HotS Community Launch Party Contests - Page 3

It's midnight-- time to go.

As HayprO sprinted through the winding paths, flanked by dark trees on either side, he could almost hear the hissing and spitting of those blood-sucking vipers behind him.

…

He stopped abruptly, and opened his eyes. He noticed at first glance that the two Vampires were NaNiWa and Day9. He raised his head to the inky-black night and opened his mouth in a warcry, veritably unhinging his jaw and sucking the universe into that massive, gaping chasm. …

He blasted a Kamayamaya into NaNiWa, sweeping him off his feet and slamming him into the dense forestry behind him. … Knowing the woods would soon be flooded with Vampires, HayprO blasted off into the night, flying back to camp…

The camp woke with the dawn the next day. ... HayprO reflected bitterly that the Vampires were evolving quickly… A few years ago, the Pokemon Theory was the biggest break-through in science. Now there was no science-- not here-- not anywhere from Eastern China to San Francisco. They called it the Dark Zone now.

He remembered the discovery-- … the Philosopher's Stone-- that's what they had named it… He remembered how this led to the countless studies … before the Pokemon Theory was postured. After it was, however, everything changed.

To evolve was difficult, or so it was said. … Only the perfect balance of mind and body could consciously evolve. Naturally, professional StarCraft players were the first to succeed. … Perhaps it was a gamer's natural affinity for darkness and night that led to Path of the Vampire … The Path of the Vampire was a terrible, evil, and most assuredly badass expansion of power through evolution. …

The other path of evolution that eventually followed was the Path of the Saiyan … This path began with photosynthesis. Gamers learned to harness the energy of the sun… and to use it to their advantage in supernatural ways.

…

Suddenly a flash of yellow streaked beside HayprO's face, nearly taking his head off. He looked down at the source of the light and saw CatZ, standing side by side with Day9… Thirty more Vampires emerged silently … HayprO ducked just in time as thirty more jets of light flew at them.

….

He shot down towards Nazgul's tent… He was almost there, flying just to the tip of the threshold of the house before being blindsided by what felt like a dump truck and slammed against a wall.

It was IdrA. … He looked around the campsite; the Vampires had breached the walls, and were tearing apart the entire camp. ... HayprO saw Saiyans falling left and right without a fight, and he knew it was too late. The camp would succumb to the Vampire infestation, and the last ray of hope in the Dark Zone would be extinguished. He saw the fire in IdrA's hand, and knew the end had come about.

Do it.

It is the right-most finger on the left hand; then the middle, and so on.

It felt odd to describe pain to a Doctor. It felt somehow unnatural to seek help like this, but at this point there wasn’t a lot of choice in the matter. It felt even worse that he couldn’t properly explain the pain his left hand caused him; it wasn’t just physical—the endless hours of dancing across clattering keys—it was ethereal, and it distanced him from his meandering thoughts. The physical pain was enough, though. There was enough bite and throbs of incoherent pleas to bring him to these haunted, luminescent halls, full of white light and sterile smell.

Beyond all thought of the hospital, there was, within his mottled mind, a clear and burning question. After months of twinges, of pains slowly growing in magnitude and frequency, after countless stretches, tricks, and tips to keep the wrists at rest, there was but one conclusion, and from that conclusion there was a question:

Will I be able to play again?

There was a pause. Through the window, the slowly sinking sun seemed to stop her descent, waiting on tenterhooks for the doctor’s reply. Each breath seemed a mile, each blink seemed a century, each beat of a pounding heart a snare drum’s call to the gallows. There was no air, no whisper, no wave to carry the resounding crash upon him as the doctor answered:

No.

And there was nothing else to it; after two weeks of secret meetings—of tests, results, and tests again—after two weeks of anticipation, of fear, there was now emptiness. There were drugs to alleviate the pain, but the inflammatory act of inching, key by key, click by click, to victory would only make it worse. Eventually movement would be impaired for the pain, and his functionality within the game would completely shut down. When he rested his three fingers on the “w,” “a,” and “d” keys, he would now see nothing but a cross on which his career, his passion, his life was slowly being crucified.

He took the subway to the hospital that evening; he wanted his absence to be as inconspicuous as possible. On the way back to Incheon, the dim lights of the train flickered, an odd cough rattled through the compartment. He gripped a bar to keep his balance, and, beginning in his hand, through his body coursed a twinge of regret and shame; this was it. It was over. Four years of self-enslavement, of mental fortuity, of endless torment, and nothing to show for it—nothing but the glories of the past and the marred promise of a fallen legacy. He twirled around in his head ideas—an education, a coach, a soldier— he tried to think about the future. What does one do after committing to a life time of passionate play? He stared down the coming year like it was his mortality, and, indeed, thought of it only as a sort of living death.