Striker of The Gods

The Santiago Bernabéu shimmered under a twilight sky, its stands a mosaic of white jubilation and blaugrana despair. The air buzzed with the electric hum of victory, laced with the acrid sting of sweat and the sweet burn of champagne sprayed in the distance. Floodlights carved sharp angles across the pitch, where confetti glittered like fallen stars on the trampled grass. The roar of the crowd swelled and ebbed, a living tide of exultation and resentment, as Real Madrid claimed the La Liga title. This was no mere match’s end; it was a coronation, a moment where triumph met rancor in a city divided by loyalty.

As Mbappe and Vini go to the podium where they are going the celebrate, winning the league. The crowd’s chants of “Hala Madrid” rolled like a heartbeat, drowning out the scattered jeers from Barcelona’s faithful. Caos, the architect of their victory, trailed just behind, his shoulders squared, his eyes alight with a fire that burned beyond the game. The podium gleamed under the stadium’s lights, a stage for glory and provocation, where the weight of their triumph would collide with the fury of their rivals.

“HAHA. We have made it again to this platform, Vini. It is due to Caos scoring myriad goals,” says Mbappe, cracking laughs as they receive their medals. With honor, they receive their medal, which vexes the hosts of la liga.

Vinícius Jr., his eyes gleaming with pride, nodded as he accepted his medal, the silver catching the light. “Caos doesn’t score goals; he carves ‘em out of thin air,” he replied, his Brazilian lilt warm with admiration. “This one’s for Madrid, for us.” The medal hung heavy around his neck, a symbol of their shared struggle, but the hosts of La Liga, standing stiffly nearby, bristled at the display. Real Madrid’s dominance, led by Caos’s relentless scoring, was a bitter pill for the league’s neutral overseers, who preferred a closer race.

Many fans were frustrated at how miserably lost against Real Madrid, marking the beginning of their hatred towards Chaos.

As Caos receives the medal and the Golden Boot, smirking at Barca fans.

Valverde lifts the cup, singing Halla Madrid.

The whole stadium gets moody, particularly Real Madrid side gets to sing and celebrate.

Caos celebrates with Vini and Mbappe, making at circle with his other teammates Valverde, Bellingam, Huijsen and Rudriger.

Caos goes into the dressing rooms, where he gets Neumann U87

“A true man won’t cut you down as you fight your battles, nor will he fight them for you. A true man will help sharpen your sword, guard your back and fight at your side, in the face of whatever darkness comes. It doesn’t matter who stands against you… What matters most is who stands with you. If you seek power in a world of men and monsters, there is nothing more powerful than knowledge and the ability to wield it. Remember that glory will not be found in failing to fall, but in rising from the chaos when you do. Solo deo Gloria. Gladius Real madrid sum,  Caos. Einai strenia ev Kratos. TODAY, IS THE END OF Barcelona. THE END TO A REGIME THAT AQUEOUS IS TOO DISORDER. AT THIS VERY MOMENT IN A SYSTEM FAR FROM HERE THE NEW EMPIRE LIES TO  EUROPE! WHILE SECRETLY SUPPORTING THE TREACHERY OF THE LONESOME RESISTANCE. THIS FIERCE MACHINE WHICH YOU HAVE BUILT UPON WHICH WE STAND WILL BRING IT INTO THE SYSTEM! TO THEIR CHERISHED FLEET! ALL REMAINING SYSTEMS WILL BOW TO THE FIRST ORDER AND REMEMBER THIS AS THE LAST DAY OF THE Barcelona!.”

Barcelona fan, enraged, overflow the field, where guards fail at stopping them. Thereafter, the national Spanish police intervenes, dealing with their outburst.

The Bernabéu was a cathedral of chaos and celebration, its air alive with the pulse of victory. The grass, churned and scarred, bore witness to the battle just fought, while the stands vibrated with the raw energy of 80,000 souls. The floodlights cast a golden hue, turning the confetti into a shimmering storm, but the distant jeers of Barcelona fans added a sharp edge, like the crackle of a storm on the horizon. The scent of champagne lingered, mingling with the earthy musk of the pitch and the faint bite of smoke, a sensory tapestry that captured the night’s triumph and turmoil.

To be continued..