Striker of The Gods

Time: Saturday, 24th April 2034 : 18:30 CET

Location: Mestalla, Valencia

Caos arrived at the stadium.

CAOS! HIJUEPUTA! SALTE DE AQUI!

SOS UN DIABLO.

Caos ignored them.

Mestalla was already shaking before the players came out.

The stadium was packed.

Orange and black scarves filled sections of the stands. Valencia supporters had spent the entire week arguing over one question.

How do you stop Caos?

Valencia were not going to sit deep and hope.

They had studied Real Madrid’s previous matches. They had watched the footage from the training simulations. They had watched Caos score from impossible distances, run faster than defenders could react, change direction without losing speed, and destroy defensive structures that had taken weeks to prepare.

So Rubén Baraja had built something different.

A narrow defensive structure.

Three central defenders.

Four midfielders collapsing toward the middle.

Two players permanently responsible for tracking Caos.

And whenever he received the ball, a third defender would immediately close the space.

It was aggressive.

It was dangerous.

And it was designed around one idea.

Do not give Caos room to breathe.

Outside the stadium, thousands of supporters were already singing.

Inside, the noise kept building.

Media

#ValenciaVsCaos : 8.6 million posts in 36 hours

@Marca:

“Valencia have prepared one of the most aggressive defensive plans yet. Three players will collapse on Caos whenever he enters dangerous areas.”

@AS:

“Caos has scored 22, 24 and 21 goals in recent matches. Valencia know they cannot simply defend normally.”

@LaLiga:

“Mestalla is ready. Valencia believe discipline, pressure and the crowd can make the difference.”

A video from Real Madrid training had also gone viral.

Caos sprinting.

500 mph.

Then stopping.Then turning.

Something crushed limits.

Then striking a ball hard enough to send it through a reinforced training target.

Another clip showed him inside one of Erebus’s prehistoric simulations, surrounded by enormous creatures.

The caption underneath was simple:

“Valencia studied football. Caos studied survival.”

Valencia captain José Gayà stood in the tunnel, looking across at Caos.

For several seconds neither man said anything.

Then Gayà smiled.

“You know we’re going to make this difficult.”

Caos looked at him.

“I know.”

“You’ve heard about the plan?”

“I’ve heard.”

Gayà shook his head.

“And you’re still smiling?”

Caos glanced toward the pitch.

“Because it’s football.”

Gayà laughed quietly.

“Fair enough.”

A few meters away, Mbappé was finishing his warm-up.

He walked over and looked at Caos.

“They’re going to collapse on you every time you touch it.”

Caos stretched his shoulders.

“Then I’ll move the ball.”

Mbappé raised an eyebrow.

“And if they follow?”

“I’ll move faster.”

Mbappé laughed.

“That’s exactly the answer I expected.”

Xabi Alonso approached shortly afterward.

He placed a hand briefly against Caos’s shoulder.

“They’ll try to turn the match into a physical fight.”

Caos nodded.

“Then we don’t give them the fight they want.”

Xabi smiled.

“Good.”

He looked toward the pitch.

“Stay patient.”

Caos looked at him.

“I will.”

A pause.

“Probably.”

Xabi laughed.

“That’s the part that worries me.”

PRIVATE BOX

High above Mestalla, Zeraphina, Keyla and Michaela watched the players warming up.

Zeraphina’s hand rested protectively against her growing belly.

Keyla leaned forward.

“They really think this is going to work.”

Michaela smiled.

“They’ve obviously prepared for him.”

Zeraphina looked toward the pitch.

“That’s what everyone says before playing him.”

Keyla turned toward her.

“You sound very confident.”

“I know him.”

Keyla grinned.

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

Zeraphina smiled.

“It answers it perfectly.”

The whistle blew.

Valencia immediately executed their plan.

Caos touched the ball for the first time in the second minute.

Three Valencia players moved toward him.

He released it.

The ball went to Mbappé.

Second touch.

Valencia recovered.

Caos moved again.

This time he dropped deeper.

Another three players followed.

He passed again.

Real Madrid began moving the ball quickly.

One touch.

Two touches.

Switch.

Return.

Caos moved from the left side into the middle.

Valencia’s entire defensive shape shifted with him.

The Mestalla crowd roared every time they forced him away from goal.

For the first ten minutes, Valencia were doing exactly what they wanted.

Caos had almost no space.

Every receiving angle was closed.

Every run was followed.

Every time he tried to turn, another defender appeared.

The La Liga commentator observed it as the match developed.

“Valencia have clearly decided that Caos will not receive the ball comfortably tonight. They are closing around him immediately, sometimes with three players. They know they cannot allow him to face the goal.”

At the twenty-minute mark, Real Madrid had possession.

Caos received the ball near midfield.

One defender stepped forward.

Another moved behind him.

A third waited five meters away.

Caos looked around.

Then he smiled.

He passed backward.

Valencia pushed forward.

Caos immediately turned and ran.

The ball came back.

He was already moving.

The first defender chased.

The second tried to cut across.

The third stepped into his path.

Caos accelerated.

The stadium changed.

For a fraction of a second, there was nothing between him and the goal.

Then Valencia closed the gap.

Caos stopped.

The defender nearly collided with him.

Caos shifted left.

Then right.

Then disappeared through the smallest opening.

The commentator raised his voice.

“Caos has found a way through! Valencia closed every door, but he has created another one himself!”

He entered the final third.

Two defenders chased.

The goalkeeper stepped forward.

Caos looked at the goal.

Then he looked toward the sky.

For his mother.

His expression became calm.

He took one final step.

And exploded.

The Triassic Vortex activated.

500 mph.

His body crossed the distance before the defense could react.

He reached the ball from roughly 84 meters.

His right leg came through.

350,000 Newtons.

The strike screamed toward goal at approximately 855 km/h.

The net snapped backward.

Mestalla went silent for half a second.

Then erupted.

1–0.

The La Liga commentator shouted:

“GOAL! CAOS! Valencia defended him for thirty-eight minutes, but eventually one opening was enough! One opening! One mistake, one movement, and he has punished them!”

Caos turned away from goal.

He didn’t celebrate wildly.

He simply looked toward the private box.

Zeraphina had one hand over her belly.

She smiled.

Caos pointed briefly toward her.

Then returned to the center circle.

Valencia changed their approach.

They couldn’t continue exactly as they had.They pushed higher.

That created space.

Caos noticed immediately.

The second goal came four minutes later.

Then the third.Then the fourth.

Valencia tried to adjust.

They doubled him.

Caos began dropping deeper.

They followed.

He sent long passes behind them.

They stopped following.

He ran into the space.

By the twentieth minute, Valencia’s defensive plan had become a collection of individual decisions instead of one system.

Caos took advantage of every one.

His fifth came from outside the box.

His sixth came after a 500 mph run through the right channel.His seventh came from a Herrera Snap strike that left the goalkeeper frozen.

In doing so, he became even faster. He got it.

His eighth came after Plateo Crush disrupted the defensive line.His ninth came after a pass from Mbappé.

Mbappé looked at the scoreboard afterward and laughed.

“You’re serious tonight.”

Caos jogged past him.

“I was serious yesterday too.”

“That isn’t comforting.”

By the thirty-fifth minute, Real Madrid were already ahead by double digits.

Valencia continued fighting.

They scored once from a counter.

The Mestalla erupted.

Their players celebrated together.

Caos simply walked back to the halfway line.

He wasn’t angry.

He understood what the goal meant.

They had found a weakness.

So he closed it.

THE FIRS HALF

The tenth.

Eleventh.

Twelfth.

Thirteenth.

Fourteenth.

Fifteenth.

Sixteenth.

Seventeenth.

Eighteenth.

Nineteenth.

Twentieth.

The scoreboard kept changing.

Valencia’s players were exhausted.

Real Madrid kept moving.

And Caos kept finding space.

At halftime:

Caos had scored 17 goals.

The La Liga commentator looked at the statistics on his screen.

“Twenty goals for Real Madrid in the first half. Seventeen of them from Caos. Valencia came here with a plan specifically designed to contain him, and for almost forty minutes it worked. Since then, everything has changed.”

The second half

Valencia came back onto the pitch with a different attitude.

They were beaten.

But they weren’t broken.

They pushed forward.

They scored again.

20–1.

Mestalla exploded.

The players celebrated.

Caos stood near midfield and watched them.

Then he smiled.

Mbappé came over.

“You’re going to answer that, aren’t you?”

Caos nodded.

“Of course.”

Mbappé laughed.

“I knew it.”

The next ten minutes belonged entirely to Real Madrid.

Caos scored three more.

Then another.

Then another.

Valencia scored again from a late counter.

24–2.

The stadium continued singing despite everything.

Their team had been overwhelmed.

But the supporters kept pushing them forward.

Caos seemed to respect that.

Then came the moment everyone remembered.

A cross floated into the box.

Too high.

Too far.

Most players would have watched it go.

Caos ran underneath it.

He jumped.

His body twisted in the air.

For a second he seemed completely horizontal.

Then his heel connected.

A 70-foot chilena.

The ball flew over the goalkeeper and into the upper corner.

25–2.

KEMPES shouted:

“WHAT A FINISH! A CHILENA FROM CAOS! Seventy feet in the air! That is outrageous! QUE GOLASO! ESO LES DARA UNA BUENA LECCION.”

Caos landed on his feet.

He looked toward the private box.

Zeraphina was laughing.

Keyla had both hands over her mouth.

Michaela was already standing.

Caos pointed toward them.

Then toward his chest.

The celebration lasted only a few seconds.

There was still football to play.

He scored again.

And again.

And again.

The final whistle eventually came.

Caos:

24 goals

7 assists

49th consecutive Man of the Match

He had directly contributed to 31 of Real Madrid’s 30 goals through goals and assists because several assists overlapped with the final scoring sequence; the official match sheet recorded seven assists, while the remaining goals came from Mbappé and other Real Madrid players.

Caos stood near the center circle.

He looked toward the sky.

One finger rose.

For his mother.

His other hand closed against his chest.

For his father.

Then he lowered both hands.

The noise of Mestalla continued around him.

The three women waited near the private exit.

Zeraphina reached him first.

She looked at him for a moment.

“Twenty-four.”

Caos smiled.

“You counted?”

“I always count.”

Keyla walked up behind her.

“Twenty-four goals and seven assists.”

She shook her head.

“You’re becoming impossible to talk to.”

Caos laughed.

“That’s dramatic.”

“Is it?”

Michaela smiled.

“You know she’s right.”

Caos looked at the three of them.

His expression softened.

Zeraphina stepped closer and took his hand.

“You played for us?”

Caos looked down at her belly.

“Partly.”

“Partly?”

He nodded.

“For all of you.”

He placed his hand gently over hers.

“And for the children.”

Keyla tilted her head.

“You know they’re going to have ridiculous expectations placed on them.”

Caos looked at her.

“I know.”

“What if they hate football?”

“Then they hate football.”

“What if they don’t want your name?”

“That’s fine.”

“What if they want something completely different?”

Caos smiled.

“Then I’ll help them.”

Zeraphina looked at him quietly.

“And the legacy?”

Caos shrugged.

“They don’t owe me one.”

The three women became quiet.

Caos looked back toward the stadium.

Thousands of people were still leaving Mestalla.

Some were celebrating.

Some were disappointed.

Some were already talking about the next match.

He looked down at Zeraphina’s belly again.

“The children don’t have to become me.”

He squeezed her hand.

“They just have to become themselves.”

Keyla smiled.

“That’s a surprisingly normal thing to say after scoring twenty-four goals.”

Caos laughed.

“I can be normal sometimes.”

Michaela raised an eyebrow.

“Sometimes.”

“Very occasionally.”

Zeraphina laughed.

Caos looked at them all.

For a moment, the match disappeared.

The records disappeared.

The cameras disappeared.

There was only his family standing beside him.

And that was enough.

Valencia 2–30 Real Madrid

Caos: 24 goals, 7 assistsReal Madrid: 30 goalsValencia: 2 goalsCaos: 49th consecutive Man of the MatchMajor moments: 855 km/h strike, Triassic Vortex, Plateo Crush, Herrera Snap, 500 mph bursts, 70-foot chilenaValencia’s plan: triple coverage, compact midfield, aggressive pressing, tactical fouling and rapid transitionsResult: Valencia’s defensive structure held for almost forty minutes before Caos began exploiting the spaces created by their adjustments.Valencia had prepared for him.

They changed their shape.They changed their pressure.

Caos made the difference!

They changed their marking.

Caos changed with them.

And the season continued.

To be continued...