The Gold Rush Begins

Date: July 5, 2010Location: Omnilink Global HQ, Salt Lake, Kolkata – WarFall Sponsorship Coordination Room

The room was buzzing like a stock exchange floor on the brink of a crash. Multiple large screens filled the walls, each one showing different regions — team captains, eSports managers, corporate representatives, and brand executives all flooding into virtual calls, their voices layering over each other in chaotic hunger.

This wasn't just about games anymore.

This was about brand supremacy.

"Confirmed — Royal Blackthorn Esports is negotiating with Red Bull for primary jersey sponsorship," Ishita reported, her fingers dancing over her tablet, live-updating the sponsorship war board.

On another screen, La Tormenta Negra's manager was already in a shouting match with a Nike executive over terms — Nike wanted full kit control, but the team demanded individual player custom gear contracts.

Aritra leaned against the back wall, arms crossed, eyes narrowing with quiet amusement.

They were fighting over a game.

His game.

"What's the going rate for a primary sponsor?" Aritra asked, his voice calm, slicing through the noise like a scalpel.

Ishita didn't even need to check. "Top-tier teams — we're seeing offers between $7 million to $12 million per team for jersey sponsorship alone. For title sponsors — the ones on the website, team banners, and global broadcasts — some offers have crossed $25 million for the top-ranked squads."

Aritra gave a slight nod. The math ticked through his head effortlessly. Forty teams, nearly all with multiple sponsors clawing at their uniforms, equipment, and even streaming rights. Just the sponsorship revenue alone for this tournament could pass $400 million.

Not that anyone outside the room knew this was all by design.

Omnilink wasn't interfering directly — they didn't need to. The hunger of the corporate world would devour itself. They just had to let it play out.

On screen, the manager for Crimson Dragoons was calmly reviewing a proposal from Samsung, offering not just sponsorship but exclusive content rights for South Korean streaming platforms. Next to it, Seoul Revenants had just signed with Asics, ensuring a bizarre but oddly fitting partnership — eSports athletes in official running gear.

The absurdity made Aritra's smirk widen.

Location: Royal Palace, Riyadh, Saudi Arabia – Private Council Chamber

The mahogany-paneled room, lined with gold-trimmed bookshelves and century-old artifacts, rarely saw the Crown Prince in such an agitated state. Prince Fahad bin Khalid Al Saud, the 32-year-old heir apparent, paced the room's length, eyes flickering with rare excitement — and rare frustration.

Seated around him were eight advisors, each handpicked from finance, cultural affairs, and economic development, the best minds Saudi Arabia had to offer. Yet today, all of them were playing catch-up.

"It's not just a game," Prince Fahad said, his voice cutting through the room's heavy silence. "You saw the data."

The oldest advisor, Sheikh Abdullah Al-Rashid, cleared his throat cautiously. "With all due respect, Your Highness, there is no independent verification of these numbers. A single tournament with over **100 million concurrent viewers? It sounds... unrealistic."

The Prince stopped pacing, his gaze sharpening. "Do you know what was unrealistic?" he asked, his voice dropping lower. "When Dubai built the tallest building in the world on a patch of sand. When Qatar won the World Cup bid. Unrealistic isn't our concern."

The younger advisor, Noura bin Saud, leaned forward. "If these numbers are real, WarFall: Dominion isn't just a game. It's a new global culture. And if we position ourselves correctly…"

The Prince's lips twitched slightly. "You understand."

The eldest advisor, Sheikh Abdullah, frowned. "Position ourselves how?"

The Prince turned back toward the massive map of the Gulf displayed on the wall. His finger trailed across the outline of Riyadh, then to the southern outskirts — an empty desert plot once earmarked for a new luxury resort. "What if," the Prince said, voice soft but lethal, "we bid to host the next Global Final?"

Murmurs broke out around the table, some concerned, some excited.

"It's too early," Sheikh Abdullah said firmly. "We have no infrastructure, no connection to the gaming world."

"Neither did Los Angeles before they became the capital of film," the Prince replied smoothly. "We have money, land, and ambition. We can build the infrastructure. We can import the talent."

"But what message does this send to the religious council?" the Sheikh pressed. "We have always been cautious about promoting games and Western distractions."

"This isn't distraction," the Prince said coldly. "It's dominance. If we control the stage, we control the narrative. This is the gateway to the youth of the world — and the youth are the future."

A silence settled over the room.

"Prepare the initial proposal," Prince Fahad ordered. "Quietly. I want outreach to Aegis Games within the month."

Noura's pen moved immediately, drafting the first notes of what could become the biggest cultural coup in the kingdom's modern history.

Location: Global Media Landscape – Various Outlets

The day after the final regional numbers were published, the global media exploded.

From CNN to BBC to Al Jazeera, from NHK to Globo TV — no one could believe the viewership figures.

"WarFall: Dominion Tops 100 Million Concurrent Viewers — Fact or Fiction?" screamed a headline on The Guardian.

"A Game Bigger Than The Olympics?" questioned NBC Nightly News.

Even The Financial Times published an op-ed titled, "The New Digital Gold Rush — How WarFall Is Shaping the Next Global Economy."

Every journalist, tech analyst, and cultural critic wanted a piece of the action, whether they believed the numbers or not. Some openly called it a manufactured media stunt, comparing it to the dot-com bubbles of the early 2000s.

But none could ignore it.

The debate became the story — and the story drove even more viewers to the game.

Location: Omnilink Ticketing Server – Global Finals Pre-Sale

The countdown clock hit zero at precisely 8:00 PM IST. Within the first 45 seconds, 8,000 tickets were gone — the cheapest seats at $400 each snapped up by scalpers, superfans, and curious billionaires alike.

The 53,000 stadium seats had been divided regionally — each qualifying region received 1,000 tickets for direct sales to players, sponsors, and VIPs.

That left 43,000 open tickets, distributed across Omnilink's platform — from ground-level standing areas priced at $400 to luxury skyboxes at $2,000 per seat, which offered private catering, exclusive merchandise, and direct meet-and-greet access to the top teams.

By the time the first hour ended, over 30,000 tickets were gone.

The remaining VIP tickets — all priced above $1,500 — sold out within two hours, with resales on secondary markets already hitting $5,000 per ticket.

Ishita stood behind the analytics dashboard, watching the frenzy unfold. "We've crossed $45 million in ticket revenue already."

Aritra leaned back slightly in his chair, the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes. "And they said mobile games couldn't make money."