I revived the Demonic Sect in North America

Chapter 180 Defense!

In the stands, a few scattered fans who had traveled from the Bronx to support the away team sat silently amidst a sea of ​​blue.

A middle-aged man in an old orange jacket shook his head and said to the boy beside him, "See? That's the difference. The difference in talent, the difference in discipline. Our people worked hard, but the other side was better."

The boy bit his lip, looking at the field with resentment.

Li Ang finally managed to break free from the human pyramid of his teammates.

He patted the grass and dust off his helmet and shoulders, his breathing had calmed down.

He raised his head, his expression returning to calm, his eyes, hidden behind the mask, bright and sharp.

The Cavaliers' kicker calmly made the extra point free throw.

The scoreboard flashed coldly—7 to 0.

The Cavaliers' inbound team jogged onto the court.

The kicker takes a running start and swings his leg.

The rugby ball streaked across the gray sky, leaving a high and far arc as it spun and plummeted deep into the Lions' end zone.

The Lions' return shooter stood firm near the baseline in the end zone, looking up at the falling ball.

He reached out his hands and caught it steadily.

I glanced to the left and saw a blue wave surging in from the left.

He glanced to the right again and saw figures approaching from the right flank.

He hesitated for less than a second.

He spat, knelt heavily on one knee on the grass, held the ball tightly in his arms, and made a safe receiving gesture.

The attack begins from the 25-yard line.

The Lehman College Lions' offensive lineup stepped onto the court.

The air was so thick you could wring water out of it. Eleven players in white jerseys huddled together, no one spoke, only heavy breathing and the clicking of their protective gear.

Quarterback Tyler Murphy slapped the center's backside hard, his palms sweaty.

He took a deep breath, wanting to yell some nonsense like "Let's get moving."

But the words stuck in his throat, and he could only manage a dry, hoarse "Uh—"

Running back Brandon Cole swaggered up to him, his cheeks bulging from chewing gum. He chewed it twice, making a loud, muffled sound.

He yelled, "Taylor, calm down, bro. Just give me the damn ball. One yard at a time, two yards at a time, we can slowly chip away at it. Don't panic, the more panicked you are, the more those bastards will escalate."

On the sidelines, head coach Carl Benson looked ashen-faced, with veins throbbing on his forehead.

He rubbed his face vigorously, his rough hands scrubbing against his skin, then cupped his hands to his mouth and roared hoarsely at the field, "Alright! Lift your fucking heads up! Forget those damn sixty seconds! From now on! From zero! Play our game! Run the ball! Crush them with the rush! You hear me?!"

On the other side, the Cavaliers' defense was already in position.

Bruce Keaton crouched in his defensive tackle position, swaying his neck from side to side, his shoulder muscles bulging beneath his shoulder pads. He stared at the opposing offensive guard, licking his lips.

Li Ang retreated to the cornerback position, slightly bent his knees, and calmly scanned the opposing attacking group's positions, as if reading an open map.

Defense captain Jamal, linebacker, slammed his gloved hands together, his voice muffled and menacing behind his mask: "Listen! Welcome back, Bruce! Now, let these bastards from the Bronx taste what a complete, healthy River Valley Knights defense looks like! Frontcourt guys, push them! Kiss their gear with your faces!"

Don't let that Murphy kid have a second's peace! Linebackers, keep your eyes glued to that Cole, don't let him get going! Seconders, watch out for any potential receivers, don't let a single fly get past! Got it all?!

"Understood!" The eleven men roared in unison, their voices filled with ruthlessness.

The referee's whistle blew, sharp and piercing.

The first down requires advancing 10 yards.

The Lions set up their standard I-formation for the drive. The center held the ball with both hands, beads of sweat dripping down the edge of his helmet.

kick off.

Murphy quickly stepped back, turned around, and almost without looking, stuffed the ball into the arms of Brandon Cole, who was cutting across from behind.

Cole lowered his head, wrapped his arms tightly around the ball like an enraged bull, and slammed his left foot off the ground, charging towards the designated passage on the right.

The Cavaliers' defensive frontline resembled a pre-tightened net.

The moment the ball was set off, Bruce burst forward like a beast released from its cage. He lowered his center of gravity and slammed his shoulder and chest into the opponent's right guard's chest. With a muffled thud, the guard groaned, stumbled backward, and instantly disrupted the offensive team's carefully laid screen.

The defensive end on the other side tightly blocked the outer passage.

Cole plunged headlong into the crowd, with no gaps in front of him, only a dense mass of blue jerseys and waving arms. He gritted his teeth, growling, and used brute force to veer outwards, trying to carve out space.

Linebacker Jamal's defensive rotations were lightning fast.

He seized the moment when Cole's center of gravity shifted, lowered his center of gravity, and with a swift, low sliding tackle, his arms, like iron clamps, precisely grabbed Cole's right thigh at the base of his thigh as he exerted force.

"Get down!" Jamal roared, his core muscles surging, using the momentum of Cole's forward charge to forcefully pull the bison off balance.

Cole slammed down like a felled log onto the grass less than a yard behind the tee line, kicking up a small patch of grass and dust.

"Tack successful! Less than a yard forward! Now on second down, about nine yards more forward!" Martin spoke rapidly from the commentary booth.

Tony slammed his fist on the table excitedly and roared, "Well done, defense! We didn't give them any breathing room! Bruce Keaton's return was immediate; he was like a wall with an engine, smashing their offensive plans to pieces!"

A burst of enthusiastic cheers and whistles erupted from the stands.

A boy wearing a blue beanie excitedly grabbed his friend's arm, gesturing and shouting, "See that?! Bruce's back! That guy's a heavy truck!"

His companion grinned, gasping, "I could hear the impact even sitting here! God—"

A middle-aged man standing nearby, arms crossed, nodded and said calmly, "The second gear is too big; all the pressure is on the lion."

The Lions' offensive group quickly regrouped, and the atmosphere became even more tense than before; you could almost hear your own heartbeat.

Large beads of sweat slid down Tyler Murphy's forehead, stinging his eyes. He wiped them haphazardly with his sleeve, his voice rising involuntarily, trembling slightly: "Damn it! Again! Sameplay, attack the left side!"

Frank, this time your cover needs to be as hard as rock! You hear me?!

The second down requires advancing 9 yards.

Reassemble. Kick-off.

It was still a simple pass and run. After receiving the ball, Cole didn't hesitate at all, and charged towards the left side with his head down.

But the Cavaliers' defensive formation seemed to have anticipated this, quickly shifting to the left like a slowly closing blue gate.

As a cornerback, Li Ang was originally positioned on the far outside to mark the wide receiver.

At the moment of kickoff, his pupils contracted slightly as he quickly processed the information on the field: the direction of the running back's toes as he started to move, the overall position of the offensive line...

The shift in weight distribution, the subtle differences in the quarterback's posture after passing the ball —

He ran the ball, and he made a decisive run down the left flank.

Without the slightest hesitation.

Li Ang immediately abandoned his wide receiver, pushed off with his right foot, and his body, like a sudden blue lightning bolt, slid in at full speed from the outside towards the inside, cutting straight into the possible running path.

With his brute force, Cole barely managed to squeeze through the first layer of contact, and a narrow gap seemed to appear in front of him.

Just as he attempted to accelerate and change direction, Li Ang had already moved in to cover him, blocking his path perfectly.

Cole only saw a dark blue afterimage flash past the side of the helmet.

The next second, a huge impact from the side slammed into his shoulder and ribs—it was Li Ang.

As Li Ang sprinted at high speed, he delivered a clean, powerful shoulder strike, slamming into Cole solidly. Almost simultaneously, the linebacker on the other side arrived to cover.

The two men were like two steel gates closing together, trapping Cole tightly in the middle.

boom!

A dull thud. Cole was thrown back two steps, completely losing his balance, and collapsed heavily onto the ground like a sack of potatoes.

On the grass, the ball slipped from his grasp and rolled to one side, only to be frantically scooped back into his arms.

"Tack successful! One yard lost! Now in third gear, need to gain a full ten yards!" Martin's voice was filled with undisguised praise.

Tony nearly jumped out of the commentary box, pounding the table and spitting as he spoke into the microphone: "My God! Did you see Leon's defensive readiness and speed?! That's the court sense of a top-class cornerback in the state! Cole never expected him to come out from that deadly angle! That defense was beautiful and deadly!"

"Whoa!!!"

The cheers for the defense from the stands grew louder, mixed with screams and stomping.

The students whispered excitedly to each other, gesturing about the collision that had just occurred.

"Li Ang! It's Li Ang! He rushed over from so far away, like a missile!"

"That awareness! How did he even see it?!"

"They're in third gear at ten yards! The lions are in big trouble! Look at their faces!"

When the Lions' offensive group gathered, the atmosphere was not just oppressive, it was almost frozen.

Three gears and ten yards.

Tyler Murphy's face appeared somewhat pale under his helmet. He licked his dry, chapped lips and glanced instinctively at the sidelines—Coach Benson was standing there with his arms crossed, his face as black as the bottom of a pot, his chest heaving violently. He then looked at the scoreboard, the number "7-0" on it stinging his eyes.

His voice was hoarse, more like he was talking to himself: "Third gear — long yard —"

He forced himself to raise his voice, addressing his teammates who had gathered around, their eyes somewhat unfocused: "We—we need to make a pass. Safety first, short pass, to the near end, get the penalty spot first, create four short yards—"

Near the end, the tall third-year student nodded, his Adam's apple bobbing, his eyes filled with uncertainty and pressure.

The third down requires advancing 10 yards.

After kicking off, Murphy quickly took three steps back, assumed a passing stance, and glanced rapidly across the frontcourt.

The left-wing wide receiver was closely marked by Li Ang and had no chance.

The other receiver on the right wing was also tightly marked by the safety.

He looked toward the right wing short end, who was moving toward the right sideline as part of the play, but the Cavaliers' strong linebacker Jamal was like a leech, sticking close behind and constantly bumping into him and disrupting his path.

The pressure came crashing down from the front.

Bruce erupted again. A deep growl escaped his throat, followed by a fierce "bullrush," purely out of...

With overwhelming strength and explosiveness, he forced the opposing center back repeatedly, his feet plowing tracks in the grass, and the center of his pocket instantly caved in.

The passer on the other side also successfully applied tremendous pressure, and the edge of the pocket began to collapse.

Murphy panicked. He could feel the blue figure rapidly growing larger from the edge of his vision, and the pockets around him collapsing quickly. The sounds of wind, roars, and footsteps mingled together, pounding against his eardrums.

He had no time to observe any further.

They also lacked the courage to risk sending a long pass to the backfield.

In a near-suffocating panic, he threw the ball forcefully in the general direction of the near end, almost like putting a shot put.

That was more like a desperate act to avoid being captured and killed.

The ball floated high and low, drawing a weak and crooked arc in the air, clearly deviating from its intended trajectory.

The tight end leaped up, stretching his arm, his fingertips barely brushing the rough leather surface of the rugby ball, but he couldn't control it at all.

The ball bounced once, then fell limply onto the grass near the sideline, rolled twice, and came to a stop.

"Pass not completed! Fourth down!" Martin's voice sealed the deal for this attack.

Tony excitedly summarized, speaking rapidly like a machine gun: "Third down! Dribble, dribble, pass, all failed!"

They only advanced zero yards! They even gave up one yard! The Cavaliers' defense was like an impenetrable wall of steel and concrete today! Lehman Academy's offense seemed completely helpless, unable to make an inch!

The Lions' offensive players walked off the field dejectedly, their steps heavy. One of them yanked off his helmet, his wet hair plastered to his forehead.

Tyler Murphy kept his head down, wishing he could bury his face in his chest, and didn't dare to look at the sidelines—he knew the coach's eyes must be spitting fire.

Coach Carl Benson, standing on the sidelines, was as black as the bottom of a pot, his chest heaving violently. He suppressed his near-explosive rage, turned to the special teams and the defense preparing to enter the game, and roared at the top of his lungs, his voice cracking: "Punch team! Get on the field! Kick the fuck out of there! Crush them in the end zone! Defense guys, get ready! Hold the line this time! No more points! You hear me?! Wake up, you fucking idiots!"

The Lions' puntman looked serious as he jogged toward the field.

The River Valley Knights' special operations team entered the field simultaneously. Marcus loosened his wrists and ankles, his eyes fixed on the opponent's punt, preparing to receive this counterattack.

In the stands, the Valley fans were in high spirits, as if victory was already assured.

"Three attacks, zero yards! And a one-yard penalty! Hahaha, our defense exploded today!"

"Did you see Bruce shove that guy away? He was practically beating him up like a bowling pin!"

"Li Ang's help defense, God, that speed was amazing!"

Li Ang and his defensive teammates bumped shoulders and high-fived each other as they walked off the court with relaxed expressions. Sweat streamed down their faces, but their eyes shone with an astonishing light.

Coach Duke stood on the sidelines, nodded to the defensive players who filed off the court, and said succinctly, "Well done. Stay focused. The game," he paused, "has only just begun."