Staggering. Unsteady. On the brink of collapse.
Unbelievably, Lance had only crossed five or six yards past the line of scrimmage, yet he was already at his limit. Even as he held his breath, refusing to relent, his stumbling footsteps could barely carry him forward.
Intensity, off the charts.
His knees trembled. His calves shook. His center of gravity wavered.
And yet—Lance remained locked in.
If the first part of the play had been a battle of wits against the Jaguars' defense, then the moment he escaped that five-yard death zone, it became a battle against himself.
No surrender. No retreat.
He lurched forward, his upper body tipping dangerously far ahead, balance completely lost—about to hit the ground.
At the last second, his left hand slammed into the turf.
With what little energy he had left in his chest, he pushed off.
Only one thought echoed in his mind—
His feet slipped slightly. His knees refused to straighten. But the constant drive forward kept him moving.
His lower body caught up to his upper body.
Then, one more deep breath—
Push off. Accelerate.
A sequence of near-disasters, strung together into an incredible escape.
Somehow, Lance had crossed the ten-yard line. Somehow, he had found his footing.
And most importantly—he was picking up speed.
EverBank Stadium froze.
They couldn't believe what they were seeing.
Even Jim Nantz doubted his own eyes.
A chill shot up his spine.
"JACK! MYLES JACK IS IN PURSUIT!"
"The linebacker realized Smith didn't have the ball. He never stopped moving—he peeled away from the pocket and is closing in on Lance!"
"Lance hasn't fully opened up his stride yet—Jack is gaining!"
"Number 44! Myles Jack, closing from behind!"
"Lance isn't fully at speed—he stiff-arms immediately!"
"Jack won't let go—he's hanging onto Lance!"
"Clearly, Lance is exhausted. The stiff-arm doesn't fully shake him!"
"Lance—another stiff arm!"
"Lance just tossed Jack aside! UNBELIEVABLE! He's free!"
"The Jaguars' defense just keeps coming!"
"Ramsey somehow caught up at the 15-yard line!"
Nantz choked on his words.
Lance had no breathing room.
One wave barely subsided before the next crashed down.
The moment he shook off Jack—Ramsey was there.
Compared to defensive linemen, Ramsey's speed was elite.
And after the stiff-arm battle with Jack, Lance's balance was momentarily off.
Lance slammed on the brakes.
Completely unannounced—he stopped dead.
Ramsey—caught completely off guard.
He had been sprinting at full speed. He knew he couldn't let Lance get to top gear.
He was closing in fast—
And then—Lance stopped.
Ramsey flew past him.
He reacted a half-step too late—slammed on his own brakes and spun back around.
Full-speed, straight-on collision.
Ramsey barely had time to react.
Next thing he knew—he was flat on his back.
A brutal bulldozer hit.
Lance steamrolled Ramsey.
For the second time in seconds.
The path ahead was clear.
That stop-and-go had allowed Lance to regain his rhythm, his balance.
Now—his speed unleashed.
"LANCE HAS BROKEN FREE!"
At Old Oak Tavern, the entire crowd held their breath.
All eyes locked on the TV screen.
Not a single person dared to make a sound.
As if even the faintest noise could interfere.
Provos clenched his fists in prayer.
"The Edge Walker is lighting up EverBank Stadium!
"After shaking off five different defenders, **Lance is finally at full speed!"
"The safety arrives! The Jaguars' last line of defense!"
"Not just Gipson—Church, linebackers, and corners are all closing in!"
"BEAUTIFUL BLOCK BY KELCE! HE TAKES OUT GIPSON!"
"LANCE! LANCE IS NOW THE LONE ARROW!"
"JACKSONVILLE'S NIGHTMARE IS BACK!"
"They're neck and neck—Church is waiting for his moment!"
"Lance explodes forward!"
"Church tries to match him— but he can't!"
"This **undrafted 2013 safety just doesn't have the wheels to keep up!"
"Poor Church! He pushes his top speed to the limit— but his body fails him! He lunges—and misses!"
"LANCE IS STILL FLYING!"
"HE JUST CROSSED MIDFIELD!"
Provos muttered a silent prayer.
His heart pounded against his ribs.
The Jaguars chased. Surrounded. Closed in.
Like the wind, cut through them all.
A lone arrow. An unstoppable force.
His body an arrow, slicing through the Jaguars' defense.
His movement—art in motion.
Even Nantz had lost words.
At Old Oak Tavern, no one could hold back anymore.
A low, rolling roar filled the room.
That No. 23 jersey crossed the goal line.
A dagger to the heart.
The raging storm, unstoppable.
Turned back to face the pursuing defenders.
And—slammed the football into the ground.
A Hulk-like roar erupted.
Pressure. Frustration. Restraint. Suppression.
Balancing on a razor's edge.
And now—the Kansas City Chiefs had broken through.
Everything. Let. Loose.
A tidal wave of fury crashed down.
Their dominance declared.
EverBank Stadium, silenced.
Provos threw his fists into the air—
And the whole place erupted.
For 20 advance chapters: .com/michaeltranslates