lance didn't have time to dwell.
Danger wasn't over.
Still regaining his balance, Lance looked up and saw an approaching black tide.
One. Two. Three. Four defenders.
This was Baltimore's hallmark.
Their heavy front stacked bodies at the point of attack, delivering overwhelming pressure.
All game so far, Lance had tried and failed to break free.
Here was another chance.
Step by step, Lance gathered himself, eyes scanning the incoming defenders—but the flashes of black were too fast, too close.
Baltimore knew this game plan inside and out.
They'd faced Le'Veon Bell countless times in "Steelers-Ravens" wars, and they were experts at shutting down his patented "hesitate, read, then burst" style.
So if Lance paused now, Baltimore's pursuit would close in harder and faster.
No time to hesitate.
Push off.
Accelerate.
The pace he'd just slowed down exploded again—
Straight ahead.
On his left flank: Suggs.
Suggs had also been caught out by the screen look, but now he was back, zeroing in.
Lance leaned into his speed, aiming to outrun Suggs laterally.
Suggs clenched his jaw.
Who said he was washed up?
He might be nearly 40, and everyone said he should retire, but he still had power.
He could still duel any young star.
He summoned everything.
But then—
At the very instant Lance looked set to bolt straight past—
Lance braked.
Hard.
Stopped on a dime!
----------
Powerstones?
For 20 advance chapters: patreon.com/michaeltranslates