The Golden Field Stadium. Second Quarter.
2 Minutes remaining in the half.
Score: SF Gold Rush 14 : 0 LA Horns.
The Los Angeles Horns' defensive unit was currently suffering from a collective mental breakdown.
Their logical brains screamed: Stop Number 33! Do your job!
Their survival instincts screamed louder: Stay away from that monster! Unless you want to spend the night in orthopedic surgery!
Levi stood behind Quarterback Brock P., scanning the defense. He saw the hesitation. He smelled the fear.
The linebackers were standing flat-footed. Their eyes were darting around, looking for an exit route rather than an attack angle.
Especially that one linebacker Levi had brushed aside earlier—he was standing two yards deeper than usual.
"That," Levi whispered to himself, "is the smell of submission."
He took a deep breath. The System coursed through his veins, providing not just strength, but an absolute, arrogant confidence.
"Hut!"
Brock snapped the ball.
This time, the Gold Rush offensive line didn't even have to work hard. The Horns' defensive line hesitated at the snap. They didn't want to penetrate the backfield—they were terrified of getting bounced again.
Brock handed the ball to Levi.
Instantly, a massive gap opened up on the right side.
It was a highway.
A clear path to the endzone.
Any normal Running Back would have planted their foot, hit the gap, and sprinted for an easy score.
But Levi?
He wasn't normal.
He saw the gap. He ignored it.
Instead, his eyes locked onto the left side.
Standing there was Bobby Wags, the Horns' veteran Linebacker. A future Hall of Famer. One of the best tacklers in the history of the sport.
Levi grinned. He cut hard to the left, running straight at Wags!
"Oh NO! Is he crazy? He ignored the open lane!" The announcer gasped. "He's looking for contact! He's hunting them!"
Bobby Wags saw Levi coming and felt a surge of humiliated rage.
He was an All-Pro! Running backs usually ran away from him. He had never seen a runner actively try to run into him.
"You think I'm soft?! STOP!!"
Wags roared. He didn't make the mistake of trying to hit high. He fell back on his elite technique.
He dropped his hips, spread his arms wide, and dove perfectly.
He wrapped his arms tight around Levi's waist!
At the same time, he dug his cleats into the turf, using his 242lbs of body weight as a living anchor to drag Levi down!
textbook tackle.
Against any other human, momentum would die instantly. Gravity would win.
But Levi just felt a sudden weight on his waist.
[Skill Triggered: Bulldozer Mode]
[Effect: Load-bearing sprint speed remains constant. Torque +300%.]
"Trying to be my keychain? Hang on tight!"
Levi sneered. His thigh muscles exploded in size, straining against the fabric of his pants.
"UP—!!!!"
A scene that defied physics unfolded.
Levi, with Wags wrapped tightly around his waist, didn't fall.
He didn't even slow down.
He kept running.
He was dragging a 242lb man across the field like a piece of luggage!
One yard!
Wags' cleats plowed two deep trenches in the dirt!
Two yards!
Wags' face turned purple. He felt like he wasn't tackling a man; he was trying to tackle a moving pickup truck.
"HELP! HELP ME!!" Wags screamed in desperation.
A Horns Cornerback saw his captain in trouble. He gritted his teeth and sprinted over, jumping onto Levi's back! He wrapped his arm around Levi's neck, trying to choke him out!
Two defenders!
Over 450 lbs of dead weight hanging off Levi's body!
"GET... IN... THERE!!!"
Levi bellowed, the veins on his neck looking like pythons.
The Endzone was five yards away.
He ignored the man on his waist. He ignored the man on his back.
Like a father carrying two annoying kids to bed, he simply marched forward.
Step. Step. Step.
BOOM!
Levi dove into the endzone, carrying both defenders with him!
The three of them collapsed in a pile.
But the ball?
Levi slammed it onto the painted grass with authority.
"TOUCHDOWN!!!"
The Referee threw his hands up, but they were shaking. He had seen power running before. He had never seen a "1-v-2" drag race where the runner treated the defenders like unwanted furniture.
Bobby Wags let go of Levi's waist. He lay on his back, staring blankly at the sky, gasping for air.
His spirit was broken.
Shattered.
He felt like he had just tried to wrestle a hydraulic press.
In the booth, Chuck the analyst had stopped talking. He just wanted to kneel.
"That's not football, folks. That's 'Demolition Derby.' Levi isn't using technique. He's using pure, unreasonable dominance."
Gold Rush Sideline.
Dr. Sophie watched the replay on the big screen—Levi dragging two men like they were paperweights. Her heart was hammering against her ribs so hard it hurt.
As a doctor, she knew the spinal compression force he just took should have herniated every disc in his back.
As a woman?
She felt a rush of adrenaline she had never felt before.
"That guy..." Sophie bit her lip, her cheeks burning. "Is he even human?"
Score: SF Gold Rush 21 : 0 LA Horns.
The game was technically not even at halftime, but Levi had murdered the competition.
Levi stood up from the pile. He reached down and grabbed Bobby Wags' hand, pulling the devastated veteran to his feet. He even dusted off Wags' jersey.
"Hey buddy," Levi said, leaning in close. "Next time, go on a diet. You're a little heavy. You're wasting my gas."
Wags: "..."
If murder was legal, he would have strangled Levi right there.
Levi turned and walked back to his bench.
Seventy thousand fans found their rhythm. They began to chant a new name.
"BULL-DO-ZER!"
"BULL-DO-ZER!"
"BULL-DO-ZER!"
A legend was born.
However.
On the LA Horns' sideline, the atmosphere shifted from fear to something darker.
Something ugly.
It was the ultimate humiliation.
As a "Dynasty Defense," they had never been embarrassed like this.
Defensive Captain Aaron "The Titan" Don stood in the center of the huddle. His face was dark. His eyes weren't filled with fear anymore; they were filled with the madness of a cornered beast.
"Listen up."
The Titan's voice was a low growl.
"Winning doesn't matter anymore. The score doesn't matter. But we cannot let him leave this stadium walking."
He looked around at his broken, battered teammates.
"Second half. Forget the scheme. Forget the ball. Forget the rules."
The Titan looked up, his eyes flashing with a dangerous red light.
"When he moves... everyone moves. All 11 of us. We rush him at once. I don't care if he's made of iron."
"Break him."
The pack of wolves, pushed to the brink of insanity, bared their fangs.