Xanatos

You are the one positing the existence of something. (You said there are 100K people playing this game.) The burden of proof is on you.

So far you have been unsuccessful in proving this.

How about we all accept that none of us know anything and stop making stuff up.

I know you think you're "contributing". But all you are doing is just making guesses. In my opinion, that is pure misinformation. I do not find that helpful.

NO-ONE has any.

...but that doesn't make your TWO YEAR OLD numbers any more relevant.

So creepy.

PART II: WHO FERRIES THE FERRYMAN?
Two Weeks Before the Attack
King’s Row Cemetery, King’s Row
King's Row Cemetery is not a pleasant place. The graves are largely abandoned and in some cases have been looted, the identities of the deceased long having been forgotten. Foliage grows unchecked, government expenditure not covering those on the lower end of the social spectrum. Even the makeshift iron railings are worn and rusted with age, never having been replaced despite their many years of service. In spite of all this, and undeterred by the terrible weather, a small group of people were slowly shuffling their way out of the graveyard. Though you could not tell from the cheap black suits the majority of the funeral-goers wore, the people leaving were all heroes. Some with super powers. Some with special abilities. Some with mere martial training. All of them here to pay respect to a fallen comrade. In some circles…a fallen icon.

The protector of King's Row was no more. Charon, the bone breaker, had been murdered.

The typical vigilantes had come to pay their respects, clad head to toe in all black and sporting sunglasses at night. (With a few more serious individuals looked on from the shadows and from neighbouring rooftops.) A few more colourful heroes had also had come to pay their respects, still in costume – the praetorian invasion not giving them a moment’s rest. Mr. Mud was there, a long-time foe of Charon’s, more out of duty or obligation than any real compassion towards the fallen vigilante. By his side were two men, one old and sporting a dusty suit, the other wheelchair bound, and wearing a look of pure despair. In the distance, just outside the gates of cemetery, the head of the Paragonian Mafia watched on and smiled. Sebastian Frost was happy, Charon’s antics had cost him a small fortune over the years.

As the assembled heroes began to make their way out of the graveyard, quietly nodding and paying their respects as they did so, two lone figures remained glued in place by the graveside. Their eyes not moving from the headstone in front of them, their fists clenched, their chests rising and falling heavily in the soaking rain. One man stood clad head to toe in a gaudy costume of yellow and blue. The other, almost impossible to identify, stood enveloped by a large billowing brown trench-coat, his face obscured by an oversized duster.

These two men were Xanatos and Joe. Arguably the two closest allies Charon, the bone breaker, had ever had.

They stood side-by-side in silence for what seemed like hours. Neither man could believe their friend and ally was truly gone. Charon had become such a fixture in King's Row, almost to the extent of becoming part of the neighbourhood itself. His tenure as the guardian of the Row was not uncontested, many vigilante's often laid claim to such a title. But none had done so with such selfless sacrifice. Many would-be vigilante's often graduated from the Row, moving on to bigger and brighter things; flashier enemies, bigger stakes, greater rewards. So many of these vigilante-turned-heroes had forgotten the streets that forged them. Not Charon, he could never forget. It didn't matter how many aliens invaded or supervillains tried to destroy the world. He had remained a man of the people. He had remained a man of the streets.

Their minds lost in nostalgia, the two remaining men didn't notice that they were now alone at the gravesite. Alone, save for one another. Eventually one of them spoke, albeit not verbally.

"I can't believe it..." signed Joe, the silence all the more apparent in lieu of his hand movements, "We all knew this day was bound to come eventually. But I still can't believe it..."

"They never found his body Joe." replied Xanatos, his eyes not moving from the tombstone. Apparently his peripheral vision picked up Joe’s signing.

Joe fidgeted nervously. He didn’t like awkward situations. In truth he didn’t really like any social situation.

"No I guess not..." replied Joe, absent-mindedly checking his police scanner with his spare hand, "Did you and Charon make up in the end?"

"No Joe we didn’t,” beneath his mask, Xanatos smiled, “He never forgave me for marrying a reformed villain."

"He was a hero to the end, despite himself." signed Joe. The look in his eyes an odd mixture of spite and respect.

"He was more than that," said Xanatos, now finally turning to face Joe, "He was a role model. It's easy to think you're a god when you have the power to rival Zeus himself. Charon may not have had any super powers but he fought alongside those that did. He trained countless heroes in the Bone Squad over the years. Makis, Icelander, Sable Phoenix...all of these guys and gals with more power than him. Yet he kept them all grounded….“

Xanatos paused, before turning back to the headstone, a strange look in his eyes.

“…He kept me grounded."

Joe smiled as he heard the golden age hero eulogise their departed friend. The rain having long since stopped, he crouched down and placed a gloved hand on the freshly filled-in grave. Almost as if he was searching for a heartbeat.

"He's part of the inspiration behind me retiring from active heroing and forming the Old Guard Academy back in 2009" continued Xanatos, turning and looking towards the exit, "I knew someone had to teach the youngster heroes of today what it means to be a hero. Not just flying high in the sky or travelling to the depths of space, but here in the streets as well. There's a whole generation of heroes with bright futures ahead of them now."

Joe frowned. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his notebook. With his spare-hand he lazily scribbled Xanatos a note and handed it to him.

"Lucky for them. I just buried my best friend."

Once again silence struck them. The two men waited, their eyes affixed on the headstone, their minds withdrawn. Neither man wanted to be the first to say something, nor the first to leave. Pride kept them there. Not mourning, not guilt, not respect. Pride. Pride for their friend borne of anger against his untimely passing.

Eventually Xanatos spoke.

"Be well Joe." said Xanatos as he turned to leave, "I very much doubt we will meet again."

Joe didn’t move. He just let him leave. His right hand, now shaking, still pressed against the mound of earth where his friend now lay.

***


Baron Blitzman had never felt so alive. While he had not saved his life in the strictest definition of the term, Sebastian Kain had certainly given Blitzman a new lease on it. And now, as he tore through the streets of Paragon, Baron Blitzman truly felt like he was living for the first time in years.

Baron Blitzman had never been a powerful villain. He was a speedster that could not top sixty miles per hour. He was a man that could control electricity, but only with the aid of a mechanical device known as a zapp gun. Sebastian Kain had changed all that. In only three weeks, Kain had shown him the true extent of his powers. According to Kain, Blitzman had been holding back all these years. His lack of confidence in himself, and him believing he was only a small time crook, led to him subconsciously limiting his own powers.

…But no more! With the help of Sebastian Kain and the many laboratories he owned in Paragon and beyond, Blitzman was now fighting at full strength. He could control electricity and lightning like never before and without mechanical assistance. He could clock in at around 200 million miles per hour - roughly a third the speed of light. The speed was glorious, and Baron Blitzman often found himself in two places at once due to his impressive speed. The increase in power brought with it certain downfalls however, the increased heat due to friction created a build-up of thermal radiation within Baron Blitzman - a power source he was still learning to control.

While he seemed like a guardian angel at first, it soon became apparent that Kain's assistance was not entirely altruistic. Although the bargain was a simple one, and one that Baron Blitzman was more than happy to entertain. Kain was forging an army - a collective of the greatest and most powerful villains in the world. For this he would need a messenger. Someone loyal. And, more importantly, someone fast.

As he sped through Brickstown, the gargantuan form of The Ziggurat looming in the distance, Baron Blitzman couldn't help but smile. He was going to send a message alright.

PART I: THE FORGOTTEN ROGUE
Three Weeks Before the Attack
Ziggursky Rehabilitation Penitentiary, Brickstown
Deep within the Ziggurat Penitentiary, Nicolai Furst sat stewing in his cell. It was located in Delta Wing: a section of the Ziggurat that housed the least dangerous criminals Paragon and the Rogue Isles were capable of producing. Its population was full of has-beens, wannabes, and almosts. They were the villains who never quite made it, and more often than not relied on cheap gadgets and gizmos rather than genuine superpowers. Unlike his peers, Nicolai had genuine super powers. They were just incredibly weak; He was a speedster, but could top out at 60 miles per hour on a good day. He was able to control electricity, but only with the aid of his Zappo-Gun. To top it all off he also had a ridiculous supervillain name: Baron Blitzman.

He wasn't even a real Baron. Although he was German.

To be fair to Baron Blitzman, he was not the worst rogue in the Delta Wing. Some of his peers truly were incredibly pathetic. Had things turned out differently he may have been a successful career criminal in the King's Row circuit. He had more than enough cunning and wit to stand toe-to-toe with most street-level heroes. He'd fought the vigilante Charon several times and had lived to tell the tale. (Albeit with a few bruises and broken bones to show for it.) However, despite all of this, Baron Blitzman had fallen into the sights of one of paragon's more powerful heroes: Xanatos.

Xanatos. Oh how he hated him. That insipid boy scout with his stupid garish blue and yellow costume. Baron Blitzman had first met the ice-wielding superhero back in 2004 during a bank heist gone wrong. It wasn't his plan that failed, it wasn't the bank in question that was too difficult to break into, nor were his henchmen unable to follow his orders explicitly. Rather it was one unfortunate fact that Baron Blitzman could not have anticipated: The bank was empty…it had no money inside. When Xanatos arrived on the scene he found it hilarious. The only thing more hilarious was that it took him less than ten seconds to subdue Blitzman, before carting him off to the Zigg.

"Ten blasted seconds!" shouted Baron Blitzman as he threw a steel chair across his small prison cell. It bounced off the far wall, creating a loud clanging sound that would no doubt disturb the other inmates, "That imbecilic iceman DARED to attack me when my back was turn..."

"Ah put a sock in it Furst, you never had a chance." came a metallic voice from the cell next to his, cutting his rant short.

"Yeah man pipe down, you got taken out like a *****. Just accept it." said another voice, this time from a further cell.

Laughter followed as the inmates of Delta Wing began describing, in detail, how much of a ***** they thought he was. As can be expected, Baron Blitzman flew into a rage, spluttering madly as he ranted against his fellow inmates. Cursing their mothers, fathers, sexual preferences, and ethnicities as he did so. Despite the genuine intent to cause offense, Blitzman's comments did little more than encourage the banter from his fellow inmates. It was 1:34 AM and Delta Wing was wide awake. Admittedly at the expense of the faux-baron.

Before long, the bellowing sounds of two security batons striking steel metal doors could be heard as two tired-looking prison guards ambled their way into Delta Wing. The inmates settled down, none of them wanting to gain the ire of the Ziggurat employees. Delta Wing fell silent; it's long bland hallways as devoid of the sound of life as they were the spirit of it. As the two security guards vanished behind large steel double doors, Baron Blitzman couldn't help but wonder if this place was more like a zoo than a prison.

Shuffling across his miniscule cell, passing the obligatory newspaper cuttings, hit lists, and plans for world domination pinned to his walls, Baron Blitzman picked up the steel chair he had thrown and set it upright. Had it truly come to this? The infamous Baron Blitzman throwing temper tantrums while surrounded by primates? He let out a large sigh, rubbing the back of his neck with his right hand. Who was he kidding. No-one knew his name. He wasn't infamous. He doubted Xanatos even remembered him.

A twinge of anxiety shot up his back as the image of Xanatos crept into his mind again. Dammed hero. Even in Delta Wing, years after the arrest, Baron Blitzman was still inexplicably angry towards the man that had subdued him. As he moved to his small bed, and fell in a heap pathetically, only one thing burned through his mind.

He would have his chance.

***

Nicolai awoke to the sound of explosions. As he rose groggily from his bed, he could hear and feel the explosions in the distance getting increasingly louder. It was most likely an Arachnos raid. They tended to invade the Ziggurat on a regular basis for fresh recruits. It was something to do with Lord Recluse's "destined ones" programme. The incursions never made it to Delta Wing. Apparently such gems as "The Luddite King" and "Bad Penny" weren't destined one material.

As a groggy Nicolai sat there berating himself, another explosion shook his cell. It was much closer than the last. Confused, he moved under his bed. It may have been a misfire, but Nicolai wanted to be ready in case of any more explosions. As if on cue; a large explosion wracked his cell - tearing the large metal door from its hinges, throwing it across the room and into the wall opposite. The cell now fully exposed to the sounds of sirens and rioting in the distance.

Now buried underneath a pile of rubble, it took what little strength Nicolai had left to pull himself to his feet. As he did so, and as the smoke surrounding the open doorway to his cell began to clear, Nicolai looked upon the image of his would-be saviour. Clad head-to-toe in a suite of demonic-looking power armour, and standing over six feet in height, was the most intimidating man he had ever laid eyes on.

“My name is Sebastian Kain," said the armoured figure, "And I have need of you Nicolai Furst."

Incomparably hillarious meme bro.

Still waiting on someone to tell me how farming makes people play less.

How does farming make people play less?

Aren't you the guy that makes up dev quotes?

Both of these are examples of farming. Running the same content over and over due to superior rewards.

It's good for empowerment buffs.