Striker of The Gods

Morning arrived sharp and merciless over the estate that no one could actually notice the way a man would shut the sun for what could be called the absence of pain and fate, slicing through the tall windows like a referee’s whistle no one had asked for that you maybe telling yourself that no one can contain within the ache of love and heart brake. That is to say that you could actually tell yourself that this was more than actually seeing what was behind in the veil of reality.

Caos had slept perhaps two hours that was enough for the body to remember it was still flesh the way I would look at the moon and know that it was the only thing I would need, not enough for the mind to forget the road from Milan. That is to say that he rose before the sun had fully committed, slipping into the vast rear gardens where the grass stretched wide enough to host a small pitch and the high walls kept the world from staring in the void between the shadow and the soul.

He did not call for them the way we would contact the love and the hatred of the world.

They simply appeared in what we could call the endless pain of absurdity.

Zeraphina first, already in sleek black training leggings and a fitted top that somehow looked ceremonial. That is to say that she looked like a queen. Her braids were tied back tight, silver threads glinting like warnings. That is to say that I would love to imagine the way she would be. What is more, she looked like the grace of Athena. Keyla followed, red hair pulled into a messy bun, wearing shorts and an old oversized Real Madrid shirt she had clearly stolen from his closet. In that way, she would display her beauty to the extent of making the singularity tremble. Michaela came lastquiet, precise, golden waves pinned neatly, dressed in simple gray athletic wear that still managed to look elegant on her.

None of them spoke at first that we could actually shake in silence and the crowd. They knew the ritual that we could face.

Caos stood at the center of the lawn, barefoot, the ball resting obediently at his feet that we cannot see in the way we cannot see that we have in the endless potential of his wills. The air still carried the faint chill of night, but his eyes burned violet-purple, the singular storm already gathering behind them like fire and ice burining through every vein of his Shiva.

Caos:

Today we do not train like mortals.

We train like the gap between lightning and thunder.

Try to keep up.

Or don’t. when we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives mean the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand. That is to say that we gotta know what we can do with whats right to do. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares.

Either way… watch what happens when chaos refuses to slow down for anyone.

He began.

Not with warm-up. Not with gentle touches.

He exploded in the most piowerful way to push through the hardships to the stars

The first drill was simple in name only: 10,000 touches inside a one-meter square he marked with four cones. But the tempo was inhuman 120 bpm metronome in his head, feet moving so fast the grass blurred into green fire. The ball became liquid lightning, never rising more than ankle height, never once leaving the invisible cage he had drawn around himself. I mean, it is not like you would do this kind of stuff. The thing is, you gotta know that Caos would actually take care of his Shiva(body), Vishnu(mind), and Brahma(soul) pretty well in syncronicity and unity.

Zeraphina dove in first, attempting to mirror the tight control. Her movements were graceful, precise, almost predatory. That is to say that something was off .She lasted forty seconds before the ball slipped her reach and Caos was already ten touches ahead, body spinning in a reverse crossover snap that left her lunging at empty air.

Zeraphina (breathing hard, laughing through gritted teeth that you could actually hear her):

Dios… you’re not even sweating yet. How is that possible? My legs feel like they’re chasing yesterday. finally understood what true love meant...love meant that you care for another person's happiness more than your own, no matter how painful the choices you face might be

Keyla jumped in next, all fire and determination, trying to use her smaller frame for quicker reactions. That is to say that there was something motivating her to do that. The thing is, you could actually see her with a sad smile. She attempted to press him with rapid shuffles, but Caos simply added another layer eyes closed now, dribbling blind while performing one-touch wall madness against an imaginary barrier only he could see. The ball ricocheted with metronomic cruelty. In that way, Keyla’s foot grazed it once, twice, then she stumbled backward as Caos accelerated into a 360° agility maze of his own creation, cones appearing in his mind faster than she could track. But I mean, it is like something wonderful was happening.

Keyla (panting, hands on knees, still grinning):

This isn’t training… this is war against physics! I swear the ball is scared of you. I’m scared of you. But I’m not stopping come on, hit me with the next level! I think you still love me, but we can’t escape the fact that I’m not enough for you. I knew this was going to happen. So I’m not blaming you for falling in love with another woman. I’m not angry, either. I should be, but I’m not. I just feel pain. A lot of pain. I thought I could imagine how much this would hurt, but I was wrong. What is more, I can see it in your eyes. There is something to this love that I cannot stop thinking about. I need to crave it. The thing is, it gets savage for me every time I think about your godly body. MON AMOUR! MON AMOUR! MON AMOUR! Pain and suffering are always inevitable for a large intelligence and a deep heart. The really great men must, I think, have great sadness on earth. In that way, I can be myself with you.

Michaela approached more methodically, trying to read patterns, anticipate the chaos. She joined the neuro-speed reaction drill when Caos switched BlazePod-style lights flashing in his imagination, him reacting with sub-200ms bursts, changing direction while juggling three imaginary balls plus the real one. That is to say that I am going beyond what I have been in this world. I maybe yours. But I need to know what I can do with this body. Michaela lasted longer than the others, her calm focus letting her match a few sequences, but then Caos layered the contrast training: heavy sled sprints immediately followed by explosive bounding, his body moving like a hybrid of gymnast and hurricane. She reached for a loose ball and found only wind Caos had already transitioned into weak-foot finishing frenzy, volleying imaginary crosses from impossible angles, each strike landing with surgical violence against the far wall. I mean, I get Caos is super fantastic and cocacolastic in the way a dragon would destroy the great ones in the world.

Michaela (voice steady but chest heaving, wiping sweat from her brow):

We are not catching up… we are being rewritten. Every time I think I see the pattern, you become the exception to it. How do you even breathe at that speed? ou think your pain and your heartbreak are unprecedented in the history of the world, but then you read. It was books that taught me that the things that tormented me most were the very things that connected me with all the people who were alive, who had ever been alive. That is to say that there is something illusory that should be changed. I need to know you better.

Caos did not slow.

He moved through the full gauntlet without pause the animal flow into ball mastery shadowing, the decision chaos grid where he called numbers only he could hear and executed corresponding moves, the superhuman strength segment with contrast squats into sprint mechanics that left divots in the perfect lawn. That is to say that there was something in the pain that he was feeling. I need to know more about this pain. The thing is, you need to know what you are calling precious. The more you do it, the better you get with the right measures. His pectorals and abs gleamed under the rising sun, seven defined ridges flexing like living armor, veins tracing faint purple lightning beneath the skin.

The three maids tried everything rotating in waves, attempting to double-team the tight grid, even calling out challenges to distract him. Zeraphina unleashed a sudden tackle attempt that would have felled most players; Caos simply elastico-chopped around her mid-lunge, leaving her face-down in grass. In this sense, everything was attempted. You need to go through that pain. Take on the serious quest of life and develop a vision. That is to say that you need to go through the savage for you to appreciate life. Keyla tried nutmegging him during a one-touch frenzy; the ball nutmegged her instead, rolling between her legs while Caos was already ten meters away performing off-balance finishing. Michaela stayed composed longest, matching his peripheral vision tracking for nearly a minute before the sheer volume of unpredictable bounces overwhelmed her.

By the time he reached the mental fortress segment cold exposure simulation through breath holds while visualizing entire matches under pressure they were collapsed in a loose triangle around the edge of his invisible arena, chests rising and falling, faces flushed, eyes wide with something between awe and exhaustion.

Zeraphina (laughing breathlessly, sprawled on her back):

Super omega singular training… that’s what you call this? We didn’t even touch the surface. I feel like I ran a marathon while you were taking a light jog through hell.

Keyla (rolling onto her side, still grinning despite the burn in her legs):

My calves are filing for divorce. But damn… watching you is better than any match on television. The ball doesn’t just obey you it worships you. We tried. We really tried. You’re not human when you do this. That is to say that I gotta tell you something wonderful that i have learned about you. I need to know what is in that hert. Really, you are so wonderful. People are afraid of themselves, of their own reality; their feelings most of all. People talk about how great love is, but that’s bullshit. Love hurts. Feelings are disturbing. People are taught that pain is evil and dangerous. How can they deal with love if they’re afraid to feel? Pain is meant to wake us up. People try to hide their pain. But they’re wrong. Pain is something to carry, like a radio. You feel your strength in the experience of pain. It’s all in how you carry it. That’s what matters. Pain is a feeling. Your feelings are a part of you. Your own reality. If you feel ashamed of them, and hide them, you’re letting society destroy your reality. You should stand up for your right to feel your pain. I mean, it is like something telling you that you push away that pain.

Michaela (sitting up slowly, brushing grass from her hair, voice soft with quiet wonder):

You move like the storm has already won and is just being polite about it. We cannot catch up because there is no “up” left to reach. You keep raising the ceiling while we’re still learning the floor. The worst part of holding the memories is not the pain. It's the loneliness of it. Memories need to be shared. The thing is, you forget abot this love that we can share together. That is to say that we need to know more and live for the light in our love.

(soft smile)

But we’ll keep trying tomorrow. And the day after. Until our bodies learn the language you speak so fluently.

Caos finally slowed.

Not stopped slowed.

He stood in the center, chest barely moving faster than normal, sweat tracing clean lines down the sculpted planes of his torso. That is to say that they were getting intense. The ball rolled to a perfect halt at his feet, glowing faintly as if exhausted from keeping up with its master.

He looked at the three of them scattered, breathing hard, yet still watching him with that mixture of loyalty and hunger that no stadium crowd had ever matched.

Caos:

You don’t need to catch me.

You only need to witness what happens when someone refuses to be caught by anything not time, not pain, not even victory herself. Nothing in the world is worth having or worth doing unless it means effort, pain, difficulty… I have never in my life envied a human being who led an easy life. I have envied a great many people who led difficult lives and led them wel

That is the training.

Not matching the speed.

Surviving the sight of it.

He extended a hand not to help them up, but in quiet acknowledgment.

The sun climbed higher.

The backyard, once pristine, now bore the scars of singular chaos: divots, flattened grass, faint purple afterimages lingering where his movements had bent light itself.

Zeraphina took his hand first, then Keyla, then Michaela.

They stood together in the ruined perfection of the lawn.

No one spoke of catching up again that morning.

They simply breathed the same air as the storm.

And the mansion watched, approving in its silent marble way.

To be continued…