P
Pantelis Kassotis
Guest
A game has a finite commercial life, but successful intellectual property can keep generating value through future products, audience recognition and new forms of exploitation. For an indie studio, that can turn individual releases into building blocks for a much larger company.
When an indie studio finishes a game, it is natural to think of the game itself as the asset. Years of development go into producing something that can eventually be sold, and the basic calculation seems straightforward: how much did it cost to make, how many copies can it sell, and how much revenue can it generate? But a game contains more than the executable product that eventually appears on a store. During development, the studio may also create characters, worlds, stories, names, visual identities and fictional concepts that can exist beyond the original release. The game has a finite commercial life; the intellectual property can potentially survive it. That distinction changes how I think about what an indie studio is actually building when it makes a successful game.
Every game exists within a particular technological and commercial environment. Platforms change, hardware becomes obsolete, competing releases appear and player attention moves elsewhere. Even a successful game eventually reaches a point where its ability to generate additional sales is constrained by the fact that it is still the same product. This does not make the game worthless, but it means that the studio's ability to generate value from it is closely tied to the product's own commercial lifespan.
Intellectual property creates the possibility of separating those two things. A character can appear in another game, a fictional world can support another story, a recognizable name can be used for a sequel, and the visual identity of a property can extend into merchandise or another medium. None of those possibilities is guaranteed, and most games will never develop enough recognition to make them economically meaningful. The important difference is that the original game can create assets that are not necessarily consumed when the original product reaches the end of its commercial life.
This becomes particularly important when a studio considers what happens after its first successful release. If every new game introduces a completely new universe, the studio repeatedly has to establish a new name, new characters, new setting and new relationship with its audience. A successful game may generate revenue and recognition, but much of that recognition remains attached to that particular product rather than automatically transferring to the next one.
An established IP changes the starting point for future releases. Players who already know a world or character do not approach the next product with the same uncertainty as someone encountering an entirely unknown concept. The studio still has to make something worth buying, but it no longer has to explain everything from the beginning. The first game has effectively paid part of the cost of introducing the IP to the market, and future products can build on that initial investment.
This is the part of the idea that interests me most. A successful first game does not necessarily have to be the end result of years of work. It can also be the foundation on which the next several years of work become easier to build.
I have been thinking about this distinction while building Neoblazer. The immediate objective is still to make a good game; without that, the rest of the discussion is irrelevant. At the same time, I deliberately created Neoblazer as a world rather than treating the game as an isolated product. It has its own characters, corporate structures, fictional universe, visual identity and tone, all of which could potentially support additional stories and products if an audience eventually becomes interested in them.
I am not assuming that this automatically makes Neoblazer a valuable franchise. An indie developer cannot simply declare that an IP has potential and expect the market to agree. The audience has to decide whether the world is interesting, whether the characters are memorable and whether there is a reason to return to it. What I am doing is preserving the possibility. If the game succeeds, I have something that can potentially be developed further; if it does not, then the additional possibilities may never become commercially relevant. The important point is that a successful release would leave behind something that can be built upon rather than requiring the studio to abandon its accumulated work and invent everything again.
This is where the economic value of intellectual property actually comes from. Owning a fictional universe is not valuable simply because the legal rights exist. The world is full of abandoned characters, forgotten franchises and games that nobody remembers. The valuable part is the recognition and attachment that develop around the property.
A player who buys a standalone game may enjoy it and then move on. A player who becomes invested in an IP has a reason to pay attention to what happens next. They may follow the developer, discuss the characters, recommend the game, watch related content or eventually buy another product set in the same universe. The relationship has changed from a single transaction into an ongoing connection, and that connection can make future products easier to introduce.
This is particularly valuable for an indie studio because acquiring attention is expensive and uncertain. Every completely new game requires the studio to convince people to notice it, understand it and care about it. A recognized IP does not eliminate that challenge, but it can reduce the amount of uncertainty surrounding the next release because the audience already has some understanding of what the name represents.
Once an IP has recognition, the studio also gains something that a single game cannot provide to the same extent: optionality. A successful property might support a direct sequel, but it might also work better as a smaller spin-off, a different genre, a comic, an animated project, merchandise or a collaboration with another developer. There is no requirement to pursue every possibility, and in many cases the sensible decision may be to pursue none of them for a while. The value lies in having the choice.
That flexibility matters because an independent studio cannot reliably predict what its market will look like several years into the future. Technology, platforms, distribution models and audience preferences can all change. An IP with an established audience gives the studio more ways to respond to those changes without abandoning everything it has built. Instead of asking what completely new concept can be developed next, the studio can also ask what new product makes sense within an existing property that people already recognize.
There is an important limitation to this entire argument: most intellectual property never becomes a meaningful asset. A studio can own the rights to a world that nobody remembers, and having the legal ability to make sequels does not mean anyone will want them. This is why I would never argue that developers should make games primarily because they hope to create a franchise.
The product still comes first. A game has to provide enough value for people to play it, and the audience has to care before the underlying IP becomes economically interesting. The point is not that every game should be designed as the first installment of a giant entertainment empire. It is that when a game genuinely resonates with people, the studio should recognize that it may have created something more valuable than the original product and consider whether that asset deserves to be developed further.
This changes the way I think about the economics of an indie studio. If I evaluate every game purely as an isolated project, the calculation is primarily development cost versus revenue from that release. But if a successful game also creates a recognizable IP, the return can include something that does not appear directly on the game's sales report: an audience that can potentially carry forward, a recognizable name, established characters and a world that future products can use.
That does not make the first game less important; it makes the first game the mechanism through which the larger asset is created. The game proves whether the concept works, introduces the IP to an audience and establishes the initial relationship between the audience and the property. If that relationship becomes strong enough, subsequent products can build on it rather than beginning with complete anonymity.
This is ultimately why I think intellectual property is more valuable than a single game. I do not want every release to exist as an isolated commercial event that is forgotten when the next project begins. I want successful work to accumulate, so that a character created today can still matter years from now, a world can become more recognizable with each release, and an audience built around one game can have a reason to remain interested in the next.
Most games will never become major intellectual properties, and that is perfectly normal. But when one does connect with an audience, its value does not necessarily end when its initial sales begin to decline. The game is the product that introduces the idea to the world; the IP is the asset that gives the studio the possibility of building on that idea for years to come.
If you want to read more about the author’s gamedev journey you can read his book Paezo Hellas: The Unseen Systems Behind Enduring Worlds.
When an indie studio finishes a game, it is natural to think of the game itself as the asset. Years of development go into producing something that can eventually be sold, and the basic calculation seems straightforward: how much did it cost to make, how many copies can it sell, and how much revenue can it generate? But a game contains more than the executable product that eventually appears on a store. During development, the studio may also create characters, worlds, stories, names, visual identities and fictional concepts that can exist beyond the original release. The game has a finite commercial life; the intellectual property can potentially survive it. That distinction changes how I think about what an indie studio is actually building when it makes a successful game.
A Game Has a Shelf Life
Every game exists within a particular technological and commercial environment. Platforms change, hardware becomes obsolete, competing releases appear and player attention moves elsewhere. Even a successful game eventually reaches a point where its ability to generate additional sales is constrained by the fact that it is still the same product. This does not make the game worthless, but it means that the studio's ability to generate value from it is closely tied to the product's own commercial lifespan.
Intellectual property creates the possibility of separating those two things. A character can appear in another game, a fictional world can support another story, a recognizable name can be used for a sequel, and the visual identity of a property can extend into merchandise or another medium. None of those possibilities is guaranteed, and most games will never develop enough recognition to make them economically meaningful. The important difference is that the original game can create assets that are not necessarily consumed when the original product reaches the end of its commercial life.
The First Game Can Become the Foundation
This becomes particularly important when a studio considers what happens after its first successful release. If every new game introduces a completely new universe, the studio repeatedly has to establish a new name, new characters, new setting and new relationship with its audience. A successful game may generate revenue and recognition, but much of that recognition remains attached to that particular product rather than automatically transferring to the next one.
An established IP changes the starting point for future releases. Players who already know a world or character do not approach the next product with the same uncertainty as someone encountering an entirely unknown concept. The studio still has to make something worth buying, but it no longer has to explain everything from the beginning. The first game has effectively paid part of the cost of introducing the IP to the market, and future products can build on that initial investment.
This is the part of the idea that interests me most. A successful first game does not necessarily have to be the end result of years of work. It can also be the foundation on which the next several years of work become easier to build.
This Is How I Think About Neoblazer
I have been thinking about this distinction while building Neoblazer. The immediate objective is still to make a good game; without that, the rest of the discussion is irrelevant. At the same time, I deliberately created Neoblazer as a world rather than treating the game as an isolated product. It has its own characters, corporate structures, fictional universe, visual identity and tone, all of which could potentially support additional stories and products if an audience eventually becomes interested in them.
I am not assuming that this automatically makes Neoblazer a valuable franchise. An indie developer cannot simply declare that an IP has potential and expect the market to agree. The audience has to decide whether the world is interesting, whether the characters are memorable and whether there is a reason to return to it. What I am doing is preserving the possibility. If the game succeeds, I have something that can potentially be developed further; if it does not, then the additional possibilities may never become commercially relevant. The important point is that a successful release would leave behind something that can be built upon rather than requiring the studio to abandon its accumulated work and invent everything again.
The Audience Is What Makes IP Valuable
This is where the economic value of intellectual property actually comes from. Owning a fictional universe is not valuable simply because the legal rights exist. The world is full of abandoned characters, forgotten franchises and games that nobody remembers. The valuable part is the recognition and attachment that develop around the property.
A player who buys a standalone game may enjoy it and then move on. A player who becomes invested in an IP has a reason to pay attention to what happens next. They may follow the developer, discuss the characters, recommend the game, watch related content or eventually buy another product set in the same universe. The relationship has changed from a single transaction into an ongoing connection, and that connection can make future products easier to introduce.
This is particularly valuable for an indie studio because acquiring attention is expensive and uncertain. Every completely new game requires the studio to convince people to notice it, understand it and care about it. A recognized IP does not eliminate that challenge, but it can reduce the amount of uncertainty surrounding the next release because the audience already has some understanding of what the name represents.
IP Creates Optionality
Once an IP has recognition, the studio also gains something that a single game cannot provide to the same extent: optionality. A successful property might support a direct sequel, but it might also work better as a smaller spin-off, a different genre, a comic, an animated project, merchandise or a collaboration with another developer. There is no requirement to pursue every possibility, and in many cases the sensible decision may be to pursue none of them for a while. The value lies in having the choice.
That flexibility matters because an independent studio cannot reliably predict what its market will look like several years into the future. Technology, platforms, distribution models and audience preferences can all change. An IP with an established audience gives the studio more ways to respond to those changes without abandoning everything it has built. Instead of asking what completely new concept can be developed next, the studio can also ask what new product makes sense within an existing property that people already recognize.
Most IP Never Becomes Valuable
There is an important limitation to this entire argument: most intellectual property never becomes a meaningful asset. A studio can own the rights to a world that nobody remembers, and having the legal ability to make sequels does not mean anyone will want them. This is why I would never argue that developers should make games primarily because they hope to create a franchise.
The product still comes first. A game has to provide enough value for people to play it, and the audience has to care before the underlying IP becomes economically interesting. The point is not that every game should be designed as the first installment of a giant entertainment empire. It is that when a game genuinely resonates with people, the studio should recognize that it may have created something more valuable than the original product and consider whether that asset deserves to be developed further.
Building Value That Accumulates
This changes the way I think about the economics of an indie studio. If I evaluate every game purely as an isolated project, the calculation is primarily development cost versus revenue from that release. But if a successful game also creates a recognizable IP, the return can include something that does not appear directly on the game's sales report: an audience that can potentially carry forward, a recognizable name, established characters and a world that future products can use.
That does not make the first game less important; it makes the first game the mechanism through which the larger asset is created. The game proves whether the concept works, introduces the IP to an audience and establishes the initial relationship between the audience and the property. If that relationship becomes strong enough, subsequent products can build on it rather than beginning with complete anonymity.
This is ultimately why I think intellectual property is more valuable than a single game. I do not want every release to exist as an isolated commercial event that is forgotten when the next project begins. I want successful work to accumulate, so that a character created today can still matter years from now, a world can become more recognizable with each release, and an audience built around one game can have a reason to remain interested in the next.
Most games will never become major intellectual properties, and that is perfectly normal. But when one does connect with an audience, its value does not necessarily end when its initial sales begin to decline. The game is the product that introduces the idea to the world; the IP is the asset that gives the studio the possibility of building on that idea for years to come.
If you want to read more about the author’s gamedev journey you can read his book Paezo Hellas: The Unseen Systems Behind Enduring Worlds.