American Football: Domination

Despite winning Super Bowl 50, Malik Jackson had never truly earned the recognition he deserved. He was just a blue-collar player—hardworking, reliable, but rarely noticed.

This year, with the Jacksonville Jaguars, Jackson had found his place. No superstars. No icons. Just a team of underdog warriors grinding their way to the AFC Championship.

Now, it was time—

Time for these overlooked veterans to shine!

One step. One dive.

Jackson didn't even attempt a tackle—he went straight for the impact, fully committed to blowing up Lance's balance and sending him flying.

And he did.

Direct hit.

Lance grunted as his feet stumbled, staggering violently to the right.

But he wasn't surprised.

This was exactly what the Jaguars' defense did best—relentless, wave after wave of pressure.

And this wasn't the end.

If it were that simple, the Chiefs wouldn't have been struggling all game.

Lance hadn't anticipated Jackson's reckless lunge, but he had expected resistance. So when the hit came, he didn't fight it—he absorbed it, shifting into a defensive stance to brace for impact.

Gravity and momentum pulled at him—almost breaking free, but not quite.

One step. Two steps. Three. Four. Staggering sideways.

His insides churned. His bones rattled.

But Lance didn't panic.

No time. No space.

His full focus locked in on controlling his body. And just then, he caught sight of Ramsey.

Only a fraction of a second late, Ramsey had found him.

A sharp, predatory gaze locked onto Lance as the cornerback closed in fast.

Normally, corners and safeties don't handle running backs. In Jacksonville's system, their secondary rarely engaged in front-line defense.

But this wasn't a normal situation.

If a running back breaks past the line, the secondary has to step up.

And this time, there was a chance for a safety—or even a defensive touchdown.

Lance was inches from escaping the end zone.

Ramsey was already on him.

"Lance vs. Ramsey."

In an instant, everyone watching—reporters, fans, announcers—went berserk.

Finally, this showdown was happening. Two of the league's biggest trash-talkers, going head-to-head. Who would win?

At first glance, Ramsey had the clear advantage.

Lance was still stumbling—barely in control, wobbling like an inflatable tube man in front of a supermarket.

But then—

Everything changed.

Ramsey, composed and precise, readied his tackle, planning to drive Lance backward into the end zone.

What he didn't expect—

Lance didn't stop.

He didn't cut.

He let the momentum carry him further right.

What was this? Was he choosing to step out rather than be pushed back into the end zone?

Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.

In a split-second crisis, Lance made a perfect choice.

Ramsey whiffed, missing the tackle completely.

But Ramsey was no ordinary corner—his reaction was elite.

Immediately sensing the miss, he used his core strength to regain balance, refusing to fall forward. The failed tackle lasted only a fraction of a second.

Then—

Ramsey did something ridiculous.

Like Michael Jackson defying gravity, he leaned forward at an impossible 45-degree angle—yet somehow twisted his body back into position.

His feet stayed planted, but his upper body shifted again.

Arms out. Ready for a second tackle.

Elite athleticism, on full display.

Ramsey didn't celebrate. He didn't gloat.

His focus was 100% locked in.

Then—he noticed something.

Wait.

Ramsey had executed a perfect stop-and-turn.

But on the other side—

Lance had already made his move.

Just as Ramsey regained control, Lance spun directly into his chest.

Don't forget—Lance was the Edge Walker.

His sideline control was among the best in the league.

And right now, he was proving it.

The instant he reached the sideline, Lance slammed his right foot down, stopping dead.

Then, in a flash, he pushed off and surged forward.

Before Ramsey could react—boom.

Lance crashed straight into him.

Both players lost balance.

Both staggered.

But this time, Lance had anticipated it.

Off-balance and scrambling, he shoved Ramsey backward, driving him inside.

The two of them clashed in a chaotic struggle.

The ground shook.

And Ramsey realized—he was in trouble.

He immediately tried to grab onto Lance.

Too late.

Lance had already broken free.

Ramsey: "Damn it."

Wide-eyed, he watched helplessly as Lance—

Somehow, some way—

Controlled his body mid-air.

A full 360-degree spin.

One step. Then another.

In a blur, Lance was gone.

"Holy—holy s*!"**

Ramsey wanted to scream. But no time.

His instincts kicked in.

Without hesitating, he lunged again.

No thinking. No planning. Just raw instinct.

A full-body dive.

But—

Just a fraction too late.

His fingertips barely brushed Lance's leg, slapping at it like a bicycle pedal spinning out of reach.

And then—face-first into the turf.

"Grass. Dirt. Damn it, damn it, damn it!"

But Lance kept moving.

Despite everything—the chaos, the tackles, the full-speed collisions—he was still going.

But—

His body was breaking down.

The repeated hits and violent shifts had finally wrecked his balance.

Fatigue hit.

His breath caught. His legs wobbled.

He stumbled.

"Lance… Lance! LANCE! Oh my God!"

"HE'S STILL GOING!"

"LANCE ESCAPED RAMSEY! THAT'S THREE BROKEN TACKLES IN A ROW!"

"UNBELIEVABLE!"

"LANCE IS STILL IN THE FIVE-YARD ZONE—BUT HE'S ALREADY TAKEN ON FOUR DEFENDERS. AND SOMEHOW—HE JUST FOUND A GAP!"

"OH MY GOD!"

"Hngh—!"

Announcer Nantz's voice choked.

Wide-eyed. Mouth open.

His brain—fried.

His voice—shaking.

"Lance… he's done. He's spent. His knees can't hold—"

"WAIT. NO. NO! LOOK!"

"WHAT ARE WE WITNESSING RIGHT NOW?!"

"LANCE—LANCE IS DOING IT AGAIN!"

"THE EDGE WALKER LIVES!"

Lance collapsed forward—but didn't fall.

His left hand hit the ground.

For a split second, he teetered—

Then, against all logic—

He caught himself.

One foot forward.

Then another.

Still moving.

Still running.

"THE PLAY ISN'T OVER!"

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Powerstones?

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