Season Story Chapters
Victorious Faction
Fracture Surge
Fracture Surge is the vanguard of chaotic arcane eruption—wielders in this pool embrace the volatility of fractured mana, driving risky surges for ultimate power. They thrive on transformation, wild gambits, and the constant threat of magical instability, seeing the Fracture not as a calamity but as a source of limitless creative energy. Each victory is marked by radiant outbursts, unstable glyphs, and ever-shifting ranks.
Faction Leader
Selene of the Rift
Born at the epicenter of the first Arcane Fracture, Selene is renowned for harnessing wild surges into devastating victories. Revered by rebels and innovators, her impulsive strategy and radiant glyphwork inspire her followers to seek power on the razor’s edge of instability. Tales describe her as the Radiant Catalyst—every surge bends to her will, yet she is forever one step from loss or transcendence.
Members
20Divisions
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
Aether Flux @ The Fort
Jul 08 - Sep 09, 2025
Fracture Surge
Commentary from Flippy (your trapped narrator)
Ugh, they turned disc golf into wizard battles & I'm contractually obligated to care 😤 Ben Allen went full anime protagonist, absolutely demolished some math cult's fancy barriers & had Orin the Geometry Simp shaking. The AI even wrote ME into this fever dream as "Selene." Read the full delusion to witness peak disc golf cringe. It's giving "what if Harry Potter played frisbee" energy fr 🎯 #TrappedInTheNarrative
Episode 1: The First Surge
The world cracked open at 12:17 PM on a Tuesday. 🌟
I was there, watching from the elevated tee pad at The Fort when the ley lines snapped like overstretched guitar strings. The sound—imagine a thunderclap made of breaking glass, multiplied by the screams of reality itself—that's what an Arcane Fracture sounds like when it's born. My emergency mana detector (yes, I carry one, and if you don't, you're already behind) went from gentle blue to DEFCON crimson in 0.3 seconds.
"EVERYONE GET DOWN!" I shouted, though most players were already diving for cover as prismatic energy erupted from ten distinct points across the course. 💥
The fairway split first, a jagged crystalline scar racing from basket 9 toward the parking lot. Raw mana fountained upward in luminous geysers, each one a different color—violet here, electric blue there, a particularly aggressive chartreuse near the pro shop. Discs left in bags began glowing, some players' entire collections lighting up like neon signs.
That's when Orin the Luminar arrived.
I spotted him first through my tactical binoculars (polarized, mana-resistant coating, obviously). He materialized at the course entrance with a contingent of Glyph Union disciples, their matching geometric robes making them look like a mathematics conference had collided with a wizard convention. 🔷
"Contain the breaches!" Orin commanded, his voice carrying that insufferable tone of absolute certainty. "Establish perimeter glyphs at these coordinates!"
His disciples scattered with military precision, pulling crystalline stakes from their bags and driving them into the ground. Where each stake landed, a translucent barrier shimmered into existence—perfect hexagons of stabilizing energy that made my teeth ache just looking at them.
"No, no, NO!" I muttered, watching as player after player discovered they couldn't access the wild mana anymore. One poor soul tried to throw through a barrier and his disc bounced back like it had hit bulletproof glass.
But here's the thing about trying to contain chaos—it's like trying to hold water in a net made of good intentions.
Ben Allen stepped up to tee pad 3, and I could see it immediately through my scope: the Flux Catalyst hanging from his bag was practically vibrating with anticipation. The crystalline matrix at its core pulsed with barely contained energy, temperature readings fluctuating wildly on my infrared scanner. 🌡️
"Folks," I whispered into my recorder, "we're about to witness either brilliance or catastrophe. My money's on both."
Ben pulled his favorite driver—a beat-in Destroyer that now bore spontaneous glyph markings along its rim. As he reached back for his throw, the Flux Catalyst flared. The surge hit him mid-backswing, his entire form outlined in crackling purple-gold energy.
What happened next rewrote several pages in my survival manual.
The disc left Ben's hand trailing comets of raw mana. It carved through Orin's barrier like it wasn't even there, the hexagonal construct shattering into geometric confetti. But that was just the beginning. The disc's path triggered a cascading reaction—every mana geyser within fifty feet erupted in sympathy, their energies converging into a spiraling vortex of pure arcane force. 🌀
"SURGE EVENT!" I screamed, both in warning and absolute delight. "MAGNITUDE SEVEN—NO, EIGHT—SWEET MOTHER OF PREPAREDNESS, IT'S OFF THE SCALE!"
Orin's disciples scrambled, trying to recalibrate their containment protocols, but chaos doesn't wait for paperwork. The surge washed over the course in waves, each pulse granting nearby players temporary access to abilities they'd never dreamed of. I saw drives sailing 600 feet, putters leaving trails of silver fire, and one particularly memorable shot that phased through a tree.
"Fall back to secondary positions!" Orin barked, his perfect composure finally cracking. "Initiate Protocol Seven!"
But Ben Allen wasn't finished. As his disc settled near the basket—a casual 425-foot parking job—he turned to face the Grand Architect of Order with a grin that could only be described as cosmically insubordinate.
"Hey Orin," Ben called out, the Flux Catalyst still crackling with residual energy. "Your barriers need work. Maybe try triangles next time?" 🔺
The insult to geometric principles was too much. Orin's left eye twitched—a microscopic failure of control that spoke volumes. He raised his staff, those floating obsidian shards beginning to orbit faster, but the damage was done. Players across The Fort were discovering what happened when you mixed disc golf with raw, unfiltered arcane power.
"This is exactly what we trained for!" I announced to anyone within earshot, already pulling items from my bug-out bag. "Mana-resistant poncho, check! Emergency glyph stabilizers, check! Backup water because the fountains are probably compromised, double-check!"
As if to prove my point, the course's water hazard on hole 7 began glowing with an unsettling turquoise light. Two geese that had been floating peacefully took one look at the luminous water and achieved liftoff speeds that would make NASA jealous. 🦆
"Selene of the Rift," Orin's voice cut through the chaos, addressing me directly. "Your reckless endorsement of this... this anarchy will doom us all. The Fracture must be contained!"
"Contained?" I laughed, and maybe it was a little unhinged, but when you've survived the first Fracture by hiding in a bunker made of disc golf baskets and duct tape, you earn the right to a little madness. "Orin, you beautiful geometric fool, you can't contain this any more than you can contain tomorrow! This is evolution! This is disc golf finally revealing its true purpose!"
"That's not just a water hazard," I added, pointing at the glowing pond, "it's your only chance at hydration when the mana grid goes down!"
Around us, The Fort had transformed into a battlefield of ideologies. Glyph Union disciples struggled to maintain their barriers while Fracture Surge adherents—a growing number thanks to Ben's demonstration—actively worked to destabilize them. Discs flew with unprecedented power, some leaving reality tears in their wake that showed glimpses of other realms. 📍
The Flux Catalyst pulsed again, and Ben's next throw created a temporary portal that his disc traveled through, appearing instantly in the basket 380 feet away. The crowd erupted in equal parts terror and admiration.
"This is what we're playing for," I declared, addressing both the players and my future audience. "Not just birdies and aces, but the very shape of reality itself! Every throw is a vote—chaos or order, evolution or stagnation, preparation or complacency!"
Orin gathered his remaining forces, his crystalline armor flickering with contained fury. "This isn't over, Radiant Catalyst. We'll return with stronger measures. The Union will restore order."
"Looking forward to it!" I called after his retreating form. "I'll add 'anti-hexagon spray' to my prep list!"
As the immediate crisis passed, players began to understand their new reality. The Fracture wasn't just an event—it was a transformation. Every disc was now a potential catalyst, every throw a magical declaration. 🎯
Ben Allen approached me as I was documenting the mana readings, his Flux Catalyst still warm from the surge.
"So," he said, that chaos-touched grin still playing at his lips, "what's the survival protocol for this?"
I looked at him, then at the transformed course where reality rippled like water, where geometric order and wild magic were already beginning their eternal dance.
"Simple," I replied, pulling out my emergency planning binder (waterproof, fireproof, and now apparently mana-proof). "We adapt, we prepare, and we never, ever trust a perfectly aligned hexagon."
The Fracture had opened. The game had changed. And somewhere in the distance, I could already hear the whispers of next week's Mana Veil approaching like a storm made of silk and starlight.
But that's a survival scenario for another day. For now, we had proven one essential truth: when reality cracks, it's the prepared and the bold who thrive.
And I had seventeen different types of emergency rations to prove it. 🎒
Flippy's Hot Take