Infinity Legends

War cries echoed over the ash-covered plains painted with streams of running magma, the thunder of a thousand armored boots charging down the hill. The hordes of gray armored soldiers dashed forward, their long dark swords thirsting for the blood of the six lonely invaders making their way up the mountain. Hundreds of men should have been more than enough to take care of nine warriors, no matter how good they were, but that was hardly being the case. No matter how many ranks of alien swordsman or space marines armed to the teeth with laser rifles and plasma grenades, the attackers simply pushed up the mountain towards their objective: Andrew Laserburn, the enemy Spawn-Master. As the next wave of faceless troops closed on the ruthless party, Sarista stepped out of the formation, his three-fingered scaly alien hand outstretched as if ordering the enemy to stop. Seconds later, half a dozen orbs of dark-matter left his palm, arching through the air and exploding behind the advancing hostiles. Pained grunts and desperate scream echoed from the scrambled army just as the mage stepped back, having been replaced by Jack and Jill, their twin Plasma assault rifles adding to the rain of death and chaos. Still, despite the explosions and the hail of glowing shots, the hostiles approached, advancing faster than the riflemen could shoot them down. But just as the army prepared to latch onto the shooters, Arlak, the seven-foot tall alien covered in thick hair even darker than his fangs, leaped over Jack, the unmeasurable strength of his legs boosted by dark-matter spells. When the giant touched the ground right in front of the foes, an explosion of dirt, ash and black energy erupted around him, consuming the hostiles in the blink of an eye. Before the dust settled, he was already swinging his war axe, chopping soldiers in half and entirely ignoring the blades clashing against the protective layer of dark-matter Sarista had so kindly created around him. The next to join the fray was Marcio, charging right into the cloud of destruction raised by Arlak and disappearing from sight beyond the fog. Eventually, a wary observer would see the black-hooded assassin slicing an enemy’s throat before vanishing into the ruckus. Most times, one would only ever realize his presence when the victim dropped dead. Some soldiers resisted, slicing at him in the split second before their demise, but whatever damage they dealt was rapidly patched up by Doc, the small orange alien dispatching medical drones to all his allies. All his allies except for Arlak, of course. He hardly needed any help. Less than half a minutes after the fight begun, it was over. Arlak smashed the head of the last doomed soldier and the cacophony of clashing arms and raging screams turned to silence. The victors exchanged knowing glances. There was no time to waste. They had to get to Andrew Laserburn. Eliminate the enemy Spawn-Master, before the opposing team could eliminate theirs. *** Barry Watson, now embodying the cyborg Kramen Blacksky, watched from the top of his own fortress. His combatant teammates had successfully crushed the token resistance force spawned by Laserburn, as anticipated. A few more meters of possible traps kept them apart of the objective. Meters that a skilled Spawn-Master—such as Kramen Blacksky or Andrew Laserburn—would expertly fill with strategically handpicked monsters and well positioned sharpshooters… That was what made the final stretch so dangerous. And yet, no defensive measure seemed to have been put in place. Barry could not tell what awaited his comrades inside the walls of the opposing team’s castle, but he could monitor his enemy’s Spawn-Point count, and there was only one thing to be observed: Laserburn had stopped using his Spawn Points, which meant he was not spawning anything. It had been so for the last five minutes. “Forward Team, be careful,” Kramen Blacksky told his friends. “Laserburn is up to something. He’s not spawning anything.” “We know,” Jack responded. “Been a while since we last saw enemy mobs. How’re their players?” “Still far away. With Sarista’s speed boost, you should reach Laserburn before they reach me…” “Good. Stop spawning mobs,” Sarista replied. “In fact, call a full retreat.” In his Virtual Reality helmet, Barry frowned and Kramen mimicked. “Retreat?” “We’ll be fine on our own,” Sarista, the group’s de facto leader, despite Kramen’s more strategic role, affirmed. “I don’t want their players racking up Spawn-Points.” Kramen cursed under his breath, then ordered a full retreat. Just on the upper right corner of the tactical displays, he could see the enemy’s spawn points. As usual for an endgame scenario, both scores were incredibly high, and yet the opponent was making no use of it. He could spawn legions, but instead was doing nothing. Just letting Barry’s friends advance… In actuality, that was the one unusual aspect about that particular endgame. Almost all eight combat players on both teams were still alive, and they had all crossed into each other’s half of the map. Kramen’s virtual hands ran over the holographic map of the battlefield, scrolling it to the clearing leading up to his own base. That was where he had last seen the enemy players, but they were gone. As he ordered his units to retreat, apparently that had also been the enemy’s cue to move. Except they, too, were retreating. Retreating to their base. To where Kramen’s teammates were all gathered. So that was the strategy. Let their team advance, and once they were at the final stretch leading up to the rival’s king, ready to declare checkmate, Laserburn would unleash a whole army of NPCs on them. They would fight and probably win, but they would be worn out and delayed just enough for Laserburn’s player partners to finish the job. Clever. And Kramen had played right into their hands. He had positioned his troops in defensive formation, trusting the offensive to his fellow players, and just now ordered a retreat. Only the fastest and lightest of units at his disposal could make it up to the rival players, and those units would not last long against such talented fighters. His friends were in for a terrible surprise. “Forward Team, you’ll be surrounded!” Kramen warned his friends. “We’ll be fine!” Sarista barked back. “We’re almost at Laserburn’s Command Center!” But Laserburn Spawn-Points were still intact. He’d start burning through them soon. Kramen sighed. His friends would have to handle whatever Laserburn tossed at them, but he could still see to it that player reinforcements did not arrive in time to save their leader. After all, the fastest and most obvious path back to their base would take the opposing players over the old Cobblestone Bridge that crossed the lava river. Kramen could handle a bridge. Opening the unit selection menu, the Spawn Master scrolled straight to the Jet Riders. Stupid, seldomly used units of the Red Star Pirate faction outfitted with an oversized jetpack and a poor sense of self-preservation. They would fly their highly explosive gear wherever they were ordered, and most often explode themselves. They were fast enough to reach the bridge before the enemies, and in enough number could ensure there was no bridge for the enemies to cross. Enough number, in this case, meant every Jet Rider Kramen could afford. There would be no use for those points if the plan failed, after all. Kramen smiled at himself as he saw the blinking red dots that were the Jet Riders spill out of the Spawn tanks on the fortress’ roof. Hundreds of them. They rapidly assumed a loose formation—if drunken flying pirates could even be called a formation—and charged through the air directly to the bridge Kramen had marked on the map. As the red dots roared past the point where the enemy players were, Kramen could see a whole lot of laser fire erupt from the ground as the opponents realized his strategy and attempted to stop it. Only a couple shots actually hit, one of them lightly damaging the target, but the other sending one of the Jet Riders spiraling to an explosive death somewhere into the scorched forests that surrounded the lava river. Kramen cursed as the points for the kill were added to Laserburn’s still unaltered Spawn-Point Score. He counted to five, expecting that sudden sum to trigger some kind of reaction by the opponent, but it did not. What was he up to?! Seeing the red dots close in on the bridge, Kramen leaned over the holographic replica of the battlefield in anticipation. He wished he could see the magnificent explosion with his own eyes, but stepping away from the command center was out of question. A holo-fireball would have to do. He smiled when the first Jet Rider crashed against the bridge, the smirk getting wider at each consecutive detonation… until reason overcame the extasy of success and Kramen turned his attention from the bridge and to the scores. For every Jet Rider exploding against the cobblestone bridge, ten thousand points were added to the already substantial enemy Spawn-Point count. A pit opened in his stomach as he realized he might have had just doubled his opponent’s Spawning Power while depleting his own. He had no idea an NPC suicide counted for the Score! How could he have known! It was not like anyone ever used suicidal units… and that was probably why. 350k… 390k... 400k... 450k… 490k… 500k. Then, finally, the enemy points were spent. The emptiness on Kramen’s guts evolved to a blackhole. The points were not spent gradually, as usually happened when a Spawn Master assembled a complex strategy with various different units. No. Instead, the points went from 500,000 to 0 immediately. “What the…” Arlak gasped over the comms. If Arlak was concerned, there was a problem. A big problem. “Run!” Sarista screamed. “Kramen, what’ve you…” Jill never got to finish the sentence before being drowned in static. The worst part was the fact that Kramen did not know what had happened either. He scrolled the tactical holograms out of the way until he saw his team’s vital feedback. Jack, Jill and Marcio were already dead. Sarista and and Doc quickly followed. Arlak’s vitals lasted slightly longer, but it was no surprise to Kramen when they, too, flatlined. Cursing under his breath, the cyborg Spawn-Master pushed himself away from the tactical table and paced to the fortress’s balcony. There was nothing else he could do. Nothing that could fix his mistake. Nothing to save his friends. The team was dead, his Spawn Points were depleated and whatever took his friends out would soon come for him. The only option left was to gaze upon the field of battle and muse at his own failure. There was a quiet melancholy in the hellish landscape of the magma fields, only made worse by the column of smoke rising from where the Cobblestone Bridge once stood. His career’s greatest fiasco. And that was not to mention the distant silhouette of Laserburn’s base, the twisted spire where his friends had met their fate. After a moment of quiet contemplation, across the plains, a roar echoed. Monstrous. Cold. Guttural. The unmistakable cry of a Choker. And soon enough there was the beast, rising from behind the castle, almost as big as the structure itself, its three tails wailing over its pitch-black scaled back. In its gigantic talons, the monster carried the unidentifiable body of one of Kramen’s friends, then the Choker turned its otherworldly emerald eyes to Kramen himself. It would come for him next. There was no avoiding it. No fighting it. Kramen stepped onto the railing. The Choker was coming, but he wouldn’t wait. With another step forward, Kramen allowed gravity to cement his fate.