Port Vale's lone goal brought a flicker of hope to their fans, but on the pitch, it hardly shifted the momentum. Gareth Holloway paced the sideline, his frustration mounting with every passing minute. He knew his team was outmatched. Burton's movements were too precise, too fluid, and Holloway couldn't shake the feeling that the game was slipping further away with every touch of the ball.
Victor Kane stood calm and composed, his eyes fixed on the action unfolding before him. The Snake Tactics Manual pulsed faintly in his mind, feeding him insights and possibilities he had already planned for. Burton Albion was in complete control, and Victor knew that the final minutes of the match would be their ultimate opportunity to stamp their authority—not on Port Vale, but on League One itself.
Templeton, still recovering from the foul that had briefly halted Burton's relentless assault, adjusted his shin pads and signaled to Quinn that he was ready. The two exchanged a knowing glance, their chemistry on the pitch evident in every play. Burton's midfield tightened their grip, forcing Port Vale's players into errors that Holloway could barely believe. It wasn't just miscommunication or poor execution. It was a collapse born of exhaustion and sheer psychological pressure.
Victor raised his hand once more, signaling the activation of Fang Sequence, a tactic the team had drilled tirelessly over the past week. The movement was sharp and aggressive, a series of interlocking runs that created confusion and chaos in the opposition's defensive setup. Burton's midfield rotated faster, their coordination nearly flawless, while their strikers moved unpredictably, finding spaces that Port Vale's defense couldn't cover.
Fans in the stands leaned forward, their eyes glued to the pitch. At The Yellow Lion Pub, Martin gestured wildly at the television, shouting, "Look at that! They're weaving through them like it's nothing!" Liam laughed, raising his pint. "That's magic!"
Burton's fifth goal was the culmination of Fang Sequence, an unrelenting attack that left Port Vale utterly helpless. Akins received the ball at the edge of the box, feinted past a defender, and fired a low shot into the bottom corner. The keeper dove desperately, but the ball slipped past his fingertips and into the net. The stadium erupted in cheers, the energy palpable as the scoreboard flashed 5-1. Gareth Holloway dropped his clipboard, staring blankly at the field. "We're done," he murmured to Fletcher, who could only nod in agreement.
As the clock ticked down to the final minutes, Burton continued their dominance. Victor didn't allow his team to relent because he wanted them to understand what they were capable of. They weren't survivors anymore.
Port Vale's players were visibly shaken, their movements sluggish as they tried to hold onto some semblance of dignity. Burton, however, was relentless. In the 88th minute, Templeton, who had been a constant thorn in Port Vale's side, surged down the left flank. His cross found Allen at the far post, and the midfielder didn't hesitate. His volley soared past the keeper, hitting the back of the net with a satisfying thud. Six-one.
The stadium erupted once more, the cheers drowning out any thoughts of the final whistle. Fans in the back rows waved scarves and chanted Victor Kane's name, their voices rising in unison. At The Yellow Lion, Martin raised his glass in triumph. "Six goals!" he shouted.
Victor stood on the touchline, his face unreadable as the referee signaled for additional time. He glanced at his players, their energy still burning bright despite the long season. The Snake Tactics Manual pulsed faintly, its text glowing with the promise of further evolutions. Victor knew this was just the beginning.
The final whistle blew, and the roar from the crowd was deafening. Burton Albion had ended their season with a commanding victory, a performance that would be talked about long into the summer. The players embraced on the pitch, their smiles wide and their laughter infectious. Templeton and Quinn high-fived, while Akins clapped Allen on the back. Victor walked toward the dugout, his composure intact but his mind already thinking of what came next.
In the commentary box, David Fletcher leaned back, shaking his head in amazement. "That's the kind of performance that makes history," he said, his voice filled with admiration. Richard Barnes nodded, his earlier skepticism gone. "They're not survivors anymore."
As the crowd filtered out of the stadium and the players retreated to the locker room, Victor lingered alone in his office. The envelope from earlier sat on his desk, its contents still weighing on his mind. The Snake Tactics Manual lay open beside it, its faint glow matching the light of the setting sun. Victor allowed himself a moment to reflect.