At the 49ers' 35-yard line, second-and-five, the Kansas City Chiefs turned up their offensive tempo and intensity. A flurry of well-coordinated plays overwhelmed the 49ers' defense, leaving them a step behind in their reactions.
Defensive coordinator Robert Saleh tried to adapt, looking to seize the initiative—but his lack of experience often pushed him into tactical traps.
Just like now—
Blitz.
Instinctively, Saleh resorted to another blitz to disrupt the Chiefs' rhythm. For the 49ers' "4-3" defensive scheme, it wasn't a bad strategy. But the downside?
Without solid footing, blitzes often create gaps.
Defensive end Solomon Thomas immediately stepped forward, catching his assigned offensive lineman off guard. With a sharp sidestep, he broke through the pocket's outer edge. His combination of speed, strength, and reflexes was on full display, determined to prove his value.
Teeth clenched, he surged ahead.
But as his cleats neared the edge of the pocket, Thomas froze for a split second, his pupils contracting sharply. He caught sight of Mahomes handing the ball to Lance—
Second-and-five, and the Chiefs chose a run play?
Like the quick short pass on the previous down, the Chiefs' run play on second down was all about speed. The goal wasn't necessarily yardage but rather to keep the 49ers' defense off balance by maintaining a relentless tempo.
Head coach Andy Reid had read Saleh perfectly: the inexperienced coordinator was struggling to manage the tempo and pressure.
While the strategic battle on the sidelines favored Reid, the execution now rested on the players.
All eyes shifted to Lance.
Lance noticed the 49ers' blitz and adjusted immediately upon receiving the ball. He didn't rush forward blindly, avoiding a head-on collision, but instead scanned for gaps amid the chaos of moving players.
Step.
His right foot planted firmly as he pushed off, angling toward the left front.
Lance's sharp vision picked up Thomas closing in, and he quickly calculated his options. Evading Thomas would lead him straight into the arms of a waiting cornerback, creating a three-sided trap. Instead, he chose the unexpected—a direct confrontation.
One step.
Two steps.
In just two strides, Lance darted straight into Thomas's tackle zone.
Thomas's eyes lit up: Opportunity!
He lunged forward, arms outstretched for the tackle. But just as his arms began to close around Lance, he felt a sudden, overwhelming force slam into his chest from Lance's left shoulder.
A dull thud.
The air shot out of Thomas's lungs as his vision darkened. His arms and torso refused to respond, momentarily paralyzed.
The force didn't stop—it surged forward, tearing through Thomas's balance like a tidal wave.
Whoosh.
Thomas's body spun counterclockwise, twirling like a ballet dancer. His surroundings blurred as his face felt the cold bite of rushing wind.
Gasp.
Arrowhead Stadium collectively drew a sharp breath.
Thomas spun like a top, while Lance danced through chaos like a river flowing effortlessly through rocks.
Step, step, step.
Quick, precise footwork allowed Lance to maintain balance amid the turmoil. He deftly sidestepped a cornerback's grasp and weaved through a linebacker's dive, carving an "S" path as he glided forward.
One spin—360 degrees clockwise—and he broke free from the deadly triangle of defenders, carving a path out of the bramble.
And then—
The field ahead opened wide.
Lance paused for a fraction of a second. No panic, no rush. His gaze swept across the open space before him, taking in the entire 180-degree field of vision.
Then, with a powerful push, he exploded forward.
Step. Step. Step-step-step.
His speed ramped up instantly, each stride faster than the last. It was as if he were in an Olympic 100-meter sprint, leaving behind a trail of blurred motion that electrified the crowd at Arrowhead.
"Thirty yards!"
Fans gawked, struggling to process Lance's incredible escape. As their eyes followed his movement, awe and disbelief mingled in their expressions.
"Twenty-five yards!"
Hearts leaped into throats, as Arrowhead Stadium—long starved of such explosive runs—collectively rose to its feet. A surreal silence lingered, only to erupt in a cacophony of anticipation.
"Twenty yards!"
And then, as if something primal took over, the stadium's voice rose like a volcanic eruption, a roar so deafening it seemed to shake the very ground.
"Fifteen!"
"Ten!"
"Five!"
The tension climaxed as Lance, unhurried and poised, glanced around. With no defenders in sight, he slowed down, practically strolling into the end zone as if taking a leisurely walk.
The gentle breeze caressed his face as he casually secured the touchdown, exuding an aura of effortless dominance.
For a moment, everything froze. Then—
Boom.
A collective roar thundered through Arrowhead.
"He's here! He's there! He's everywhere! He's the Edge Walker! Lance, Lance, Lance!"
The chant began.
It surged, repeated, and echoed, uniting the crowd in unrestrained euphoria.
In the broadcast booth, the commentators were dumbfounded.
"This... this is something else."
"Wow. Just, wow."
"Three plays. Seventy-five yards. Fifty-eight seconds. The Chiefs executed a flawless drive to score, leaving the 49ers reeling."
"While the 49ers may not be defensive powerhouses, what we're seeing from the Chiefs tonight is a level of explosiveness that's been absent in recent seasons."
"So, is this the upgraded Kansas City Chiefs we've been waiting for?"
"Is this their answer to all the off-season criticism?"
"We'll see."
Back at Arrowhead, the crowd's chant surged louder, wave after wave of unrelenting support. Even Old Oak Tavern joined in, where tables shook under jubilant pounding and patrons leaped in celebration.
Anderson grinned broadly, his gaze fixed on the screen.
In the end zone, Lance refrained from any elaborate celebration. Yet, his teammates—led by Mahomes—surrounded him, their enthusiasm overflowing as they lifted him in a celebratory embrace.
This moment, even more than the touchdown itself, was priceless.
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Powerstones?
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