"Strength versus strength."
"Impact versus block."
There was no finesse, no tricks—just pure, raw power colliding head-on. The impact exploded like a shockwave, and both Lance and Adams were knocked off their feet from the force of their clash.
Adams hit the ground, while Lance staggered.
Neither of them was in good shape.
Even though Adams had been thoroughly overpowered, tumbling like a ballerina and losing all balance, Lance wasn't much better off.
His entire left arm was numb, and the intense force of the impact still surged through his body. The ball in his right arm wobbled from the shock, his chest was heaving, and his knees trembled. He felt as if he were drunk, his legs floating in the air, unsteady, while centrifugal force pulled his body off-balance.
But—
In the chaotic whirlwind, Lance refused to give up. He kept digging in, crouching lower, struggling to regain his balance and control as he clung to his direction.
Step. Step, step, step.
His steps felt like walking on clouds, each one sinking and rising unevenly, but he was moving toward the right sideline. Just as he managed to regain his footing, the boundary line loomed a mere two steps away.
Finally!
He regained his balance, but instead of slowing down, he let the momentum pull him forward naturally, driving him along the sideline.
He pushed off the ground.
His lungs were burning, his blood boiling, and his muscles felt like they were tearing apart, but Lance had entered a state of total focus, his eyes now blazing with uncontainable fury.
Thirty-five-yard line.
He dug in.
His speed increased with every stride, but from the corner of his eye, Lance could see a purple blur sprinting toward him—
Corey Thompson, LSU's other safety.
Twenty-five-yard line.
He pushed off the ground again.
Lance didn't slow down. In fact, he kept accelerating. After all the sudden changes in speed and the massive collision, he had no energy left to handle another hit. Continuing forward with full speed was his only option.
At the same time, Lance kept his eye on Thompson.
Thompson wasn't taking any chances. He didn't rush in recklessly but instead matched Lance's pace, gradually closing the gap and trying to squeeze Lance toward the sideline, reducing his room to run.
Closer, closer—Thompson's presence was looming, even though he hadn't yet made his move. Physically and mentally, he was pressuring Lance, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
What now?
Fifteen-yard line.
The end zone was now within reach, but Lance still didn't know when Thompson would make his move. He couldn't wait. The end zone was right there, and he had no intention of stopping.
He refused.
With a quick glance, Lance could see the purple storm cloud led by Adams and White closing in, like a swarm of bees ready to engulf him. The oncoming wave of defenders was gaining on him, and his body was already nearing its limit, threatening to fall apart at any moment.
Ahead of him, the end zone was just a few yards away, but it still felt out of reach.
Grinding his teeth, Lance made a split-second decision. After crossing the ten-yard line, he felt Thompson closing in on him, the heat radiating off his body as if it were about to scorch him alive. The next second, the impact came.
Thompson bumped into him.
Thompson's aim was clear: to throw Lance off balance.
Lance wobbled on what felt like a tightrope, swaying as if on the verge of collapsing. But he refused to give in. Deep within him, a fire roared to life, and against all odds, Lance somehow found one last burst of speed.
Just a bit—just the tiniest bit more speed. But it was enough. That small burst allowed Lance to pull ahead by half a step.
Thompson's heart skipped a beat. This wasn't good.
Desperate, Thompson lunged forward, trying to take Lance down in one final attempt to bring them both crashing down. For a split second, they were moving in perfect synchronization, and Thompson was sure his tackle would hit its mark.
But—
But!
Thompson missed. His eyes widened in disbelief as he reached out, only to see Lance leap into the air, breaking their sync and evading his grasp entirely.
Damn it!
Thompson cursed under his breath.
Lance had jumped. As he crossed the five-yard line, he made a last-ditch dive, knowing his speed and strength had reached their limit. The final five yards felt like an insurmountable chasm, so he chose the riskiest move of all.
Before Thompson could tackle him, Lance took off, launching himself into the air.
The wind roared around him. The entire stadium, with its sea of purple, seemed to swirl into a chaotic blur. But Lance shot through it like an arrow, cutting through the noise and chaos.
In his sights, he could see only one thing—the orange pylon marking the corner of the end zone.
He leapt.
He stretched.
He soared, embracing the wind.
His body felt like a cloud, light and free, floating above the world as if nothing could weigh him down. There was only the wind and the sun, with gravity's pull left far behind. He flew onward.
For one brief moment, time stood still. Everything paused.
And then, just before gravity pulled him back to earth, he reached out, extending the ball toward the pylon.
Slap.
The pylon fell.
At the same time, Thompson crashed into Lance, sending both of them tumbling out of bounds like a whirlwind of bodies. The impact rolled them across the field, scattering dust and grass, while the ball and the pylon tumbled along the ground.
The entire stadium fell silent. Not even a breath could be heard. In the deafening quiet of Tiger Stadium, all eyes were on the referees, waiting. Time seemed to have frozen, the air thick with tension as everyone held their breath for the officials' decision—
In football, all that's needed to score a touchdown is for the ball to cross the plane of the end zone, but there are some specific cases.
For instance, if a player's hand carrying the ball crosses the plane, and their knee touches down afterward, it still counts as a touchdown, even if the rest of their body isn't in the end zone.
Or, if a player is losing balance or being tackled but manages to touch the small orange pylon at the corner of the end zone before their knee hits the ground, that also counts as a touchdown.
And that was exactly what Lance had just done.
With his body off-balance and half out of bounds, before his feet or knees hit the ground, he'd made sure the ball touched the pylon first.
That pylon, a small, rectangular marker only about two hand-lengths high, now played a crucial role in this moment.
Lance had taken a gamble.
Now, it was up to the referees to decide:
Did Lance make contact with the pylon using the ball, or did he just knock it over with his body, which would be ruled incomplete?
Did Lance hit the pylon before his knee touched the ground? If not, he would be ruled out of bounds, and the ball would be placed at the spot where he went out of bounds.
A sea of eyes was now fixed on the referees, everyone holding their breath, waiting for the verdict.
Finally, one of the referees stepped forward—
He raised both arms high toward the sky and blew his whistle.
Tweet!
The sharp, clear sound pierced the air, rising above the stadium.
And then, the entire stadium exploded. Tiger Stadium erupted into chaos, disbelief, and shock. Waves of noise rolled through the stands, crashing like a storm. The intensity of the game had reached its absolute peak, sending shockwaves throughout the field.
Touchdown.
Without a doubt, it was a touchdown!
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Powerstones?
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