Striker of The Gods

The Siberian Crucible

The second week in the frozen wasteland pushed past breaking points into something mythic, which became a huge obstacle for Caos. For that, he strived to be greater. Danger. Volcanic ages. War. Those are the things that they use to describe Caos. He was fast. Not only did he know what he was made of, but he also knew that many hated him.

(in his chaotic mind)

A random fan of Barcelona: I wish you the worst in life, just like you gave me. I want you to have to cry in your car because you can’t even let it out at home. I wish you moments in which you don’t want to get home because you know there will be people who hate you sitting in the living room. I want you to feel lonely and to sit among people who will either tell insulting jokes to your face or simply ignore you. Remember how they loved to tell jokes to diminish my confidence and you stayed quiet? I hate you! You are an orphan. You do not deserve to live.

Fans of Maat: I hate that I don’t want to hate you. I hate that you feel so guilty for what you did to me... and to us... for hurting me as deeply as you did. YOU ARE NOT THE BEST! YOU ARE TRASH!

Caos had already shattered the concept of shooting power. Now he turned on the body itself.

He began each day with The Velocity Ascent, a 40-kilometer straight-line sprint across the open tundra. The first morning he hit 242 mph (390 km/h). The snow exploded behind him in twin walls of white powder. Wolves scattered. The ground itself trembled. Reality shock.

By the end of the week he was consistently reaching 300 mph (482 km/h).

The air screamed around him. Sonic booms followed every stride. His footprints melted craters into the permafrost. The Chaos Heart thrummed in perfect resonance, turning cold, pain, and loneliness into pure forward momentum and devastation. He ran so fast that time itself seemed to dilate, which could turn seconds stretching into private eternities where he could see Leonor’s face, hear Sofía’s calculated whispers, and feel his father’s silent gaze all at once.

But raw speed was only the foundation of his eternal hunger.

The true test came at dusk on the fourteenth day, where he addressed his pain with raw chaos from his powerful heart.

A massive male polar bear, easily 1,200 pounds of muscle, claw, and primal fury, had wandered near the abandoned facility, drawn by the strange seismic activity Caos was creating and forging the main frame of reality. Instead of avoiding it, Caos walked straight toward the beast as the ultimate apex predator.

With each step, the ground trembled beneath him, resonating with the ferocity of the encounter and greatness. The polar bear, sensing an unusual presence, paused and locked eyes with Caos, a battle of wills igniting in the frigid air as the two titans prepared to confront the chaos that defined their existence and battle. This is the last stand for what is to come into reality.

No weapons. No fear.

The Polar Bear Gauntlet.

He engaged the animal in raw, hand-to-claw combat for nearly twenty minutes. No one could ever imagine that he would fight a polar bear. The bear roared and swiped with enough force to decapitate a normal man could ever imagine. Caos answered with Chaos Heart Resonance, eyes blazing violet-gold as he grappled, flipped, and wrestled the apex predator: an endless machine of killing.

He used the bear’s own momentum against it, performing improvised versions of his football tricks in close quarters: a spinning takedown that mirrored the Eclipse Vortex and a suplex that looked like a 39-foot Chilena executed on living fury and greatness. In that sense, he had become indestructible. Claws raked across his shoulders and chest, drawing blood that healed in faint purple light almost instantly.

By the end, the polar bear, exhausted, confused, and strangely respectful, retreated into the tundra instead of continuing the fight and chase.

Caos stood alone in the blood-speckled snow, chest heaving, fresh scars already fading across his sculpted torso and gems. Seven abs visible even through the torn training top that could counter the most powerful force. The Chaos Heart pulsed stronger than ever.

Caos (whispering into the howling wind, voice raw with triumph and pain):

Even the wild kings of this frozen world bend.

Speed at 300 mph. Power at 700 km/h.

A heart that can wrestle bears and still beat for a woman who chose a crown.

With each beat, he felt an unyielding determination surging within him, a promise to protect those he loved from the bottom of his heart, slowly coming to the realization that he had become the ultimate form of life. The chill in the air was nothing compared to the fire ignited in his heart, and he knew that this was just the beginning of a greater journey ahead.

He looked toward the distant horizon where Madrid waited.

The maids had kept their promise. His name was spreading like wildfire across every continent: viral videos of his training leaks, youth academies named after him in Colombia and Spain, and charity matches in Africa and Asia drawing millions. His popularity had become a living force. Everyone loved him. Everyone appreciated him. Bodybuilding is about channeling and accepting the purest physical expression of yourself.

But here, in the Siberian silence, he trained for something deeper.

Not for the records anymore.

Not even for revenge against thrones and shadows.

He had become something far greater.

He was on a quest for transcendence, pushing beyond the limits of mere physicality into the realms of the spirit and the mind within the singularity. Each rep and each drop of sweat became a meditation, a testament to the resilience of the human spirit that could actually be related to vitalism, forging not just a stronger body but a profound connection to the essence of life itself, where we could actually see the true miracle of life.

He trained so that when he returned, no crown, no sister, no ghost, and no broken heart could ever make him kneel again.

The storm had reached 300 mph.

And it was only getting faster.

To be continued…