As he gets to the dressing rooms, he takes a shower all alone. Every drop felt like an eternity for him. Every coalition felt like a fla burning his heat. In truth, it was not just a body in pain, but it was a soul trying to grasp his reality. For no one loved him. It was a letdownfor him to feel, but however, it felt like he created a new fortitude in his being: DEUS MACHINA PAIN.
He gets a call as soon as he gets out of the shower.
He grabs the call.
He breathes violently and speaks up.
“Tell , sir. How may I help you? I am at your disposal and willing to do it,” says Caos in a commanding tone despite being naked with an overexaggerated physique and 7 ultra-super toned abs, making his 6-foot-0-inch figure more towering than a 10-foot man.
“Congratulations, Caos. You get a trip to Qatar with our nation.” Says Álvaro jía, laughing while cracking a joke and then turning utterly serious. You’re not just a player—you’re a force. Spain needs you.”
Caos’s lips curved into a grin, the weight of his solitude lifting, if only slightly. Qatar—a new stage, a new battle, another chance to prove himself against Maat’s shadow and to answer Salma’s dare. “I’m in,” he said, his voice steady, a god forged in pain ready to conquer. “Tell them Caos is coming.”
Caos hung up, the phone heavy in his hand, his breath steadying as he dressed. The dressing room’s silence pressed against him, but Deus Machina Pain pulsed in his veins—a god forged in solitude, ready for Qatar.
The dressing room at the Bernabéu was a crypt of loneliness, with frigid, unforgiving tiled walls and an air heavy with the sll of linint and perspiration. The vapor from the shower curled like a veil, and the scorching rush of the water reflected Caos's inner fire. His tall form was shadowed by the dim light from the locker room, his sculpted physique and seven abs a sculpture of force and anguish. Madrid, a city that admired him but was unable to reach the emptiness within, buzzed beyond the walls, its pulse weak but constant. The buzzing of the phone was his lifeline, drawing him out of the furnace of his mind and into a world that needed his turmoil. Caos was chaos, pain, and power, and the world would know his na.
To be continued…
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