Rare Footage of the Legendary battle on the CrossFire Plains.

The ancients called it the Crossfire. A long, barren valley, razed beyond all organic tolerance, eclipsed by the world’s great mountains, and consumed by clouds which gave new meaning to darkness. Deep within its saw-toothed rocks pulsed the blood of ancient deities, for long ago, the God’s had used it as a battlefield. A place where all great quarrels over the governance of man found their answers upon the blades of these titans. It is a spiritual place. It is a place of courage and war. But most of all, it is a place of honor.

But now, many years later, upon these rocks stood a reluctant warrior. He was a foreigner to this newfound world of epic saga’s and selfless heroism. Like some wayward dandelion, blown by chaotic winds into a forest of redwood giants.

Had it only been three weeks since he last plowed his fields, sheltered in his serenity, ignorant and oblivious to the evils growing in the West? How now, he wondered, could two such opposite places exist beneath the same moon? And how he wished that by simply staring at the milky, iridescent sphere which brightened the Eastern skies he could transport himself back to his farm; perched atop a plow instead of this hover-board; resting his laurels atop a shovel and not a blade.

But there was no moon to see in this place; no sun and no sky either. Fires had consumed this world; leaving in their ashes a smoldering trail of wreckage and ruin.

The Fire. How it burned crimson behind Morticai’s sinister eyes—the eyes which at this very moment bored into the soul of the reluctant warrior from across the battlefield. These eyes held the tales of all the fires that had stripped the world of its beauty, and raped her of her sovereignty. And what more, it told tales of the future; of the fires that would burn, unabated, fueled by the very desecration they create.

If vengeance is not achieved upon this ancient battlefield, then upon the warrior’s home the hammer would surely fall. And like the rest of the world, it would not crush it entirely, but rather descend upon it as a wayward hammer falls upon a nail: bending it beneath the force of the blow, thrusting the spine out into a jagged and misshapen kink. Irreparably crippling the nail; disfigured, but still alive, snared deep within the cedar, forced to forever watch in horror as the hammer rears to strike again, and the fires continue to burn.
The fires must be extinguished….


This videogram is the only recovered footage from this epic battle.