Ah—ahhhh!
Ahhh! Ahhhhhh!!
Wild. Frenzied. Earth-shaking.
Arrowhead Stadium erupted into madness. The world lay trembling at their feet, as if the burst of energy could shatter the earth itself.
In the end zone, Lance roared.
Once, twice, again and again.
There was no doubt—this was one of the most grueling battles of the season, harder than any other. After returning to the field post-concussion scare, it had been nothing but knife-edge combat, body to body, breath to breath—each inhale felt like it could spark flames.
Finally, a touchdown. Lance raised his voice once more.
He spun around, eyes scanning the battlefield—Wendell, Jefferson, Humphrey, Mosley… on and on. Lance stared them down, standing tall, eyes sharp and unrelenting—
Who else?
Who else dares?!
Ahead: chaos. No one still standing.
Under Lance's gaze, they all trembled.
Then—
Felix lost it. Fists clenched, he shouted:
"He's here, he's there, he's everywhere—he's the Edgewalker! Lance! Lance! Lance!"
One by one, the crowd joined in. The chant spread like wildfire, morphing into thunder. A summer downpour of passion. Arrowhead shook under their roar.
No one was exempt.
Passive, but never quitting. Pinned down, but always fighting.
That's who the Kansas City Chiefs were now.
Even as defending champions, they hadn't grown arrogant or complacent. They adjusted, started anew, and chased victory like it was their first taste of it. Even as the No.1 seed in the AFC, they still gave everything—holding nothing back.
They were young, they were raw, they were fearless. Their burning spirit had become the team's mantra:
Fight—until the last drop of blood is spent.
The deafening chants echoed high above, carrying Lance's presence like a legend carved into the walls of Arrowhead.
On the field, Kelce was the first to run up to the end zone. But instead of the usual hug, he slid to one knee, lifted Lance's foot onto his own leg—
And began polishing his cleats.
Then came Hill, Watkins, the whole crew dropping to one knee like loyal courtiers saluting a king.
Even the defense joined in—Houston and the others raised their arms in a touchdown pose, ran in, and pulled Mahomes along to join the celebration. One by one, they knelt.
The sight was ridiculous—and incredible.
Felix's grin exploded across his face. He turned to Karen, who was laughing just as hard. The chants roared louder:
"He's here, he's there, he's everywhere—he's the Edgewalker! Lance! Lance! Lance!"
The entire stadium boiled over.
Nantz: …
Romo: …
This wasn't the first time the broadcast booth fell into silence. And probably wouldn't be the last.
They were both stunned. Blood boiling. Adrenaline soaring.
"Wow," Nantz finally muttered.
He turned to Romo, who met his eyes and echoed: "Wow."
Smiles crept up both their faces.
Nantz shook his head. "It's just… unbelievable. No matter how many times we see it, it still gives me goosebumps."
"Lance. Did it. Again."
"When the game was locked down. When the Chiefs were on the edge. When the team needed someone—Lance stepped up."
"This time, he had full support from young quarterback Mahomes. That fake pass completely duped the Ravens' defense and opened up space for Lance."
"And Lance didn't waste it. He turned a three-yard short pass into a thirty-one-yard charge."
"Yes, you heard that right."
"Thirty-one yards. A long-range blitz. A full-on assault. Lance dashed along the sideline, dodged three tackles like a circus act, and ran it into the end zone to tie the game."
"Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant!"
After unloading that flurry of commentary, Nantz took a deep breath. A chill ran from his feet to his scalp. His arms were covered in goosebumps.
"Now comes the real test."
"43 seconds left. Baltimore's ball. Lamar Jackson is coming back on."
"The 32nd overall pick in this year's first round is about to face the first real test of his career. Can he lead a winning drive in 43 seconds?"
"The Ravens don't need a touchdown—just field goal range. Harbaugh still has three timeouts. That's huge."
"But now? The pressure's all on Jackson's shoulders."
"It's pressure—but also opportunity. His shot to prove himself…"
Nantz was right—
The game wasn't over.
24–24.
The Chiefs nailed the extra point. Tie game. Nothing decided.
Forty-three seconds left. Both teams had all three timeouts. NFL wasn't NBA—you couldn't drag out the final seconds for twenty minutes—but in these last seconds, anything could happen.
The Ravens were back in control.
"Lance! Lance! Lance!"
The chants still howled through Arrowhead, clutching Lamar Jackson's throat.
Back in the NCAA, Jackson never beat Lance. He told himself they lost to Alabama—not to Lance.
But now?
NFL stage. Head-to-head again. Lance had just dragged the Chiefs out of the grave.
Now it was Jackson's turn.
He took a deep breath. Eyes locked in.
The louder the crowd screamed, the stronger his resolve:
He would prove himself.
He would beat Lance.
Simple as that.
And on the other sideline—
Surrounded by teammates, Lance jogged back to the bench, flashed a smile at Houston, who was about to take the field.
"Hey, Captain. It's a good day for a battle."
The sunlight was clear and bright. The cold Kansas City afternoon had warmed for just a moment.
Soon, the wind would return—and the cold night would begin.
Houston got the message. He grinned.
"I think so too. We're the same kind of people, after all."
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Powerstones?
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