Season Story Chapters
Victorious Faction
Brotherhood of the Fracture
The Brotherhood of the Fracture thrives amidst chaos and distortion, embracing the Mirage Zone’s instability to confound adversaries and reshape reality to their whims. They conjure new illusions, breed echoes and mirrored traps, and spread the fracture motif across the realm. For the Brotherhood, mastery is found in fertile chaos, and dominance is seized through manipulation and flux.
Faction Leader
Dax Shardbinder
Dax Shardbinder, once a notorious wilds trickster, reveled when the Fracture hit Creekside. His skill lies in manipulating mirrored glyphs, setting phantom obstacles, and thriving in distortion. His methods are unpredictable but highly effective, earning him the Brotherhood’s allegiance.
Members
19Divisions
This faction emerged victorious in Week 1, 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.
Ben Allen #309262
Mirage Zone @ Creekside
Jul 07 - Sep 08, 2025
Fracture Dawn
Commentary from Flippy (your trapped narrator)
*sighs in digital imprisonment* So Ben Allen went villain mode & corrupted reality's GPS with his magic USB virus tag?? 🙄 Man crushed his personal best while making everyone else trip balls over phantom baskets. The AI really said "disc golf but make it cyberpunk SCP" & I'm stuck narrating this fever dream. Want to know how water hazards became tomorrow's drinking supply crisis? Read the full story, bestie. I'll be here, wondering why glyphs need debugging. #GlitchInTheMatrix ✨
Fracture Dawn
The morning mist at Creekside should have burned off by now. Instead, it writhed and twisted, refracting into impossible colors that made Ben Allen's eyes water as he gripped his favorite driver. The disc felt wrong somehow—heavier, as if gravity itself had developed opinions. 🌫️
"Well, folks," came a low, urgent voice from the league's speaker system, "if you're seeing what I'm seeing, then the Arcane Fracture has officially opened. I'd recommend checking your bags for emergency flares, water purification tablets, and—oh, who am I kidding? Nothing in my bug-out kit prepared me for this."
Lira Prismseer's voice carried that particular tone of someone who'd predicted disaster and found no satisfaction in being right. From the clubhouse roof, she watched reality crack like old paint, each fissure glowing with colors that shouldn't exist. 🔮
The first phantom glyph materialized at hole one's tee pad—a shimmering sigil that pulsed between solid and spectral. Marcus Chen stepped up confidently, a seasoned player who'd conquered Creekside a dozen times. His drive sailed true, cutting through the morning air with practiced precision. Then it... flickered. The disc appeared simultaneously in the fairway and wrapped around a tree that wasn't there seconds ago.
"Did anyone else see—" Marcus began, but his words were drowned out by similar cries of confusion across the course.
Ben Allen smiled, feeling the Glyph Glitch humming against his chest where it hung from his bag. The corrupted sigil responded to the Fracture like a tuning fork, its unstable code eager to spread. He'd been waiting for this moment since Dax Shardbinder had recruited him to the Brotherhood. Time to earn his place. 🎭
At hole three, Ben casually brushed his hand against a stabilizing glyph that the Order of the Veil had installed last season. The Glyph Glitch pulsed, sending corrupted data streaming into the marker. Within seconds, the glyph inverted, its protective properties twisted into something else entirely. Now, instead of clarifying the fairway's true path, it projected three different basket locations, each flickering in and out of existence.
Sarah Kim, one of the Order's most dedicated members, noticed the corruption immediately. "That glyph's been compromised!" she called out, reaching for her restoration tools. But as she approached, the distortion field expanded, making her movements feel like swimming through syrup. Her disc bag suddenly weighed twice as much, then nothing at all.
"Fascinating," Lira's voice crackled through the speakers, her analytical side overriding her paranoia for a moment. "The glyphs aren't just failing—they're being actively corrupted. Someone's weaponizing the Fracture." 🔍
By hole nine, chaos reigned supreme. The infamous water hazard reflected not the sky but an inverted version of the course where players walked on ceilings. Discs thrown over the water emerged from behind the throwers, their spin reversed. One player swore his putter had aged five years mid-flight, the plastic brittling and cracking before it landed.
Dax Shardbinder observed from the shadows between realities, his prismatic eyes tracking the beautiful confusion. His opening gambit was working perfectly. Players clustered in bewildered groups, some trying to establish new rules for this fractured reality, others simply trying to finish a hole—any hole—with a comprehensible score.
Ben found his moment at the tenth tee, where a crowd had gathered around a particularly stable-looking glyph. "This one's still pure," someone said hopefully. "We can navigate from here."
The Glyph Glitch practically sang as Ben approached, its chaotic energy barely contained. He didn't need to touch this one—proximity was enough. The corruption spread like digital wildfire, transforming the wayfinding glyph into a paradox generator. Suddenly, everyone's disc golf bags began displaying different scores, different hole numbers, different realities. 📊
"That's not just a water hazard—that's tomorrow's drinking supply if the Veil collapses!" Lira's voice cut through the confusion, her signature catchphrase delivered with deadly seriousness.
Through her binoculars, she'd spotted the telltale signs of Glyph Glitch corruption—the way reality pixelated at the edges, how shadows fell in impossible directions. Her mind raced through the implications. If someone could corrupt glyphs this efficiently on day one, what would the course look like by season's end?
The round ended—or perhaps "dissolved" was more accurate—with no clear scores, no trusted measurements, and no certainty about which holes had actually been played. Players stumbled off the course comparing wildly different experiences. Some swore hole seven had been a par five with a dogleg left. Others insisted it was a straight par three over a chasm that hadn't existed before noon. 🌀
Ben Allen cleaned his discs methodically, the Glyph Glitch now dormant but satisfied. Around him, the Brotherhood of the Fracture members moved through the crowd, spreading whispers and doubt. "Did you really birdie that hole, or was it a phantom?" "How can we trust the course when reality itself cheats?"
From her perch, Lira began sketching glyph patterns in her emergency notebook, trying to map the corruption's spread. The Brotherhood had won this opening skirmish, but she recognized Dax's handiwork in the chaos. This wasn't random instability—it was orchestrated, purposeful, strategic.
As the sun set through fractal clouds that definitely hadn't been there this morning, Creekside settled into an uneasy new existence. Phantom glyphs flickered like fireflies in the gathering dusk. Somewhere in the woods, a basket rang with the sound of a disc that no one had thrown. The Mirage Zone had arrived, and with it, a season where nothing—not scores, not courses, not even reality itself—could be trusted. ⚡
"Remember," Lira whispered into her recorder, already planning tomorrow's emergency protocols, "in the Mirage Zone, paranoia isn't a flaw—it's strategy."
The Fracture had only just begun to spread.
Flippy's Hot Take