American Football: Domination

Blood surging, energy blazing—

Leonard's whole body was on fire. In a flash stop-and-go, he poured every ounce of reflex into the moment, eyes locked solely on Lance, muscles wound tight as steel wire. No distractions. No hesitation. Just collision.

Crisis didn't weaken him—it sharpened him. In barely a minute on the field, he was already at peak form. Knees bent, center of gravity lowered, chest heaving, every fiber ready for the hit.

Because Lance was accelerating.

He had taken the ball from Mahomes and burst forward instantly, sprinting through the inside lane, trying to slip past before the defense's third reaction could close the seam. His speed was blistering.

Leonard's brake was half a beat late. Half a beat—but just enough to get position, forcing Lance directly into him.

Impact was inevitable.

The crowd held its breath. Leonard grinned wide beneath his facemask, remembering the embarrassment of their last clash. Not this time. This time he was ready. This time he'd stand.

Closer. Closer.

And then—nothing. No explosion, no crushing hit.

Leonard blinked.

Lance's eyes were laughing. Sorry. You fell for it.

A blur. Red streak sliding past his right shoulder, so close Leonard could feel the jersey brush against him. But his body was stone, frozen from bracing, unable to adjust. By the time he registered it, Lance was gone.

Leonard: …what the hell?!

But Lance didn't look back.

His stride was smooth, balanced, cutting through the open field like a sword. Left and right, defenders angled in, while safety Malik Hooker squared up dead ahead.

Hooker braced himself. First-rounder. A shot at redemption. This was his chance.

Except Lance was already upon him. The speed blurred into an explosion—

Shoulder to shoulder.

Hooker's lungs emptied in a single grunt, the world tilting as he went tumbling to the turf.

Lance didn't slow. He didn't even look like he had broken stride, gliding past, leaving Hooker sprawled behind.

Ten yards melted away. Then five. White jerseys lunged in desperation, hurdling even over their fallen teammate.

Too late.

Lance crashed into the end zone, spiking the ball with a thunderous slam.

"AAHHHH!"

The roar ripped from him, raw and defiant, pouring fire into the frozen air.

"Fight. Do you see this, Annie? Felix? This is what it means to fight. Tomorrow is uncertain. But today—we burn, we run, we live."

On the couch at home, Felix pressed his palm to his chest. His heartbeat thundered, his eyes blurring with tears.

He wanted to live. He wasn't ready to surrender. He wasn't ready to let Death have him yet.

"AAAHHHH!"

The scream tore free. Once. Twice. Over and over until it was a vow. His soul catching fire again, fierce and unyielding.

No surrender.

Not now. Not ever.