Striker of The Gods

Siberia. The Krasnoyarsk Extreme Training Facility 

Caos arrived under a sky the color of steel. Temperatures dropped to -47°C. No staff. No cameras. Only endless white tundra and reinforced concrete bunkers built to withstand nuclear blasts.

Many would say that Caos was not ready for this, which meant nothing to Caos. Caos was ahead of those who hated him. In that sense, nothing could sound off for them:

X:

@Panda340: Where is Caos? This is nonsense. I know he is not in Spain. IF HE IS TRAINING, then he should take into account these conditions.

A Permanent Nuclear Winter: A steel-colored sky implies that the atmosphere is heavily choked with ash, dust, or pollution, blocking out sunlight and causing a rapid, artificial ice age. He can get sick. He is not a super man. After all, he is human.

Extinction of Local Biota: At continuous temperatures of -47°C, any remaining flora and surface fauna in the tundra would freeze instantly, destroying local food chains and ecosystems. In that sense, we know that Caos trains under terrible conditions. He should be studied by science.

Geographical Desolation: The land transitions into a silent, frozen wasteland where normal geological or biological regeneration stops completely. Well, I could say that he can feel kind of lonely from time to time.

@Ronaldo23: Stop now! You are making it weird! making a deal out of nothing! Caos is the best! He will not fall.

@Messi56: Hell no! Chaos uses steroids! He is on drugs.

@Teo21: CAOS! BE MY SON IN LAW! I LOVE YOU.

Well, no one seemed to know where Caos was.

In Russia,

The silence was deafening, broken only by the crunch of snow beneath his boots. As he ventured deeper into the complex, a sense of unease settled in; the shadows seemed to whisper secrets of the past, hinting at the horrors that had once unfolded within these walls.

He trained alone for three weeks.

He worked hard for what he loved. This winter. This love. this woman.

And he broke the concept of shooting power.

He wanted to conquer Russia.

Day 1–7: The Velocity Crucible

He started at 200 km/h cannonball shots into reinforced titanium nets. Each strike registered on seismic monitors 12 kilometers away.

He got faster day by day.

By day 7 he was consistently hitting 450 km/h.

No one could ever believe it if they were to see it.

The numbers were staggering, but he wasn’t satisfied yet. Driven by an insatiable desire to push the limits, he set his sights on achieving a speed that would defy all known parameters, determined to leave his mark on both science and history. For he was Caos. NOTHING can stand beside him.

Day 8–14: The Heart-Weighted Assault

He added Chaos Heart Resonance eyes fully violet-gold while performing shots under extreme emotional load, destroying illusions and taking souls. Holographic projections of Leonor, Sofía, his father, and the empty throne played on loop around him.

Caos felt the rage. In every vein. In every tooth. In every cell. In every regret.

He will never forget it. He will never see it again. He will never forgive.

Each shot now carried the full weight of his scars.

Power climbed to 620 km/h. The titanium nets began to warp.

With each passing moment, he felt the intensity of his memories intertwining with the raw energy surging through him. As the titanium nets contorted under the strain, he realized that he was not just breaking records; he was transforming his pain into a conduit for unparalleled strength. The atmosphere crackled with tension as he pushed further, each pulse of energy resonating with his memories and regrets. With every shot, he felt the boundaries of his reality blur, transforming the once-familiar landscape into a realm of pure potential and peril.

Day 15–21: The Final Singularity

On the last day, in a blizzard that reduced visibility to zero, Caos stood 60 meters from a 3-meter-thick reinforced concrete wall.

He took one breath.

Then he unleashed.

The Chaos Heart Oblivion Strike.

A single, perfect shot body coiled like a spring forged in solitude, his right leg whipping forward with every gram of love, rage, abandonment, and refusal he possessed.

The impact was cataclysmic, sending shockwaves through the air as the energy collided with the wall, fracturing it in a spectacular display of light and sound. In that moment, Caos knew he had transcended the limits of his own anguish, transforming it into a force that could reshape his destiny.

The ball left his foot at 700 km/h.

It did not just break the wall.

It vaporized a perfect circular tunnel straight through three meters of reinforced concrete, continuing another 180 meters into the frozen tundra before finally burying itself.

The shockwave flattened snow in a 400-meter radius.

Caos stood motionless in the center of the crater, snow and concrete dust swirling around him, violet energy crackling across his entire body like living lightning.

He looked down at his right foot smoking slightly but unharmed.

Caos (whispering into the howling wind, voice raw):

700.

Not for records.

Not for revenge.

For the version of me that has no crown, no sister, and no ghost can ever touch again.

He picked up the ball, still perfectly intact, glowing with faint violet light, and turned toward the distant lights of the transport waiting to take him back.

The maids had done their part.

His name now echoed louder across every continent.

And the storm that returned to Madrid would no longer ask permission from any throne.

To be continued…