Striker of The Gods

Overcoming the Mirror.

The night before the third Copa del Rey match, Caos stood alone in the ruined garden under a cold, starless Madrid sky. Rain fell in thin silver sheets, but he remained motionless, letting the water run down his bare torso like baptism and judgement at once.

X:

Pussy56: For me it is Sevilla because of many incidents:

They celebrated Tito Villanova's death and chanted about his death while he was battling cancer.

Those fans went beyond and said, “Milan muérete”; yeah, they even wished for the death of Piqué's kid. Also put a big banner on “Shakira es de Todos", which means Shakira belongs to everyone LMAO. Yeah, those were on Pique.

Then we go that Andres Iniesta did the ultimate tribute to Dani Jarque, and while Espanyol fans appreciate that and applaud him for it, the fans still shit on Barca lol.

There was the pitch invasion of 2023 after Barca won La Liga and made them go to Segunda, and as funny as this gets, they got away with it. ⁠

I could go on and on about Sevilla. Those bastards back then, before items were more regularised, always threw a lot of garbage at our players, and La Liga did nothing until UEFA demanded better security.

Sure, Madrid have their institutes, and there are some things I dislike about them or how classless they are, but one thing for sure is that their fans don't push beyond boundaries like Espanyol does.

Caoslover: Shut the fuck up! This is so fake. Real Madrid is not that way. You are talking about Espanyol.

Pessi23: No respect for football terrorism that's allowed by incompetent referees. If the referees officiated Sevilla games like any other games, they'd be playing with 2 men down every game and losing every single game.

He closed his eyes and descended fully into the Chaos Heart.

You have broken the world.

You have broken records, rivals, and even nations that tried to claim you.

But the last wall still stands.

The version of you that still wakes up reaching for a hand that is no longer there.

The boy who lost his mother while scoring hat-tricks.

The man who watched the woman he loved choose a crown over him.

The ghost of a father who never claimed him.

The disgust he had felt towards weak opponents turned inward like a blade.

Caos (whispering into the rain, voice raw and deliberate):

I have become too strong for everyone else.

Now I must become strong enough for myself.

Tonight I do not fight the opponent.

Tonight I fight the last weakness left inside me.

He opened his eyes. The violet glow was steady, focused, almost sacred.

The storm had turned its fury upon itself.

Copa del Rey Quarter-Final

Real Madrid vs Sevilla FC

The Ramón Sánchez-Pizjuán was a cauldron of red and white defiance. Sevilla, battle-scarred and proud, had prepared with obsessive detail a compact, aggressive 4-2-3-1 designed to harass, press, and counter. They came ready to bleed, to make the violet storm feel their resistance at last.

They faced a man at war with his own shadow.

Caos walked onto the pitch with terrifying calm. No visible rage. No cold contempt. Just absolute, inward focus. The Chaos Heart was fully open not to destroy the opponent but to conquer the last pieces of himself that still ached.

The whistle blew.

Sevilla pressed with heart and fire. For fifteen minutes they managed to make the game ugly and physical.

Then Caos decided it was time to overcome himself.

He received the ball in his own half and accelerated to 327 mph – pushing past every previous limit, not for spectacle but for catharsis. A new creation was born in that moment: the Self-Conquering Requiem — a 1080° spinning aerial manoeuvre where he wrapped the ball around his body while confronting internal holograms of his past selves: the grieving boy, the betrayed friend, and the rejected lover.

He finished with a 71-metre strike that tore through the net like it was erasing a memory.

1–0.

No wild celebration. Just one fist pressed firmly to his own chest for the version of him that still hurt.

The second goal came in the 28th minute. Sevilla tried to counter. Caos intercepted, dribbled through six players with absolute mastery, and launched a standing backflip volley from 39 meters while internally battling the memory of his father’s silence.

2–0.

By halftime the score was 6–0.

But the real war was internal.

In the second half, Caos pushed deeper into himself. Every goal was an act of self-overcoming.

A 69-metre no-look trevela while facing the memory of Leonor choosing the crown.

A rabona assist to Vinícius while confronting the ghost of his own abandonment.

Then, in the 81st minute, with the score at 10–0, he received the ball at the halfway line, closed his eyes for a brief second, and performed the most personal creation yet: The Mother’s Eternal Eclipse, a 1080° spinning chilena from 44 feet, is dedicated entirely to the woman who had believed in him before the world did.

The ball left his foot with such emotional power that it seemed to carry her presence across the pitch before slamming into the net with perfect, devastating beauty.

11–0.

Final score: 12–0.

Chaos stood alone at the centre circle after the whistle, one finger raised silently to the sky. Not for glory. Not for records. For her.

For the first time in many matches, there was something close to peace in his eyes — a fragile, hard-won calm.

In the tunnel, Xabi Alonso approached him with quiet pride.

Xabi Alonso:

Tonight you didn’t just beat Sevilla. You beat something inside yourself. I saw it. The way you played… it was different. More complete.

Caos (voice calm, almost serene):

I am learning that the strongest opponent was always the one inside.

Every goal tonight was a step towards forgiving myself for still being human enough to hurt.

The three maids waited for him outside. Their eyes were soft with understanding.

Zeraphina:

You looked… lighter out there. Like you finally faced the last wall.

Caos (nodding slowly):

I did.

And I won.

No one can stop me now.

I am the king of the world.

He looked towards the night sky, violet eyes calm for the first time in weeks.

The third Copa del Rey match had ended.

But the real victory had been internal.

The storm was no longer at war with the world.

It was learning to make peace with itself.

To be continued…