Striker of The Gods

The Violet Reckoning

Pre-Match – The Garden at 2:51 a.m.

The rain had stopped, but the garden still smelled of wet earth and scorched grass. Caos stood motionless in the center of the destruction he had created over weeks of training, eyes closed, Chaos Heart wide open.

Even though raining is the complete opposite of a sunny day, rendering us cool instead of warm, wet instead of dry, and bringing us darkness instead of light, a rainy day still has its charms. Reading and studying feel better when it is raining outside. Going to a coffee shop while it is raining outside adds to the ambiance of the place, helping me become more focused and productive.

Commuting while raining calms my mind and helps me to get ready for the upcoming shift at work. There are many more perks and charms that rain has on me. I will just expound on some more.

They keep coming.

Bayern fell 9–0. Now Juventus arrives with their history, their pride, their belief that old glory can stand against the new storm.

I am no longer angry.

I am no longer disgusted.

I am simply… finished with weakness.

He opened his eyes. The violet glow was pure, focused, and absolute.

Caos (whispering to the night, voice calm as deep water):

Tonight I will not punish them.

Tonight I will show them the quiet, inevitable truth of their own obsolescence.

Whenever there is rain, splattering on the windows and streets, I always feel something serene about that monotonous act of nature.

When paired with reading, it is almost like the raindrops are enchanting, putting me in a trance that I cannot and will not resist.

And I will increase the number.

Because every goal is another step away from everything that tried to limit me.

UEFA Champions League – Group Stage, Matchday 2

Real Madrid vs Juventus

The Allianz Stadium in Turin was electric with Italian passion. Juventus, rebuilt and dangerous under their new project, came with a disciplined 4-3-3: Vlahović leading the line, Locatelli and Rabiot in the midfield, and Bremer and Gatti forming a wall in defense. The thing is they’re not really in competition in the traditional sense. Their money comes from two different streams. The BBC would lose nothing in terms of money if it said, "They're on ITV," just viewership. If you’re watching ITV, you have to have a TV license, so you’ve already paid the BBC.

They had studied every frame of Caos’s previous matches. They came ready to contain the storm.

They faced a man who had decided weakness itself was an insult.

The whistle blew.

Juventus pressed with intelligence and courage. For eleven minutes they managed to make it look almost like a contest.

Then Caos received the ball.

He moved at 334 mph, calm, surgical, and inevitable. A new creation born in the forest: The Obsolescence Requiem, a 900° spinning aerial maneuver that left four Juventus players frozen mid-tackle as the ball carved a violet helix through the air. From 63 meters, he launched a 719 km/h cannonball that tore the net from its moorings.

1–0.

No celebration. Just a slow walk back to the center circle, eyes carrying quiet judgment.

The second goal came in the 17th minute. Juventus tried to build. Caos intercepted with effortless disdain, dribbled through five players using the Self-Conquering Requiem, and finished with a standing 720° backflip volley from 44 meters.

2–0.

By halftime the score was 8–0.

Caos had already scored 6 goals and provided 2 assists. Each finish was delivered with increasing emotional detachment, a cold, clinical demonstration of superiority that felt more devastating than rage ever could.

In the second half, he became merciless.

He dropped deeper, dictating the game with 22.8 key passes while still scoring at will. A 71-meter no-look three-point assist to Vinícius. A rabona volley from 39 meters for his seventh. Then, in the 76th minute, with the score at 11–0, he received the ball at the halfway line, looked at the broken Juventus players with pure, emotionless finality, and performed The Eternal Obsolescence Strike—a 1080° spinning chilena from 46 feet that hung in the air like divine judgment before slamming into the net with apocalyptic force.

Final score: 15–0.

Caos had scored 11 goals and provided 4 assists.

The Allianz Stadium was silent except for the scattered, broken applause from the few Real Madrid fans who had made the journey. Juventus players lay scattered across the pitch like fallen statues. Some were openly weeping.

As the final whistle blew, Caos stood alone at the center circle, one finger raised silently to the sky or his mother.

Local press:

Rabiot: Really sad that we’ve let them rename our landmarks after whatever corporate bullshit is sponsoring them this month.

I know these are essentially corporate spaces, but it’s still a reminder that culture has no real value.

It’s not as bad as arranging satellites to spell “Enjoy Coca-Cola" across the night sky, but it’s a step closer to it.

I work in an industry that still internally calls it “Cardiff Arena” and “Wembley Arena” (and not Utilita and OVO, respectively), but the Millennium Dome is called “The O2."

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

Xabi Alonso:

Fifteen goals. Eleven from you. You didn’t just win tonight. You reminded Europe why they fear you.

Caos (voice calm, almost serene):

They were strong by normal standards.

But normal standards no longer interest me.

The three maids waited for him at the private exit, eyes wide with a mixture of pride and concern.

Zeraphina:

Eleven goals in a Champions League match. The world is going to lose its mind.

Caos (looking toward the night sky):

Let them.

I am only getting started.

The second Champions League match had ended in absolute annihilation.

And with every passing game, Caos’s hunger for something, anything that could finally challenge him grew sharper.

To be continued…