NIKE -Blue Lock-

Enchantress

I'm sorry it took me so much to write another chapter. I'm afraid this gala thing will be long since I have to write from different characters prospectives.

The Italian dialogue is translated after each sentence in underline, so you don't have to open the comment section every time.
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"O divine Nike, winged goddess of victory,
Daughter of Styx, mighty and swift,
With golden sandals and radiant wings,
We call upon you in reverent praise.

Glorious Nike, bringer of triumph and glory,
We beseech you to grace us with your favor,
Guide us to victory in our endeavors,
And let your blessings shower upon us.

With your presence, may we conquer all obstacles,
May our efforts be crowned with success,
In battles fought and challenges faced,
Lead us to triumph, bringer of divine grace.

Nike, we offer our humble adoration,
To your eternal glory and exaltation,
Grant us strength and unwavering resolve,
In your name, may victory forever evolve."
(Prayer translated from Ancient Greek)

There was no way to describe Nicole Vinciguerra. She was many things after all: a champion, a student, a celebrity, an egotist, a selfish, a blasé, an orphan, a slut, an alcoholic, a fake, a problematic, and a bringer of pain.

Wherever she went people looked at her either with hatred, admiration, disgust, love, madness, or neurosis.

But there was one thing that, before all those eyes covered by completely different filters, was of unanimous thought.

Inside Nicole Vinciguerra resided a goddess.

And she was unapproachable.
It didn't matter if you were able to touch her body or breathe her own air: her mind was unapproachable. There was this aura around her, an eerie atmosphere that just the thought of approaching her could take your breath away and strangle you without ever allowing you the chance to take your last damn breath.

And she was bewitching.
In a good way, in a bad way... it didn't matter: she bewitched anyone who had the opportunity to meet her eyes. It was impossible to look away from her: she would pass by and drag you in her wake, like a mermaid luring a sailor out to sea before sinking him.

And she was transcendent.
She seemed to be the embodiment of the infinite, a harmony of power and grace, an ethereal melody resonating in the universe. Her voice sounded like a soul-awakening chorus whose words stir the breath of the wind and the thunder of the heavens.

And she was omnipotent.
In the circle of her presence, time bows and the laws of the universe bend at her command. She was a deity in human form, an all-powerful woman who embodied the wonders and mysteries of existence itself.

She was Nike.
Her stride was light as if dancing in the clouds, and every movement was a declaration of triumph, of power. She embodied victory in every aspect of her life, conveying a constant feeling of accomplishment and success. Her aura was ethereal, commanding, suffocating. Her presence so intense that it made tremble the knees of any mortal being who dared stand in her way.

But she was still Nicole Vinciguerra.

And she was empty.
As empty as a vase that has no task but to adorn a room full of people.