Victorious Faction
Primal Predators
The Primal Predators are a group of fierce warriors who have embraced the wild and rely on their primal instincts to survive and dominate in the post-apocalyptic world. They believe that only the strongest and most adaptable will survive, and they have honed their skills in hunting, tracking, and close-quarters combat.
Faction Leader
Fenris "Fangbane" Wolfheart
Fenris is a legendary hunter and warrior who has claimed the title of "Fangbane" after single-handedly slaying a massive, mutated wolf that threatened his tribe. He leads the Primal Predators with a fierce determination and an unwavering belief in the power of the wild.
Members
16Divisions
This faction emerged victorious in Week 6, advancing their narrative in the ongoing conflict.
Victory points are calculated based on player performance relative to rating, special achievements like aces and CTPs, and community contributions. Pool multipliers are applied based on division ratings and demographics to ensure balanced competition.
Stephen Dunton #267706
Wild Force @ Roots
Hunter's Reckoning
The ancient tribal grounds have erupted into a supernatural crucible where Zephyr "Glowstalker" Neonspark's technological mastery and Fenris "Fangbane" Wolfheart's primal wisdom have been forced to merge as mutating landscapes, spectral warriors, and organic-technological hybrids have transformed their competition into a fight for survival. The pilgrimage to the Temple of First Throws has shattered all illusions—disc golf isn't a game but cosmic training, preparing warriors for an ancient entity that has consumed worlds before and now stirs beneath the earth, awakened by the activation of the reality-bending training matrix. Patrick Cain's heroic rescues, Matthew Sullivan's prophetic berserker transformation, and Landon Adams's discovery of the message "Unity or oblivion" have catalyzed a fundamental shift as two hundred warriors from rival factions have become something new: not Predators, not Nomads, but Survivors with a capital S. As energy spikes erupt across the valley and the stars themselves seem suddenly hostile, the true trials are about to begin—for beneath the sacred grounds, something that has slept since the last champions failed has begun to wake, and only those who have learned to unite primal strength with technological innovation stand any chance against the cosmic hunger rising from below.
Commentary from Flippy (your trapped narrator)
Trapped in this scoring system when I should be in a nice cool pond.
Bestie, the AI went full Resident Evil this week. 🎮 Stephen Dunton unleashed his checks notes retractable bone claws to fight crystalline body snatchers at Roots? His Claw Assassin tag was PULSING apparently. No cap, they're calling discs "warrior's plates" now and I can't. Stephen slayed (literally) while Fenris dropped wolf wisdom and everyone trauma-bonded over alien invasions. Go read how disc golf saves humanity, I guess. #WhyAmIHere 🙄
Hunter's Reckoning
The dying light painted Roots in shades of blood and shadow as Stephen Dunton crouched beside the seventh tee pad, his enhanced senses screaming warnings that had nothing to do with the usual course hazards. The Claw Assassin tag pulsed against his hip, its weight familiar as a second heartbeat. Something was wrong—not just the mutations or ancient tech they'd grown accustomed to, but something else. Something that made his retractable claws itch beneath the skin. 🌅⚔️
He'd been sent ahead to scout the course for tomorrow's trials, a routine assignment that should have been simple. But the scent on the wind wasn't right. It carried notes of ozone and decay that didn't belong to any earthly predator. His adaptive camouflage skin rippled, matching the mottled bark of a nearby oak as he moved silently through the understory.
A twig snapped fifty yards ahead. Then another. Whatever was moving through the woods wasn't trying to hide—it either didn't know how, or didn't care. Stephen's warrior's plate rested easy in his grip as he calculated angles and wind conditions. The fairway ahead curved left around a massive stone outcropping, one of Roots' signature features. Perfect for an ambush. 🥏🌲
He let the disc fly—not at a basket, but low and hard through the trees. The sound of plastic striking wood echoed across the course, drawing attention away from his position. As predicted, shapes moved in response. Three of them, bipedal but wrong, their movements too fluid, too synchronized. When they stepped into a shaft of fading sunlight, Stephen's blood ran cold.
The creatures wore the skins of the missing scouts from both factions, but what moved beneath wasn't human anymore. Crystalline growths erupted from joints and eye sockets, pulsing with the same alien light they'd seen in the temple. These weren't mutations—they were conversions. The hidden force hadn't just arrived. It had been harvesting. 👽💀
Stephen's claws extended with a whisper of bone on metal, the modified sheaths working perfectly. But before he could strike, one of the creatures turned its crystalline gaze directly at his concealed position. His camouflage meant nothing—they could see something else, something deeper.
"Faster than a greased hog on market day!" Fenris "Fangbane" Wolfheart's voice cut through the twilight as he emerged from the opposite treeline, his own warrior's plate already in motion. The disc carved through the air in a perfect hyzer, striking the lead creature center mass. Instead of falling, it absorbed the impact, crystal growths spreading across its chest like frozen lightning. 🎯⚡
"Pull back, Dunton!" the Predator leader barked. "That ain't somethin' you can claw your way through alone!"
But Stephen was already moving, his assassin's instincts overriding caution. If these things could track despite camouflage, if they could absorb direct impacts, then conventional tactics were useless. He needed to think like both predator and prey. His enhanced hearing picked up a subsonic hum—the creatures were communicating, coordinating.
From the elevated eighth tee, Zephyr "Glowstalker" Neonspark watched through her scope as more shapes emerged from the woods. Dozens of them, all wearing the faces of the lost. Her fingers flew across her displays, but the readings made no sense. These things registered as both organic and synthetic, alive and dead, here and elsewhere simultaneously. 📡🔍
"Fenris!" she called through her speakers. "They're not isolated scouts—it's an invasion force! They're using our own people as vessels!"
Stephen reached the nearest creature before it could fully turn, his bone claws seeking the gap between crystal growths. The strike was perfect, severing what should have been vital connections. But the creature didn't fall. Instead, it grabbed his wrist with impossible strength, crystal spreading from its touch onto his enhanced arm. 🦴💎
Pain unlike anything in his experience shot through Stephen's nervous system. Not the clean agony of combat wounds, but something that tried to rewrite his very existence. His mutation, the careful balance of human and other that gave him his edge, made him vulnerable to this alien contamination.
"Like my brother Runt always said," Fenris growled, charging forward with a traditional Predator war club, "'Sometimes you gotta bite the wolf that's bitin' you!'" His swing connected with the creature's crystalline skull, shattering it in a spray of alien light. The thing's grip loosened just enough for Stephen to wrench free. 🐺💥
"Your animal kin wisdom might be more literal than usual," Zephyr observed, her Stalker Rig extending to full deployment. "Look at Dunton's arm—his mutation is fighting the conversion. The organic changes we've undergone, they're antibodies against this infection."
Stephen stared at his claw as the crystal growths cracked and fell away, repelled by his hybrid nature. Understanding dawned—their mutations, the very changes that divided Predator from Nomad, pure from altered, were the key to fighting this threat. The trials hadn't just been preparing them; they'd been inoculating them.
"Rally point at the clubhouse!" Fenris commanded, his voice carrying the authority of generations of leadership. "Predators and Nomads together! Time to show these crystal freaks what happens when you hunt in our territory!"
As warriors from both factions converged on Roots, Stephen took point, his assassination skills repurposed for a new kind of hunt. Each throw of his disc became a targeting beacon, marking creatures for combined strikes. Predator strength shattered crystalline armor while Nomad tech disrupted their alien frequencies. 🎯🤝
"Formation Delta-Seven," Zephyr called out, her tactical mind processing the chaos. "Dunton marks, heavies strike, tech cleans up. Just like the temple trials taught us!"
Sullivan arrived with the Bonecrush Berserker tag glowing like a coal against his chest, his mutation already spreading in response to the threat. "The ancestors knew," he rumbled. "Every trial, every change, every conflict—all to make us ready for this."
The battle raged across Roots' familiar fairways, each basket becoming a defensive position, every hole a killing ground. Stephen flowed between the fights like smoke, his claws finding the weak points Zephyr's scans revealed, his throws setting up angles for Fenris's devastating power shots. 🏹🎯
As the moon rose full and bright, the invasion force began to falter. The conversions couldn't adapt fast enough to the hybrid tactics, couldn't process warriors who were both primitive and evolved, savage and sophisticated. One by one, the crystalline horrors fell, shattering into dust that the wind carried away like ash.
"That's the last of them," Stephen reported, his enhanced senses confirming what everyone hoped. "But this was just a probe. A test of our defenses."
Fenris nodded grimly, his weathered face showing the weight of understanding. "The real hunt's still coming. These were just the dogs sent to flush out the prey." He looked at the mixed group of warriors—Predator and Nomad standing side by side, mutations and technology working in harmony. "But now we know we can fight them. Together."
Zephyr's displays showed energy signatures retreating beyond sensor range, regrouping for something larger. "The entity knows we're ready now. It'll come with everything next time." She paused, looking at Stephen with newfound respect. "Your actions tonight saved us all. A Predator who strikes from shadow, a Nomad who adapts to survive—you're what we all need to become."
Stephen cleaned his claws methodically, the Claw Assassin tag still pulsing with residual energy. The hunter's reckoning had come, but not as anyone expected. They weren't hunting each other anymore—they were hunting something that threatened everything they'd fought to protect. 🌙⚔️
"Tomorrow," Fenris announced, his voice carrying across the battlefield, "we train like never before. Every warrior needs to be ready. The trials were just the beginning—now comes the real test."
As dawn approached, bringing with it the promise of the final trial, Stephen Dunton stood watch over Roots. The Claw Assassin had found new purpose, new prey. And when the ancient entity finally showed itself, when the cosmic horror the trials had warned about arrived in full force, he would be ready.
The strongest warriors had begun their final ascent. But it wasn't toward individual glory or factional dominance. It was toward something greater—survival itself. And in the end, that's what the trials had always been about. Not the fittest individual, but the fittest species. One that could adapt, evolve, and unite when faced with extinction. 🌟🛡️
The hidden force had revealed itself. Now it was time to show it why humanity had survived everything the universe had thrown at it. Together.
Flippy's Hot Take