American Football: Domination

Chaos. Tension. Deadlock.

And then—amid the scramble—Jones clutched that mischievous brown-red sprite tight against his chest, curling around the ball like a shield.

"Aah!"

Lance was the first to leap skyward, arms raised, shouting with all his breath.

The Arrowhead crowd erupted like a storm.

"Fly!"

"Fly!"

The rolling wave of sound burst beyond the cameras, spilling through TV screens into countless homes.

At one such home, Jenna sat dazed, unsure, while Jeff and Annie leapt and shouted at her side, voices raw. The floor trembled beneath them, the whole street quaking as though a volcano had ripped open.

Jenna blinked: What… is this?

On the field, Jones sprang upright. Usually quiet, reserved, not one for big shows—he couldn't hold it in now.

"Ahhh!"

His roar tore the air.

Everyone knew the story. Felix's struggle wasn't hidden in the locker room. The air before kickoff had carried a somber weight: this wasn't just football. It was a fight with death, with fate itself.

And now? They had struck first.

Jones's fist clenched as if gripping destiny's throat.

Luck lay on the turf, one hand covering his helmet, chest heaving, fire burning behind his ribs.

They all knew what this game demanded. The Chiefs were the league's top offense. Fall behind, and the mountain only grew. From the first snap, Indy had lived with that truth, hammering with Luck's arm.

But now? A drive cut off. Not even a field goal.

Frustration, shame, fury—it all twisted together until words failed. Luck sat up in one violent motion, eyes blazing.

"Marlon…" Mack stepped toward him, worried.

Luck snapped: "Andrew. Call me Andrew. Get off!"

He shoved past, rising on his own, storming to the sideline.

"Halfway through the first quarter, and Kansas City's defense has forced a turnover!"

The announcer's voice shook with disbelief.

"All year, this aging, battered unit has been mocked—too slow, too soft, carried by the offense. But time and again, they've bent without breaking. And here? They've struck back."

"Maybe they're not elite. But overlook them at your peril."

The Chiefs' offense strode onto the field.

Lance at the point.

Could they take the gift, seize the lead?

On the opposite sideline, Colts coach Reich faced his own question: stick with the plan, or adjust?

The answer was obvious. Adjust.

"Set!"

Mahomes barked the snap, immediately tucking the ball into Lance's arms. The ground game first.

Even before the handoff, Lance's eyes had swept the defense. Reich hadn't hidden his tweaks: tighter coverage, man-to-man mixed with zone shells, second-level eyes fixed on Mahomes. Pressure disguised in shadows.

It smelled familiar. Almost like a mirror of what Reid's defense had just shown: patient disguise, sudden strike.

At the snap, Lance felt the air tighten. A trap.

Two white jerseys knifed in off the edges like lightning.

Six men crashing the pocket.

Reich wasn't holding back.