This Story Does Not Exist

“Gentle reader,” Incubus said, jutting out of the page to directly address the reader, a smile grafted onto his face, half-leprechaun, half-imp, and half Miguelito Lovelace. “Because this story tramples on copyright law like the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona, this story does not exist. If you have to acknowledge its existence, just call it fan fic. For some reason, probably because lawyers are too lazy to go after the fanfic sites, they are immune to prosecution, at least until, yada, yada, Donald Trump. Any resemblance between characters in this story and ones owned by a certain multibillion-dollar corporation is completely intentional, but we can’t say it, so we’re using cutesy abbreviated shortcuts that anyone with even half a brain can see through. We hope you enjoy this story, but let’s face facts. If the clown who’s writing this was such a sierra hotel damn good writer, what the hell is he doing here on this piddling little website? Hobbies! Writing for fun? Spirit of community? Ha!

“Thank you and I hope you enjoy this story. Actually, I’m a fictional character and really don’t care because fictional characters only care about anything if the author tells us to care about them… Anyhow, here’s the crappy story. Or do yourself a favor and read something by CommanderCain or Mountain Hound, someone with actual talent. Especially the Captain Adamant stuff. You gotta love an animal sidekick! Good boy!

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In a dimension far away, there was a bar. Mind you, there are bars in many dimensions. There are dimensions that are nothing but bars. There is, of course, a dimension that is a single universe spanning bar. This saves on cabfare, at least until such time as self-driving cars take over and everyone treats taxis as something quaint and antiquated like horse drawn carriages – like self-driving cars but with an actual person in them to talk with. Writers seldom consider the impermanence of the world, and this is no exception. Future generations will envy us our taxis, not realizing just how uninteresting or psychotic most of those taxi drivers actually were.

This cosmic bar was named Nilbog’s, nilbog being “goblin” spelled backward, because D&D’s Fiend Folio was just that damn clever (although it was a launching pad for Charles Stross, arguably the best science fiction writer of our generation). In this bar, there were several cosmic imps, drinking the color purple and getting drunk on prose. One of these was Incubus. What he lacked in originality, he made up for in dadaesque style and flair, but flair was commonplace, and he found himself being snubbed. Especially by “M”, the big cheese of cosmic imps and all-powerful pranksters.

“Gosh, M, he just wants to help!” another imp from the same universe said.

“Go eat your bat-symbol, loser.” “M” snapped back. “No one wants to hear from you anymore. They even cancelled the last cartoon you were on. At least writers still put me in their ^%$#@! Books.”

“Gosh,” “B” said. “You shouldn’t swear.”

“Those were just symbols, jerk off.” “M” replied.

“I’m sick and tired of people treating my universe like it was second rate garbage!” Incubus declared.

“Well, it would have been better had they hadn’t lost the rights to my universe,” the green-shape changing imp from the universe that later became Champions Online said. Copyright issues.

“And they don’t even have you in game,” “M” replied. “They put in the &&&^%$! Hunter-Patriots and all those lame-**** gangs in Westside, and they left you out! And sasquatches! &&&^%$ sasquatches! And let’s face it. Champions Online is going downhill real fast. Look at the server pop! Soon there won’t be enough people to trigger a damn alert! Not that they work most of the time anyway!”

“Well, it’s still good to me!” Incubus shouted. “With real heroes, and great costumes, even if most of them are muddy shades of black that are too depressing for a funeral. And people like the Protectors, who, um, protect! Who kick serious butt! Why I’d put Thundrax against any of your palookas any day.”

“Thundrax?” “M” said. “Who the hell is Thundrax? Isn’t he some clod who’s too embarrassing to lick even Statesman’s boots?”

“I thought he was a really obscure alien race at Marvel that only Gruenwald knew about,“ the green imp said.

“No!” Incubus shouted. “He’s my archenemy!”

M swallowed his reply as the fourth wall was rebuilt, and he signed. “The guy sounds like a real chump. Any real comic book character would make mincemeat out of him.”

“How about we have a contest?” Incubus said. “You’ve got a behemoth archenemy and I’ve got a behemoth archenemy! How about they fight and whoever’s champion beats the snot out of the other guy’s champion wins!”

“You’re kidding, right?” M said. “Mine is the original. Mr. 1938 himself! Yours was invented when?”

“1983.”

“Hm. 38. 83. There’s symmetry there. Okay, maybe it’s the purple going to my head, but I’ll bite.” M mused. “But what are we playing for?”

Incubus thought for a minute, drinking in a draught of purple, and spitting out brown. “The color wenge!” he declared.

“Deal!” M said. “We'll have to call the Arbiter, of course."

"That old fogey?" Incubus wondered. "I thought he was trapped in the nursing home dimension."

"He escaped." "M" answered.

“C’mon, Inky.” The green imp said. “You do know that Thundrax is a middle-tier character at best. He doesn’t have a prayer against the Big S. Didn’t his player even write a story years back where he got one-punched by S?”

“Yeah, but that was then, and this was now. Or will be now.“ Incubus boasted. He was nervous, but he had the biggest advantage imaginable at his disposal.

Cheating.

-------------------

Meanwhile, in a small apartment in suburban Toronto, Craig Carson watched his godson Sean playing a videogame. He was bored out of his skull, but Forceknight had promised to help with the navigation systems on the autominers if he babysat, and that was an offer he couldn’t refuse. So he was consigned to watching the teenage boy play a computer game. Unhinged 2 or something like that. Iconic superheroes gone insane and fighting each other instead of villains.

Craig’s eyes had rolled every five seconds.

“And here’s the Big S’s special move.” Sean demonstrated proudly. “He spins around the universe fast enough to send the opponent back in time to the Big Bang, then crunches the entire universe on them!”

“That seems a little excessive,” Craig said. “Couldn’t he just grab the guy, read him his rights and send him to jail?”

“You don’t play many videogames, do you?” Sean said, cocking an eyebrow. “Besides, he’s evil in this universe. Or maybe misunderstood.”

“Let me guess.” Craig stated. “He's a hard man making hard decisions.”

“I think so. But who cares about the lore?” Sean moaned. “All it is a bunch of stupid overlong cutscenes. Who wants to watch that crap? I just want to kick butt. You can’t think too hard about these things.”

“Or at all,” Craig quipped and he sighed. “Just give me Spy Hunter or Donkey Kong.”

“Ew! And get the eighties all over my videogame?” Sean winced. “Bleh!”

And suddenly, Craig and Sean found themselves in a brown wasteland, under a night sky. A large spiral galaxy hung overhead, its panorama dwarfing three-quarters of the sky.

“Craig, is this another cosmic entity forcing you to fight?”

“I suspect so,” Craig said. “You know, cosmic entity, you really don’t need to kidnap me. If you’re powerful enough to teleport me across space and time or dimensions, I bet you’re powerful enough to build your own hero, and make him fight.”

“I am the Arbiter!” a hooded cosmic entity said, wearing black judge’s robes. “Your species is on trial for crimes against the universe!”

“How come no one’s ever put the elder worms on trial?” Thundrax wondered. “They’re way worse than humans.”

“Oh wait, sorry,” the Arbiter said, and he corrected himself. “Not a trial..." He cleared his throat and began again. "I have gathered you here to fight the champion of another universe. To decide the fate of reality itself!”

“Again?” Thundrax winced. “Didn’t we do this last year?”

“Wasn’t that the cosmic wrestling federation?” Sean asked.

“It might have been.” Craig said. “All of them kind of run together after awhile. Okay, who’s the opponent. Fifty foot monster? My best friend Mr. Indomitable?” Craig sighed. “Dammit Jim, I miss you. Living asteroid? Sheik Yerbouti, the walking personification of disco?”

“Huh?” Sean wondered.

“Cosmic entity who named himself after a Zappa album,” Craig explained.

“Who’s Zappa?” Sean asked. Craig facepalmed.

“I feel so old,” he moaned.

“This is your opponent!” the Arbiter announced, and a figure clad in blue with a long red cape suddenly appeared. A large yellow “S” was set into a large diamond shaped polygon on the chest of his costume.

“Uncle Craig!” Sean gasped, “Is that…”

“Yes!” the Arbiter said, and he read off a card. “It is… hmm, can’t read this damn thing. I left my cosmic reading glasses in that other dimension, the House of a Trillion Shelves. What the devil does this say?” The cosmic entity showed the writing to Sean.

“Not any of the twelve languages I can read, sorry,” Sean shrugged. He had the distinct impression that the Arbiter ranked rather low on the scale of cosmic intelligences. Or maybe after twelve billion years, he was starting to go a little senile.

“Stupid cosmic writing.” The Arbiter muttered. "I think it says… KILL-ALL!”

“That’s Kal--…” the man stammered, trying to correct him.

“KILL-ALL is a much better name! It certainly fits the man in that videogame!”

“Videogame?” the Big S wondered.

“Just roll with it,” Craig said. “Let’s just say the videogame industry has a few problems with non-gritty heroic protagonists.”

“I feel dirty,” the superhuman muttered.

“I don’t blame you,” Craig answered. “I felt dirty just watching it.”

“Fossils,” Sean spat. “It’s a cool game! And just wait for the sequel!”

“Craig Carson. As the challenger in this contest, you get to set the rules!” the arbiter told Craig. “Shall it be a dimensional death match? Cosmic cage encounter? Cerberus dog collar match?”

Craig winced. He looked over his opponent, sculpted like a Greek god, as were most heroes. But there was something about him that felt greater, bigger, more heroic. People called Craig a hero of heroes. This man was a hero of heroes of heroes. “Okay, "Kill-All".” Thundrax told the man. “Boxing. Carl’s gym in my dimension.”

“Yay!” Incubus shouted. He had home field advantage. Now he could twist the fight to his heart’s content.

“No powers. A fair fight.” Craig added.

“WHAT!” Incubus snapped. “Fair fight? But then I can’t cheat! Take it back, you moron!”

“You’re on,” the Big S said, and he paused to reconsider. "Wait a minute, shouldn't I hate fighting for fighting's sake?"

"Get with the program and advance the plot." Incubus said. ""Don't let characterization get in the way of the story."

"Oh."

"Even if the big jerk's keeping me from cheating," Incubus mumbled.

“Ha! Ha!” M said, suddenly materializing out of thin air. “What a loser! You can’t even rig a simple fight!”

“Very well!” the Arbiter sighed. “You know, you could have fought naked in an ancient Roman Colosseum. Really gotten some ratings out of this beefcake.”

“Ma, wouldn’t have approved,” the Big S said. “Kansas values.”

“Everyone is hunky in superheroes. It loses its impact after awhile.” Craig said. “Though nearly everyone in my universe seems kinda monstery. " He turned to his opponent. "Try not to hurt me too badly.”

"No promises," the Big S grinned.

“Indeed. Except that the fate of the universe is at stake!” the Arbiter proclaimed with a melodramatic wail.

“Actually, they’re fighting over the color wenge,” Incubus said.

“What’s wenge?” The Big S asked.

"It's this shade of brown. Looks great on old barns." "M" explained.

The Arbiter composed himself to correct his melodrama. “They’re fighting over the nature of reality itself!” he announced.

”Or at least the part of it that’s wenge-colored.” Craig quipped.

“May as well do this. I gotta get him to Lois and Jon.”

“Jon?”

“My kid,” the Big S said proudly.

“Continuity,” Sean explained. “You see the old version of him died, and another version of him who has a family took his place, and then there’s this Chinese version..."

“Comic book continuity,” Craig sighed. “I’m afraid, big guy, you’re a victim of bad writing.”

"Actually, it's really turned the book around," Sean said. The Arbiter summoned a comic book, ate it to digest its contents, and nodded in agreement.

"Seriously?" Craig asked. "But continuity?"

“Don't blame the writers for continuity, Blame the editors,” the Arbiter said.

"And I like having a family,"the Big S said, in a less than friendly manner.

"Fine." Craig said, secretly missing that family from his own alternate reality story.

The two men changed into trunks --they were indeed a pair of "hunks in trunks" -- and they went twelve rounds against each other. The gym was as empty as an abandoned social instance in an MMO, so no one watched what might have been described as a clash of the titans. Both men were impressively built, Craig's 6'7" frame looked down veey slightly over Kill-All's 6'3" sculpted form. A bell sounded, and the two men advanced on each other. Each man had on his best battle face. Craig, who had a reach advantage, started scoring with jabs.

"He cheats!" M complained. "Everyone is too tall in that MMO!"

"I know," Craig said. The Big S connected with a straight left and a roundhouse right, but before Clark could finish him, Craig caught him in a clinch and took a moment to catch his breath.

"It's not going to be THAT easy." Both men could have said those words.

The two fighters were exceptionally well trained and matched; Craig had learned boxing extensive training with his brother, while "S" had once been given lessons from Muhammed Ali. And though they fought as humans, their pain tolerance bordered on the superhuman, matched only by their fighting spirit. The gym echoed with the sound of their punches and grunts, and Incubus and M's jaws dropped more than once at their flurries. After twelve rounds of magnificent sweat and brutality, of two titans beating each other into a bloody pulp worthy of a bad 80s martial arts film, the two men collapsed onto their stools, exhausted. They were more evenly matched than anyone dreamed, and neither combatant gave an inch or were knocked from their feet. As an example of the sweet science, it was positively diabetic. In the end, to Incubus and M’s disappointment, the Arbiter rated the match a draw. The two men shared a hug that lingered long enough to border on the homoerotic (like an author throwing a bone to the gays in his audience), then chatted in the middle of the ring, exhausted.

"Man, the legend doesn't do you justice, Mr. S." Craig said.

"You're pretty good too. And call me Clark."

"Craig." he answered, and they shook hands.

"Hey!" Incubus protested. "Don't you have any words for us?"

"As a matter of fact, I do." Craig said. "Please don’t do this again,” the Canadian told the two cosmic imps .

"Amen," Clark added. "Or I’ll make you say your name backwards the hard way,” the Big S snapped at his universe’s imp. "M" gulped.

"By the way, nice to meet you Craig." The Big S said. "Though there's something familiar about you...."

"That's because he's a blatant rip-off, McGirk." M insisted. "If he weren't so obscure, he'd be on a Comics Alliance list of pale imitations." Clark stopped and shot a bewildered look at the pan-dimensional being. For his part, Craig ignored him.

"I've had previous encounters with alternate versions of you." Thundrax explained. "Anyhow, hope you and the family get some quality time between crises."

"Thanks. You too. My universe next time." the Big S said.

"Deal," Craig replied.

"Hold up!" Sean shouted. "I need you to autograph my comics!" But the Big S had already vanished. the young man sighed and muttered curses under his breath. Incubus sent him home with a thought and turned to Craig.

"Thunder, think this through!" the imp pleaded. "You only won because he was guest starring in your title," Incubus complained. "He'll murder you if he has the homefield advantage. The law of guest stars won't be on your side!."

"If it happens, it happens." Craig shrugged. "Anyhow, until next time, Incubus. Stay out of trouble."

"B-but...."

"Stay out of trouble!"

"B-but...."

"Go. Now." Craig had on the face of No Refusals. Incubus stared into it for seconds, but it was not softening. Finally, the cosmic imp sighed and vanishhed, in a puff of smoke that congealed to form the words "You suck."

Thundrax laughed, shook his head, and began dressing his cuts. Once that was finished, battered and beaten and happy to have fought a figure of awe, even though he was fictional, Craig Carson retired to his apartment. He headed directly for his whirlpool and enjoyed a long soak. He needed one.

-------------------------

Meanwhile, at the Cryptic building, Kaiserin read over the overblown farce that Thundrax's player had written and a thought occurred to her. Thundrax and the Big S. Why not a crossover? She turned to her producer.

“Can we do a CO/DCUO crossover?” she asked.

“No.” the producer said. And that was the end of that discussion.