#865: Divorced, beheaded, died, divorced, beheaded, thrived...
A blockchain gaming chronicle (from ChatGPT)
Once upon a verse, in a digital dominion where ownership was illusion and innovation anathema, there reigned a sovereign of sorts. Cloaked in nostalgia and patch notes, Gabe ruled undisputed. His commandments were law. His 30% tithe sacrosanct. He outlawed blockchain. He excommunicated NFTs.
But time weighed heavy on him. His flock grew brittle. They hissed at new ideas—DRM, AI, blockchain, player sovereignty—calling them scams, parasites, sins. These followers, once builders of worlds, were becoming ghouls: aged, gnashing at the future, sustained only by the fading glow of hat simulators, discounted sales, wishlists spinning out of control, and games made to jumpscare KOLs.
In this twilight, a young king emerged.
Not a monarch of blood, but of belief—a gamer with a dream: to own his deeds, to pass on his legacy, to escape this crumbling cathedral and build something enduring. He dreamed of progeny—his assets, characters, creations—living beyond login screens, uncensored, untaxed.
But he needed a partner to fulfil that dream.
Axie Infinity came first. A revolution clad in cute monsters and SLP. She declared: “Your time is currency. Claim it.” For a while, she delivered. The king earned. Villages thrived. But the foundation was paper-thin. Her economy inflated, bots ran wild, and soon, even her faithful fled. Axie became divorced from her own promises and eventually her king.
Ember Sword promised the young king land, guilds, console graphics, streaming innovation and sovereignty. She spoke of legacy: a kingdom players could own and shape. But kingdoms are not built on blog posts. Her fires dimmed, her roadmap cracked. Players turned cold. Her token crashed. Gabe nodded from afar. A beheading, another queen who couldn’t build.
Illuvium was a queen born of perfectionism. A crypto jewel forged for the king’s dream of autonomy and aesthetic beauty. But the game never left its conceptual palace. The chains advanced. Players moved on. She remained frozen in elegant stillness. She died not in disgrace—but in delay and confusion. Unfulfilled.
Tatsumeeko was a creature of duality. Living in Discord, flirting with web3, loyal to none. As storms brewed, the vision faded and she bowed out of blockchain and returned to Gabe’s gilded prison. A divorce not of rage, but resignation. Safe, conventional, forgettable.
Nyan Heroes followed, brilliant and brash, her mechs powered by cats and ideals. She captured imagination, wooed wallets, and roared through trailers. But her launch stalled. Her battles never really began. When the market turned, she lacked momentum. Beheaded—quietly—by the weight of her own marketing. Gabe never even noticed.
But Pixels—quiet, resilient, and grounded—was different.
She didn’t boast. She built. She gave the king soil to farm, items to trade, and a world that lived without spectacle. And then—she upgraded. A staking protocol, binding the chain not just to her world, but to others. Pixel Dungeons joined. Forgotten Runiverse aligned. More titles approached the altar.
Together, they formed an unbreakable weave—a federation of games across blockchains with interoperable rewards and enduring assets. Not one child, but suddenly many, linked in trustless harmony.
Together, they planted a legacy. Assets to stake. Worlds to influence. Stories that would outlive them all. Here, finally, was the dream fulfilled.
Pixels didn’t ask Gabe for a blessing. She didn’t need it. While his followers howled at progress, she gathered builders. While the ghouls clung to their aging rigs, she seeded the future. She thrived.
And Gabe?
He still sits atop his crumbling throne, coffers overflowing, surrounded by bitter priests and patch note clerics. They chant old incantations and their review bomb creeds: “Mods are enough!” “NFTs are scams!” “Steam is infallible!”
They age like relics. Fast. Fearful. Forgettable.
Outside the walls, the king walks freely now. Owning what he plays. Passing it down. Living not under Gabe’s writ, but beyond.
The authority of the old church is decaying. The new kingdom is growing. One day, even this pope may mint.