Lincoln had the lead.
But with it came the weight of San Dimas’s fury.
Gold and silver surged forward like a tide, pressing, hammering, suffocating. Every clearance was swallowed. Every second felt like a siege.
Coach Owen snapped his hand in the air.
"Felix, out! Ricky, in!"
"Tariq, off! Caleb, go!"
Fresh legs. New lungs. Lincoln’s wall was rebuilt, patched with urgency.
But San Dimas answered in kind, swapping soldiers but keeping their generals—Victor, Miles, Kai, Elijah, Malik. The spine of their beast remained intact.
And that beast pressed harder.
Lincoln’s breaths came short. Boots slid on wet turf. The crackle of rain mingled with the roar of the crowd.
The storm seemed alive, a living beast of noise and color. Every San Dimas attack felt like a wave slamming into a cliff, threatening to tear away the rock one fragment at a time.
The chants merged into thunder, gold banners whipping through the downpour, their voices relentless.
The last stand in Lincoln colors...
It all hung by a thread.
San Dimas pressed like wolves circling a wounded beast.
Elijah surged forward, shoulders low, ball glued to his boots. A sharp pass—straight to Miles.
The fake shredded Lincoln’s shape, pulling blue shirts the wrong way.
And then Kai burst out of nowhere—blitzing like a lightning strike.
"BACK! BACK! BACK!" Coach Owen’s roar cut through the chaos, arm stabbing toward Kai and Victor.
But the trap had already sprung.
Kai whipped a pass across the grass, straight into Victor’s lane.
Victor was still running full tilt, the ball trailing just behind him. Too far to strike clean.
His body bent, contorting.
The shot didn’t explode with power, but its curve was poison, spinning awkwardly, unpredictable.
Cael’s eyes widened—too late.
His dive came half a heartbeat slow.
The ball arced toward the net—inevitable.
Caleb came flying in, lungs burning, body horizontal, chest smashing against the ball. He blocked it clean, the sound like a cannon against ribs.
The ball ricocheted away, spinning back into the storm.
The crowd erupted—half in relief, half in disbelief.
Cael slammed the turf with both fists, veins bulging in his neck.
Caleb rolled, coughing, then scrambled back to his feet.
He’d denied the scorpion.
Victor lay sprawled from the desperate flick, chest heaving. The ball spun loose—straight to Elijah.
But Riku threw himself into its path, the ball thudding off his ribs and ricocheting skyward.
Kai was already there—blitzing in, launching like a predator in flight. His forehead snapped toward the ball.
Cael roared, fists clenched, and punched it clear at the last possible instant.
Deflected once. Twice. The storm didn’t break.
The ball dropped again—right to Miles.
He killed it dead with one touch, sidestepped Aaron’s tackle with machine precision, then unleashed a strike. Thɪs chapter is updated by novᴇlfire.net
The ball screamed toward the bar.
Cael leapt—fingers outstretched—but the shot smashed against the underside of the crossbar, rattling the frame.
The ball spat back into the box—chaos incarnate.
for a heartbeat, hope surged—then shattered
And there was Victor.
Not elegant. Not calculated. Just raw hunger.
He hurled himself at it, body and ball colliding, tumbling together across the line and into the net.
The stadium froze for a beat, stunned into silence by the absurdity. Then the world detonated—one half roaring triumph, the other half screaming in despair.
Blue shirts sagged, fists slamming into mud. Gold shirts threw their arms wide, sprinting toward Victor.
Victor clambered out of the goalmouth, grass in his hair, grinning wide despite the embarrassment. He looked half-proud, half-ridiculous, like a warrior who’d tripped while stabbing the final blow.
The San Dimas bench leapt as one, substitutes sprinting down the sideline, drenched but wild with joy.
Coah Olivia pumped her fists toward the stands, feeding the frenzy. On Lincoln’s side, silence stretched—only the sound of rain striking plastic seats and jerseys. Even their cheers had been stolen for that moment.
Julian’s lips twitched. He remembered. The time he himself had crashed into the net, ball and all.
Leo jogged up beside him, chuckling.
"We need to get them back," he said, voice low. "But damn—tell me that didn’t look just like you."
Lincoln’s players were fuming. But even in their anger, a few couldn’t hold back their grins. Their star had done the same once, and now even Victor wore the mark of that madness.
The war was still alive.
Julian didn’t hesitate.
[Phoenix Pulse – Lv.1: Active]
Warmth surged through his veins, not like fire, but like rebirth. His chest expanded, lungs pulling in air that no longer scraped. His muscles no longer screamed—they sang.
And in that heat, memory stirred.
A world ago, he had seen her—the phoenix. The only one, for legend said only a single phoenix could exist in an age. He had met her when blood poured from his side, a hunter’s spear lodged deep, death closing in.
He remembered her wings—feathers that shimmered with dawn and dusk at once. She should have left him to die, yet he had shielded her from the hunters, and in return she had given him a single feather.
That feather had burned in his hand, seared into his soul, and when he faced his betrayer in the final battle of his old life, it was that gift which let him stand long enough to strike.
Now—this warmth. This pulse. It was the echo of that same feather, though muted, gentler. A shadow of the true flame.
But even a shadow of a phoenix was a miracle.
The fire licked at his ribs, curled through his lungs, and wrapped his heart in armor. Every blink felt cleaner, sharper.
Every step promised more. He could almost hear the faint cry of wings unfurling in the rain, a phantom echo no one else could sense. The pitch itself felt lighter beneath his boots, as if urging him forward.
Julian clenched his fists, rolling his shoulders as if the fire itself armored his frame. His stamina surged back to the peak. The weariness that had crept into his bones evaporated.
On this field, under these lights, it wasn’t just training or talent keeping him alive.
And he would use it without hesitation.