We could start this story with “Once upon a time” as tales such as this are wont to do. But such beginnings are typically the arena of gaiety, mirth, and fancy.

There will be no such things where we’re going.

The shot pans over the Land of X, traversing kingdoms in instants. Until we come to a castle surrounded by a township that, to put it mildly, has seen better days. Peasants starve and die in filthy gutters here. Wild dogs roam the alleyways looking to pick off the weak, young, or infirm. And overall a dour cadence hangs over the land. Something is very wrong in Lady Dyson’s kingdom.

We continue into the castle itself, down empty, chilled corridors and into the throne room itself, which is host to blasphemies too numerous to count. The wealthy rut wildly in the open here, moaning and groaning in lusty satisfaction. At an elongated banquet table, more members of this corrupt nobility devour the remains of Sir Richard Powers, kidnapped and laid low to serve the cannabalistic fancies of this league of perverts.

The captain of Lady Dyson’s Queensguard, traitor that he is, is Kristoffer Arroyo. He bows before the throne, upon which sits the once vibrant and now thoroughly lobotomized Lady Dyson. Her son, the vile Prince Sam, withdraws an unnaturally long serpentine tongue from her ear, still bearing some brain matter on it. He eats the brain matter with a grin and addresses Sir Kristoffer.

Krisssstofer, my boy! Prince Sam opens his arms, splaying his rotting blackened fingers such that one might assume they’re about to fall off entirely. Good to see you. Are you enjoying today’s festivities?

Kristoffer stands erect, smirking in return. I am sir, but I’m afraid Sir Powers is a little ripe and not to my tastes.

Ah…can’t win them all, I sssssuppose. Sam leaves Lady Dyson’s side, and she slumps over in the throne like a discarded doll. As Sam draws nearer to Kristoffer his dissicated features grow more distinct. Rumor has it Prince Sam has been dabbling in darker magicks, necromantic arts namely. The decay written on his body would seem to add truth to those rumors. But I have a task for you. An important one! I asssssume you are aware of the pending nuptials between the King and his Princessssss Universia?

I am, liege.

Gooooood. I would like for you to attend the wedding. We have need of powerful allies as I consssssolidate my grip on my mother’s kingdom. Your presence there would go a long way to currying ssssssome favor.

Kris didn’t even need to ask why Sam would not attend in person. He nods his head and replies, It would be my pleasure. In fact, there are some enemies of our kingdom I would enjoy getting some…erm, face time with. 

Indeed my boy, indeed. But first! Sam claps his hands and two knights drag out a series of unkempt prisoners wearing black sacks over their heads. One of the prisoners looks sickly and seems to shuffle awkwardly as he walks. But first, Kris, a treat for my greatest and mosssssst loyal knight errant. For today is EXECUTION DAY and I’m giving you the reignsssss!

Kris, looking flattered, speaks, My liege, it would be my honor to take care of the kingdom’s miscreants for you.

One of the knights hands Kris a sword and the hooded prisoners are arrayed in front of him. Kris sizes them up for a moment before the hood is forcefully removed from one of them revealing…

Reginald Estrada! A two bit thug who hasssss never amounted to anything here in the Land of X despite being here for years upon yearsssss! Sam’s voice booms. He and his gang of equally as ussssseless ne’er-do-wells have been clogging up the prison cells and food lines for a decade! Always with a hand out, always with some ssssob story about being “outsiders” and “not one of the popular people.” Has it occurred to you Reginald that you’re an outsider because you have minimal talent and even lessssss that’s remotely intriguing about you?

Reginald starts stammering in a foreign language, but Kris simply runs him through with the sword, pushing his intestines out the small of his back. Reginald drops in a heap.

Another hood is removed.

And then there isssss “Sir” Oz. A con artist trying to paint himself as a member of the aristocracy, trying to play up his importance, his connections, his POWER. But it’s all a lie. He’ssssss broke. He has nothing. And there’s nothing even remotely interesting about him. And the worssssst part about him? With all of his false bravado?

He ssssstarted life as a court jester. A CLOWN!

With a severe swipe of the sword, “Sir” Oz’s head is separated from his body.

Another hood is removed.

Ah yessss, the Lady Mansley! Another con artist. Another belligerent waste of time. A warrior woman from landssss far removed from our own. She ssssspent weeks speaking assuredly about her success in the art of combat in those far lands. But here in our kingdom, in our arena? Failure after failure! She is no champion. She’s but a ssssspeck, a mote in the eye of the Land of X representing nothing and meaning nothing. No one will missssss her when she’s gone.

Kris quickly disembowels her. Mansley looks on in horror as her own intestines fall into her hands and she drops to her knees with a desperate horrified scream.

Moving on down the line, Kristoffer comes face to face, in a matter of speaking, with the next participant. But he brings his hand to his nose and scowls. My liege, this one smells terrible!

The knight removes the man’s hood revealing the corpselike visage of Father Barnabus Green!

Yessss, Kristoffer, he smellssss terrible because he was a little, shall we say, experiment of mine? Father Barnabus died during the sssssacking of Old Town, but I recovered his corpse and ussssed him as one of my first necromantic experiments!

T-T-T…..T-GiRlS. Father Barnabus intones haltingly.

Wait, what did he say?

T-girlssssss! Ever since I brought him back all he can talk about is T-GIRLS! Ah, he’ssssss one of my greatest failures as a sssssorceror! But it’s ironic really that Father Barnabusssss was so much more important as one of my failed experimentsssss than he ever wassss in his entire sad sack pathetic life!

T-T-T…….t-GiRlS????

Do us all a favor and put him out of our misery, Kristoffer.

Kristoffer shrugs and runs the sword straight through zombie Barnabus’ eye socket. Because as you all know you have to kill the brain to kill a zombie.

Which bringssss us to our final piece of human excrement….

The last bag is removed revealing Savannah Knightley’s stupid syphilis sore pocked face.

…..the scabrous whore Ssssssavannah! 

Savannah immediately starts pleading for her life.

Please don’t kill me! I’ll do anything! I’LL SUCK ALL YOUR DICKS!

Kristoffers takes a step back, his cadence bearing nothing but disgust. I have never been so grateful to be a homosexual.

Sam laughs, a caustic and rasping thing. Sssshut the fuck up, Savannah! You pathetic slut! Do you know how many of my men you’ve infected with your myriad of sssssex derived illnessesssss?

A sore pops on Savannah’s face in response and starts leaking a river of pus. She doesn’t even notice.

Bah! Kill her at once!

It takes Kris a few seconds to challenge his disgust enough to get close enough to kill her, but kill her he does, chopping her through her waist line and severing her in two. Her top half slides off her bottom half and her legs tumble over. Savannah dies clutching vainly at her legs with a horrified expression on her face.

Well done, my child. Well done. Sam steps closer to the carnage of bodies at Kris’ feet. If I ssssstill had the capacity for erectionsssss and emissions, I’d be having both right now. But alassss! FEH! Anyway, we’ve wasted more than enough time on thissss bottom rung of Land of X ssssociety. Away you go Kristoffer to enssssure your carriage is ready.

Kristoffer took a knee in front of Sam, careful to avoid the rapidly growing pools of blood around him. Of course, my liege. But one question, if I may?

You may….

May I bring my squire, Matteo, with me? 

For the first time in this entire encounter Sam’s crypt like face frowns. No, you may not. I have need of your sssssquire.

Kristoffer concealed a pained look from sullying his expression. Sir….I would beseech you…he’s needed for my journey.

What he’s needed for isssss to clean my latrinesssss!

Sir Kristoffer held fast against the rising storm of anger brewing within him. The slew of indignities he could picture being perpetuated on the young boy was almost too much to bear.

This converssssation is over. Your carriage awaits. The journey to the King’s landsssss is a long one. I sssssuggest you make haste.

Kris slowly rises to his feet, feeling sullied. But the only response he can muster is a simple one.

Yes, liege.


We see Kristoffer Arroyo, dressed in modern day wear, closing the cover on a book called The Land of X. He returns it to a bookshelf and turns towards the camera.

Greetings! Just catching up on some reading. I gotta say I feel a common bond with the protagonist in that story for some reason.

He shrugs.

At any rate, story time is over and I am here to talk WAR GAMES. And, well, I couldn’t suppress a shudder of delight when I saw the match pairings. What is surely to be the most dominant team in the whole event squaring off against what is undeniably the weakest team? Kris chuckles. Yes please, I’ll have more of that!

But before I carve into the opposition, I feel the need to sing some holy hossanas to yours truly. Just to be clear, despite being in the XWF for less than two months….I was the number one overall draft pick. I mean, you think I didn’t notice? Heh. The Universal Champion, the man who is objectively the greatest warrior in the promotion right now, chose ME over ALL of you. Over SEB. Over Dickie. Over Thunder Knuckles. Over EVERYONE.

And why?

Because unlike the rest of you foolish lot who exhibit low imaginations and lower intellects, he believes I am what I say I am.

But enough about me, Roxy. Mmmmm…let’s talk about you and that “team” of yours. And we’ll start at the bottom and work our way to the head of this desiccated carcass.

Reggie Estrada, a man who is a long time stalwart member of the XWF roster. Also a man who has done just about fuck all in that time. Reggie, are you aware that you haven’t had a title reign since 2021? Of course you are. And as befits a man who has been bumblefucking around this promotion for the last 4 years, you were picked last by the former owner’s personal Barbie doll. But then again, Reggie and his ilk, the so called Thugs (inspired nomenclature that), take pride in their “outsider” status. As if being on the outskirts of relevance is something to be proud of.

It’s not, Reggie. It’s not.

And you will be as summarily dispatched in this match as your standing suggests.

Tatiana, your sins of career achievement omission are almost as grievous as Reggie’s. Yet another consummate do nothing who has drifted on and off the roster for years and unlike Reggie, does not have a single accolade to show for it. Pathetic. And ultimately, completely unworthy of note.

Though the same cannot be said for you, Atara. By far the most accomplished and notorious member of your team, you are indeed its capstone. But look around you, my dear. Can you honestly say you’re at the same level as other first stringers like SEB and Dickie Watson? Kris scoffs. Lately you can’t even clear Centurion, so what in all nine hells makes you think you have the temerity to win in the finals? To say nothing of your deepest, darkest secret: the fact that when it comes to your XWF record, you scarcely break even.

That’s right, Roxy. Your pièce de résistance is a shit shoot. Need further proof that you didn’t catch a bargain? Let’s just wind the clocks back to War Games last year. When your number one pick was a second stringer for Game Girl, whose team came up in a losing effort against SEB’s. Atara couldn’t right an even stronger ship last year, so what makes you think she’ll save a significantly weaker team this year?

And then of course there’s you, Roxy. A plastic facsimile of humanity last seen selling out her own husband to those grotesque fatcats. It begs the question: Why are you here? I mean, it’s certainly not because you’re drawn to the thrill of competition. You’re the biggest do nothing on your entire team!

Just looking at this field of captains as a whole, you’re the one who stands out for doing the least. You’re the hole in things, Roxy, the one who just doesn’t make sense. Look at this:

Kieran King: One of the most accomplished performers in XWF history. THE champion.
“Psycho” Solomon: Second generation athlete and XTreme Champion
Scoops McGee: Industry veteran with decades of experience
Betsy Granger: Multi-time champion, well known in multiple promotions
Isaiah King: XWF mainstay, tag team champion and former Universal Champion.

Look at those people. I may not like the majority of them, but you can’t question the fact that they BELONG. You on the other hand only have commonalities with them by proxy. You exist in their orbit in the same way an insect exists in man’s orbit.

So I ask you again: What are you doing here? Are you here to compete? Or are you just some temperamental slag whose well past middle aged significant other just doesn’t give you the attention he used to? Is that what this is? Revenge against Vinnie Lane? Do you want to SHOW him something?

Well, hon, you sure picked the absolute worst time to do it.

Because what you’re facing? It’s the team of teams, led by the king of kings. And you’re a fallen queen surrounded by mere pawns. At War Games, the board is set. The game is afoot. And you, Roxy, and your team of complete mediocrities are set to lose on one of the grandest stages of them all.

And as for the rest of you lot, considering my team is facing the equivalent of a wet sack of puppies in the first round, you can guarantee you’ll be facing at least two of us in the finals. Which doesn’t bode well, now does it?

Until the eve of execution, knights and knaves. Auf wiedersehen.