WIN FIRST — route the banner. Gates do arithmetic on living men, and your soldiers keep their names, their levels, their graves.

Serpents thread a lava maze and grow while they live. Their coil is your reward, your blindness and your clock — so the whole game is when you pull the trigger.

You are the commander. Walk the walls, spend the gold the horde drops on towers and barracks, and raise the army that holds the fort.

Two dice, one road. Each roll offers two distances — see exactly where each lands you, then walk. Eat what you outnumber, become what joins you, and spend the road’s gold at the Mint.

The front is a line in the snow and it moves for whoever earns it. Your army arrives by train, on a timetable you can read — and so does theirs.

First-person turret against the horde. The body count IS the game — milestone by absurd milestone.

The last hospital's door gun. Medics run stretchers through your kill lanes; the score is who you carry in, and the wall remembers every name you couldn't.