Mahos was just a little nervous—
He wasn't a natural at route running.
He'd much rather stay in the backfield—helping block for Lance in the pocket, or executing a read-option play and running himself. That was his zone.
But charging downfield as a receiving target?
Not exactly his specialty.
Still, the Chiefs had to shatter the rhythm. They couldn't keep dancing to the Steelers' tune.
Otherwise, Pittsburgh's defense would only grow more comfortable.
Chaos—that was the key to the Chiefs rediscovering their rhythm.
This trick play wasn't pulled out at random. Its success hinged on surprise and seizing that fleeting window of confusion.
So, it had to happen. And it had to start with the quarterback. The entire sche needed to be flipped on its head—from the passer to the route tree.
Mahos knew he had to step up.
If this had even a shred of a chance of working, Lance had to be the QB.
In practice, the two had trained together extensively—Lance helping Mahos refine his throwing chanics, and vice versa. They'd even rehearsed passing drills with Mahos on the receiving end. There was chemistry.
Initially, Reid had planned for Hunt to play quarterback in this trick play. He wanted total subversion—if Lance threw the ball, people might imdiately think "Chiefs Special" from the Super Bowl, tipping their hand and spoiling the effect.
But even with risk, you couldn't wing it. You needed soone who could execute—and that was Lance.
"Sherlock, just focus on ," Lance had told Mahos.
"Don't worry about anything else. Stick to your route. Everyone else will handle the rest."
Mahos clung to those words.
Pre-snap, his palms were sweaty; but post-snap, adrenaline kicked in, and he locked in.
He handed the ball to Lance and peeled off, silently drifting out the left slot.
It looked almost comical.
That big guy, Mahos, tiptoeing through the trenches like Tom sneaking up on Jerry—thinking he was being stealthy when he was already completely exposed.
But magic tricks work that way.
With Lance and Hunt drawing all the attention, Mahos sohow slipped out unnoticed.
Pittsburgh linebacker Dupree caught a red blur out of the corner of his eye. He hesitated, confused—but then saw Lance appear to tuck the ball and take off, and instinctively pursued, rounding the scrum to bring Lance down himself.
anwhile, Mahos danced past the line of scrimmage and into open field—gliding through the chaos. Within seconds, he'd gained ten yards and moved into the belly of the defense, scanning the field. There was Lance.
Sure enough, defenders had collapsed on Hill and Watkins along the sidelines, opening a huge no-man's land for Mahos.
Unbelievable!
Then—Lance passed.
Draw, aim, fire.
His arm fully extended, the ball arced not toward the sideline, but through the slot seam into deeper territory.
It was a deep pass—but not too deep. Lance didn't want to hang it in the air too long and risk defenders collapsing on Mahos.
The goal was simple: connect fast, move the chains.
Mahos caught it clean past midfield—an easy 35-yard gain. Smooth as butter.
Only then, several beats too late, did the Steelers realize the trap.
They'd been duped.
A recurring nightmare.
Week 6 last season—the Chiefs had stunned the Steelers with a Hail Mary-esque play. That ti, it was Smith to Lance, attacking the middle instead of the end zone. Lance ran it in for the walk-off score.
Now it had happened again.
Only now, Lance was the QB and Mahos the receiver. But once again, it was a dagger through Pittsburgh's soft middle in a close ga.
Tomlin was stunned—his mind froze at the shock.
And that brief lapse was all Mahos needed.
He turned and started upfield.
Ahead—wide open space.
Hill and Watkins had cleared the safeties with such convincing deep routes that the defenders had lost their angles.
Surprisingly, the closest defender was nickelback Burnett. He had started after Lance, but halfway through, realized what was happening and pivoted to chase Mahos.
Burnett surged with everything he had, quickly closing the gap—
Closer… closer…
Mahos felt the heat at his back. He hesitated—should he slide or brace for contact?
Then a red blur ca flying in, side-swiping Burnett so fast his expression froze into sothing resembling Edvard Munch's The Scream.
Wham—Burnett vanished.
It was Kelce.
Mahos wasn't alone out there.
His nerves settled, his focus sharpened. He found his rhythm again.
Dig. Drive. Sprint.
The field exploded in waves of energy, and the roaring in his ears felt like a stadium shaking to its foundations.
"Run, Patrick, run!"
It felt like if he ran fast enough, he might just take flight.
Thud thud thud, faster and faster.
Mahos surged ahead, the end zone within reach, a black shadow closing fast—
Edmunds.
The Steelers' safety had shaken loose from Watkins and was now Pittsburgh's last line of defense.
Mahos didn't hesitate. He knew the smart thing was to slide and protect himself. But the fire inside him said:
Don't stop.
He dug in, pushed harder. Instead of going down, he picked up speed. As the black and red jerseys converged—
Mahos veered diagonally left.
One step. Two.
Just two steps—and he slipped the tackle. Edmunds missed.
The lane reopened.
Only a fool tries to brute force his way through. Heh.
One final stride—Mahos crossed into the end zone.
AHHHHHHHH!
He threw his head back and roared into the sky.
----------
Powerstones?
For 20 advance chapters: patreon/michaeltranslates
Reviews
All reviews (0)