Capítulo 239: The Forest of Muscle
On the edge of the red zone at the 25-yard line, facing third and five.
The balance of the game was shifting. The field had shrunk for the Eagles' defense, giving them less ground to cover. This allowed them to compress space, making it easier to swarm and surround the Chiefs' offense, while Kansas City's momentum visibly slowed—
First with vigor, next with struggle, finally with exhaustion.
Pederson's tactical adjustments were paying off, successfully slowing the tempo and bringing his team back into rhythm. If the Eagles could hold off this drive and prevent the Chiefs from extending their lead any further, then…
"Set! Hike!"
Smith called the snap.
The Eagles didn't go for an all-out blitz. Instead, they opted for pressure along the line, maintaining a dense defensive presence across the short- and medium-pass zones.
Meanwhile, Smith employed a familiar tactic: Lance came in motion from Smith's right, crossing behind the quarterback's backfield. Smith pivoted, his back to the offensive line, and executed a handoff that shielded the ball from view.
This time, however, the Chiefs adjusted their setup. On the left, a combination of a tight end and a wide receiver formed a stacked formation, while their star receiver, Tyreek Hill, stood alone on the right.
So, was this another fake handoff leading to a pass? Or an actual rushing play?
In the split second that followed, every defender on the Eagles needed to make a rapid decision. The intensity of the game ratcheted up instantly.
Defensive end Derek Barnett didn't waver—
Whenever Lance was on the field, Barnett's focus was absolute.
Part of his attention was occupied with brushing off the offensive tackle in front of him, while the rest was trained on Lance. Even though Smith blocked his line of sight momentarily, Barnett's instincts burned like a laser, locking onto Lance's every move.
And then Lance emerged.
It's him!
While some of the Eagles' defenders turned their attention to Hill to guard against a deep threat, Barnett remained steadfast. He wouldn't let Lance slip away under his watch.
Caught you!
This time, Reid defied expectations by calling a running play on third and five. Conventional wisdom suggested a 90% chance of a passing play, but Reid handed the ball to Lance instead.
Barnett grinned inwardly: You're mine.
This time, there would be no mistakes.
With a lateral step, Barnett shook off the offensive tackle, his massive frame planting itself squarely in the gap, clogging the slot. Instead of lunging recklessly, he maintained his balance, ready to move laterally like a crab. All he needed to do was stop Lance at the line of scrimmage—no flashy heroics, just calculated defense.
Moreover—
Because tight end Travis Kelce was positioned on this side, the Eagles had loaded their formation, stacking reinforcements to counter a potential run. Even with Hill drawing some attention, Barnett knew he had plenty of backup behind him.
Lance's options were limited. The Eagles' defensive alignment resembled a forest of muscle, dense and impenetrable.
Barnett felt invincible.
He quickly noticed Lance's movements. Instead of continuing horizontally, Lance transitioned into a vertical route, clearly aiming to push straight through the defense before the surrounding net could close.
Naturally, the slot became the most direct path forward.
Barnett opened his arms, ready to pounce: Come on, I'm ready for you.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump-thump.
Lance charged.
Barnett's anticipation turned into shock almost instantly.
Fast.
One word, but it consumed his thoughts.
Lance's burst of speed was explosive, his figure expanding rapidly in Barnett's vision. In an instant, it felt as if Lance had teleported closer, like a haunting specter from a horror movie.
Barnett froze, his balance steady just a heartbeat too late.
Then came the impact.
Oof.
A heavy grunt escaped Barnett's mouth as Lance barreled into him like a wrecking ball. The collision felt like an uppercut to the chin, knocking the wind out of him. He didn't even have time to cry out before realizing his helmet had been knocked clean off.
Before Barnett could recover, Lance continued to drive forward, his legs churning with relentless force. The sheer momentum upended Barnett's footing, flipping him onto his back.
The sky spun above him as he fell.
What... what just happened?
Lance didn't spare a glance at the fallen Barnett. Every fiber of his body burned with exhaustion, his shoulders trembling as he pressed on. And there it was—his next obstacle.
Linebacker Jordan Hicks.
Should he give up?
Lance's peripheral vision caught the erratic movements of Hicks' feet, a telltale sign of hesitation. Hicks had been fooled by the Chiefs' layered misdirection, leaving him out of position and scrambling to recover.
Perhaps, there was an opening.
Both players were unsteady.
Lance, teetering on the edge of collapse, feinted right, forcing Hicks to shift in that direction. Then, with a quick burst, Lance cut left, springing forward.
A stutter, a charge.
In the confined space, Lance's rapid adjustments left Hicks a step behind. But as Lance surged forward, his footing gave way, and he nearly toppled to the ground.
The crowd gasped collectively.
From the left, cornerback Rasul Douglas closed in rapidly—
Strike while the iron's hot.
Douglas lunged like a vulture swooping down on its prey.
In the nick of time, Lance planted his left hand on the ground, using his core strength to prevent his knees or rear from touching the turf. With a tremendous effort, he pushed himself upright.
Douglas' trajectory shifted—
Before the cornerback could connect, a red blur intercepted him.
Kelce.
From Lance's perspective, it was like watching a freight train obliterate a would-be tackler. Douglas' triumphant grin twisted into shock before he hit the ground.
The path ahead cleared again.
Lance stumbled onward, his legs wobbling with every step. He skirted around Kelce and Douglas, aiming for the sideline.
Just as he seemed to regain his stride, another white jersey barreled toward him from the right.
The collision came like a sudden gust of wind.
In a reflexive move, Lance leaped.
It wasn't a high jump, but it was enough. The defender dove under him, missing entirely.
Lance landed awkwardly, his knees buckling. But somehow, through sheer grit, he pushed forward, his momentum dragging him ahead.
Step. Push. Step.
Lance's only thought was to keep moving.
Each stumble felt like it could be his last, yet he clawed for every inch.
And then—
The storm was back.
Safety Malcolm Jenkins loomed.
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