Striker of The Gods

Time: Saturday, 2 March 2034 – 23:47 CET

Location: The Mansion, Madrid

The mansion was quiet after the 24–2 demolition of Villarreal. Caos had scored 18 goals and provided 5 assists, yet he returned home in silence. No celebration. No words. The violet energy around him was darker, more intense, almost oppressive.

He walked straight past the three maids without a glance and headed to the garden.

Zeraphina (standing up, concerned):

Caos? What’s wrong?

Keyla (trying to follow him):

Hey, talk to us. You were a god tonight. Why are you like this?

Michaela (softly, reaching for him):

You’re scaring us. Please…

Caos stopped at the edge of the garden, back turned, the violet glow around him flaring.

Caos (voice low, cold, distant):

Not tonight.

I need to train. Alone.

The power… it’s still growing. I feel it pulling. I need to control it before it controls me.

He vanished into the garden at 500 mph, the air cracking behind him as he pushed his new limits under the moonlight. The sound of trees splintering and the ground shaking echoed through the night.

The three maids stood in the doorway, watching the violet flashes in the darkness.

Zeraphina (hand on her belly, voice quiet):

He’s pulling away. The power from the Triassic… it’s changing him faster than we thought.

Keyla (worried):

He didn’t even look at us. He’s never been like this. I do not get it. There should be something there.

Michaela:

We should give him space. But I’m scared. He’s becoming something… more. What if he forgets we’re here?

The night stretched on. Caos trained relentlessly  500 mph sprints, 350,000 Newton strikes shattering boulders, new cosmic tricks tearing through the garden. He pushed himself to the absolute edge, reaching new limits and breaking them again.

He did not return until dawn.

The maids waited up all night, worried and silent.

The storm was no longer seeking comfort.

It was seeking control.

Caos was getting better day by day.

To be continued…