One hundred pounds! Two hundred pounds! Three hundred pounds!
Not only was Henry carrying his own body weight, but also the imnse force pressing down on his shoulders and chest. He could almost hear his bones creaking under the pressure, his eardrums reverberating with the impact.
In the past, Henry would have charged straight ahead without hesitation—
A true powerhouse speaks with action, not words!
But this ti, it was different.
Henry knew that behind Bailey, two linebackers were lying in wait. If he tried to bulldoze straight through, even a slight stumble would allow them to collapse on him, nullifying all his strength.
The real key was this—if he could break past the linebackers, the rest of the defense would be stretched thin, leaving a wide-open field ahead.
See—
Either he slamd into a wall and went down, or he blasted through and ran free.
One layer of defense. Two drastically different results. Even with the sa play call, a running back's execution could completely alter the outco. This was why Lance was thriving in Kansas City—
The trust of the coaches, the plays designed for him, the support of his teammates—none of it was handed to him. He earned it.
So, Henry adjusted his strategy.
He would still collide.
But not head-on—sideways.
A bump, a squeeze.
Carrying the weight of a 300-pound defender, Henry twisted his body and slipped through the narrow gap between linen. His massive fra made the movent awkward and clumsy, like a giant chinchilla squeezing through a tunnel.
But—
He broke free. Bailey's grasp slipped just enough for Henry to push forward past the line of scrimmage.
The next second, a blur of red flashed toward him.
This ti, Henry was ready.
He shifted his body slightly, positioning himself to plant his foot and explode forward—
Boom!
Impact.
Justin Houston, Kansas City's defensive captain, delivered a textbook tackle, wrapping Henry up tightly.
Henry wasn't as elusive as Lance—he couldn't spin and slip away from tackles. But that didn't an he would go down without a fight.
His legs kept driving, his power kept building.
Stomp. Stomp. Stomp!
One step.
Another.
Henry's brute strength erupted.
Houston's eyes widened in shock—he refused to let go, holding on with all his might. But his feet had already left the ground. Without firm footing, he was being dragged forward, helplessly flailing as the world around him spun.
"Henry!"
"Wow! Derrick Henry!"
"Henry is overpowering Houston! He refuses to go down!"
"He's still moving!"
"Pure power! Houston is hanging onto Henry like a life vest, but Henry keeps churning forward, dragging him along like a Navy SEAL training drill!"
"Here cos Hali! Kansas City's other linebacker is closing in!"
Gasping. Stunned silence. The entire broadcast booth held its breath.
Running backs were known for their power, their resilience, their ability to fight through tackles. But even among them, this was sothing different.
Henry, still dragging Houston, saw Hali closing in—and instead of evading, he charged straight toward him.
A wrecking ball in motion.
Unstoppable.
Relentless.
The field trembled beneath his steps.
Boom!
Hali was airborne, launched off his feet like a ragdoll.
The stadium fell silent.
Everything happened in an instant—
First, Henry shook off Houston. Then, he sent Hali flying. Two brutal impacts, back-to-back. And now, Henry was running free.
"My god!"
"My god!"
"My god!"
The sheer power of football roared through the stadium.
"35-yard line!"
"25-yard line!"
"Henry! Derrick Henry! No one can stop him!"
"15-yard line!"
Kansas City refused to surrender. One tackler. Two. Three. Three defenders finally managed to swarm Henry and drag him down at the 13-yard line.
"An incredible 27-yard rush! Henry bulldozes his way forward!"
"Unbelievable! Simply unbelievable!"
Henry, at last, had awakened—
"Ahhh!"
Henry slamd the ball into the turf and roared to the sky, standing at the doorstep of the end zone like a conquering warlord surveying his battlefield.
Bow before !
His gaze swept over the carnage he left in his wake—defenders sprawled across the field. A fierce fire burned in his eyes as he turned toward the Kansas City sideline.
Through the mass of bodies, his gaze locked onto Lance.
A silent ssage:
This is my answer. This is my challenge. Will you answer it?
In front of their screens, Alabama players erupted into chaos, howling like wild animals—
"Emperor Henry!"
"Emperor Henry!"
So this—this was the true Derrick Henry, the one who dominated the NCAA. Unstoppable. Ruthless. Devastating. A force of nature, steamrolling everything in his path.
Power. Sheer power.
Jacobs, watching the screen, felt his own blood boiling. He wanted to fight. He wanted to battle like Henry and Lance.
Burns, watching with interest, shook his head and muttered, "That hard-headed fool… Finally, he gets it. Took him long enough. But not too late—actually, just in ti. Now, this is going to be good."
Can a running back change a ga?
Yes.
But it depends on how much freedom the coach is willing to give.
If it were Saban coaching, he would have noticed the fire between Henry and Lance. He would have kept feeding Henry the ball.
But Mularkey had other plans.
He handed control back to Mariota—
And Kansas City's defense locked in.
First down and ten. Sack.
Second down and thirteen. Pass disrupted. Nearly intercepted.
Before Tennessee could even take a breath, they were staring at third-and-thirteen from the edge of the red zone. Their best chance at a touchdown was slipping away, turning into a likely field goal attempt.
What now?
The air was thick with tension, the scent of blood lingering as both sides stood their ground. Victory and defeat could hinge on this single play.
No retreat. No surrender.
Then—
"Attack!"
Mariota called for the snap and turned to hand the ball off to Henry—
Or did he?
Kansas City didn't bite, instantly recognizing the fake handoff. Without hesitation, the defense pounced toward Mariota.
Danger.
Alarms blared across the field.
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Powerstones?
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