Bang! Bang bang bang!
Mahomes had barely called the snap when pressure from the opposing defensive line came crashing down on him—this was where the Steelers' veteran savvy shone through.
Even when on the back foot, under the fiercest assault, they didn't break formation. They clamped down, endured the rhythm, then launched a calculated counterstrike to disrupt the opponent's momentum and look for a turning point.
Today, hardly anyone calls the Steelers the "Steel Curtain" anymore, but this former defensive powerhouse still holds onto its grit, standing atop the AFC for over a decade.
This was one of those moments.
The Chiefs' offense was clicking like an untamed mustang breaking free. The Steelers' defense realized they had to break the momentum or risk losing control altogether.
So—
Heyward charged ahead, a burst of explosive power. With a feinting step, he slipped past the offensive line. But he didn't disengage—instead, he rammed into the blocker's shoulder, leveraging his weight and forward inertia to collapse the edge of the pocket—
Mahomes was exposed.
And that wasn't all—
The rest of the D-line, linebackers, and corners surged forward, wave after wave, creating a crushing tide. Mahomes could feel the pressure coming from every corner of his passing vision.
And indeed, he felt it. The Steelers' defense suddenly erupted with power and tempo, suppressing Kansas City.
Backpedal.
Backpedal.
Mahomes kept retreating, sensing Heyward's snarling face breaking through the line like a stormcloud.
He thought he'd panic—
But strangely, he didn't.
Instead, he felt a rush of adrenaline.
His steps paused. He caught a glimpse of Heyward about to break through—and in that split-second, he flipped the ball.
Not a pass downfield—but a lateral shovel.
Lance slipped into the frame and snatched the ball into his arms.
Play-action fake.
After several straight-up plays, Kansas City ran their first misdirection—Mahomes and Lance executing a sleight of hand.
And…
The Steelers believed Mahomes would pass.
The blitz was a feint—only the D-line actually rushed. Corners dropped back immediately. The linebackers stayed in place, waiting until Mahomes checked the defense before falling back into man and zone coverage. They blanketed the short pass zones—a steel curtain.
Simple strategy: bait the trap.
Scouting reports said Mahomes loved forward passes—even forcing risky throws.
Now, with momentum and swagger, Tomlin set the bait: heavy pressure, with a seemingly open gap—a tempting risk for the young QB. But lurking behind was a suffocating secondary, ready to punish any pass.
Mahomes' passing motion seemed to confirm the Steelers' plan. Their DBs locked into position, bracing for the kill.
But then—
It was a fake! A run!
Heyward: Damn it!
Trap vs. Trap.
Steelers and Chiefs' tactical battle exploded once more.
Heyward didn't need to look—he knew the space behind him was now clear. He was Pittsburgh's last hope on this play.
A flash of fury burst in his eyes. The pride of an elite defensive end surged. He gritted his teeth and exploded forward.
Step. Slam. Power. Spin.
One moment, he was going after Mahomes. But Mahomes had slipped the ball to Lance—trying to throw off Heyward's timing. But Heyward wasn't fooled.
He planted on his left leg, spun toward Lance, and dropped like a thunderbolt.
He seemed on the verge of crashing—
Then his right leg shot forward, slammed into the ground, and launched him like an arrow.
Perfect timing.
Bent knees, lowered hips—he rocketed toward Lance's lower body like a torpedo.
Grunt.
Heyward growled, the force roaring through his core and into his skull, but he gritted through it.
Push off. Step forward.
His torso stayed nearly parallel to the turf—like a ski jumper mid-air.
Push off! Step forward!
In the blink of an eye, before Lance could even shift into gear, Heyward had closed the distance.
But it wasn't enough.
A sudden lunge.
Heyward flung himself toward Lance's knees, giving everything he had.
Closer—closer!
So close!
Then—suddenly—the figure before him vanished.
Huh?
Heyward looked up just in time to see Lance sidestep—calm, casual, elegant. Just one step—and Heyward missed.
Heyward: ??? Wait, so I'm the only one going full action-movie here?
Just like that?
A wave of humiliation swept through him.
But Lance had no time for that. Just as Burns had said, Heyward's physical edge was fading. He relied more on savvy now, and when caught off balance, he could get desperate.
Though his charge seemed ferocious, Lance stayed calm—watched, waited, and when the time came, dodged. Effortlessly.
A small feint, a few quick steps to shift balance and break loose. Heyward was left behind. Suddenly, Lance had a wide-open view ahead.
Open field.
Pittsburgh's secondary had all dropped back. The defensive front had charged forward. That left the line of scrimmage completely empty.
The short pass zone was barren.
And so, it became Lance's playground.
But he didn't bolt full-speed. Instead, he paused, scanning the field—
Vince Williams. T.J. Watt.
Double pinch!
The linebackers had doubled back—waiting in front of him.
And that wasn't all.
In the corner of his eye, Lance spotted cornerback Artie Burns breaking off from Kelce and racing back to form a triangle trap.
Surrounded. Cornered.
If he relied on brute force, it'd be boring, wouldn't it?
Lance bit his lip, eyes gleaming with excitement.
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Powerstones?
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