Striker of The Gods

Valencia

The anger had begun as a quiet ember after the Málaga massacre, which had gone viral after a few days. In that sense, many were complaining about the death of Leganes. In that way, many discussed firing their coach. After all, he did not do anything to lift the mood of his players after the match.

It had grown into a controlled blaze during the Derbi against Atlético.

Now, before the third La Liga match, it had become a violet inferno.

Pre-Match : The Garden at 3:12 a.m.

Caos stood barefoot in the center of the ruined backyard, the grass still scarred from weeks of impossible training. The three maids watched from the shadows, giving him the silence he needed.

Caos actually thought about the implications of being a maid. His maids played an important role in his life. Although many did not like him, they were everything to him. This was not a bluff. Rather, they helped him with everything at home apart from social media and his money.

A lot of people don’t have the time or the energy. A lot of people would rather spend their time doing something else. A lot of people are not great at organizing and cleaning and actually still want a clean, organized house. There is nothing wrong with having someone else do that job for you. The benefits are pretty obvious.

Your house is clean, and you didn’t have to do it, freeing up time to do things you really want to do or not putting yourself in an energy deficit or causing yourself pain due to health conditions that worsen when you exert yourself too much. Or having a clean house that you would not have because you just aren’t great at doing that. And let’s face it, there are a lot more people who aren’t naturally clean and organized than there are people who are.

Busy lives often leave little time or energy for the things you want to do once you do all the things you need to do. Why not hire someone to do the things you need to do so that you can do the things you want to do or to avoid hurting yourself?

He closed his eyes and let the Chaos Heart speak.

Leonor chose the crown.

Sofía sharpens knives in the dark.

My father watched me become this without ever saying my name.

And the world keeps applauding like none of it matters.

The anger rose like magma.

They want me to be grateful. To be contained. To keep scoring pretty goals while they decide my place. Nothing can stop me now. I am mathematical perfection, and I know it.

His eyes snapped open. Pure molten violet.

Caos (whispering into the night, voice low and venomous):

No more.

Tonight I do not play football.

Tonight I punish every team that dares stand in front of me for reminding me of every throne, every sister, every ghost that thinks it can diminish me.

I should do it better. Soon enough! I shall have the best team in the world.

The maids felt the shift in the air. Zeraphina’s eyes darkened with proud hunger. Keyla clenched her fists. Michaela simply nodded, knowing the storm had found new fuel.

La Liga – Matchday 3

Real Madrid vs Valencia CF

The Mestalla was electric with defiance. Valencia, proud and wounded, had promised to be the first team to make Caos bleed. They set up in an aggressive 4-2-3-1, pressing high, determined to make this a war of attrition.

They were not prepared for the monster that walked out of the tunnel.

Caos’s eyes were already glowing before kick-off. The Chaos Heart was fully open, with no restraint and no mercy. The anger was no longer hidden. It was weaponized.

The whistle blew.

The fans were ready.

They knew that they could lose.

Valencia pressed with courage.

Chaos answered with apocalypse.

He received the ball in his own half and sprinted forward at 329 mph, visibly faster than in the previous matches. The first Valencia player who tried to tackle him was met with a Leonor’s Eclipse Vortex so violent the man was spun off his feet and landed ten meters away. Caos continued without breaking stride.

From 71 meters, he unleashed The Rageborn Oblivion Strike, a 718 km/h cannonball that left a violet trail across the sky and shattered the crossbar on impact before burying itself in the net.

1–0.

No celebration. Just cold, burning eyes.

The second goal came four minutes later. A Valencia counter was intercepted. Caos took the ball, dribbled through six players with a chain of Fatherless Phantom Helix into Siberian Thronebreaker, then finished with a standing backflip volley from 28 meters that made the Mestalla fall into stunned silence.

2–0.

By the 22nd minute the score was 5–0.

Caos was no longer playing football. He was waging psychological war.

Every time a Valencia player approached him, he moved with terrifying precision, not just beating them but humiliating them. A no-look rabona assist to Mbappé. A 300+ mph sprint that left defenders clutching their chests. A new creation born from pure rage: The Abandoned Heart Requiem, a spinning 900° aerial maneuver where he wrapped the ball around his entire body mid-air before striking it with such venom that it tore through two defenders and the net in one continuous scream.

Half-time: 8–0.

In the dressing room, Mbappé looked almost concerned.

Mbappé:

You’re scaring even us, hermano. This isn’t anger anymore. This is something else.

Caos (voice low, eyes still glowing):

Good. Let them feel what I feel every time I look at an empty royal box.

The second half became a public execution that no one can remember as usual. The proper execution of football in beauty. Every step was calculated. Every breath gave life. He was more than ready. Initially, it was meant to happen in silence. The more you wonder it, the less you get it. However, this could actually be different for those who dare to dream. Caos? He was the incarnation of the mad and the rational.

Caos scored four more goals, each more impossible than the last. A 62-meter knuckleball while inverted. A no-look 40-meter three-pointer while surrounded by five players. And in the 89th minute, with the score at 13–0, he received the ball at the halfway line, looked toward the sky, and performed the most violent act of the night.

The Full Chaos Heart Annihilation.

He sprinted at 335 mph, leaped into a full 720° spinning chilena from 42 feet, and struck the ball with every ounce of accumulated rage, love, betrayal, and refusal he carried.

The shot registered at 724 km/h.

It did not just go in.

It tore the net completely off the goalposts and embedded itself in the advertising board behind with enough force to crack the concrete.

14–0.

The Mestalla was silent except for the scattered, broken applause from Real Madrid fans.

Caos stood in the center circle as the final whistle blew, chest heaving, violet energy crackling violently around him. No smile. No gesture of triumph.

Just cold, burning purpose.

The third match of the season had ended.

And the anger was only growing.

To be continued…