Once in a generation, a hero is born, a man who rises above discrimination, hardship, and his own inner demons to become something amazing. We know not the name of this lifetime’s legend, but we know his inspiring tale.

Unfortunately, A&E bought the rights to that guy’s story, so we’re going to talk about this idiot from Los Angeles.

Oh, you should have heard those jackasses during negotiations. “More people watch our station,” they said. “He’d have wanted his story to have as much exposure as possible.” Well, they can take their “exposure” and shove it right up their pasty, white…

Sorry, went off on a little tangent there. Where was I?

Oh, right. Anyway…

While certainly not the strangest experience in Nathan’s life (that “honor” belonged to a frat party involving baking soda, vinegar, and live iguanas. For the sake of the reader’s mental health, we will not go into any further detail), stepping through a portal and entering into mortal combat with a kinkily-clad killer was certainly disconcerting. Strangely, the fact that he emerged in a lovely, ornate room instead of a pit full of slavering hellbeasts itching to rip out his vital, non-vital, and possibly-important-but-science-has-yet-to-find-a-real-use-for-them organs made it even creepier.

He took a moment to get his bearings and make certain nothing of value had been lost when entering this realm, taking in the details of the chamber in the process. His gaze rested on the statue. More specifically, the rather familiar book at its feet.

He walked slowly towards the book, hard-soled boots clack-ing as he strode. Upon reaching the prostrate Grimoire, he knelt and read the odd handwriting.

He frowned as he finished reading. Experience had taught him that signing something in blood rarely led to a good conclusion. What truly worried him, however, was the fact that it mentioned two mortals. Two people and a contract signed in blood…

“Yeah, I’m guessing it’s not going to be a friendly debate.”

With nothing to do but wait for his opposition, the magician circled the room, stopping at the portrait. His eyes locked onto the lovely face of the girl. He smiled as he imagined what it would be like to meet her in person.

Something creaked behind him. A new door was coming into existence. Nathan turned around as he heard footsteps. His face (as well as a certain other portion of his anatomy) dropped.

There were few intimidating qualities about the encroaching man himself. He had only an inch on Nathan and was, if anything, even lighter than his opponent. There was nothing special about his clothing, and his hair and earring made Nathan wonder briefly whether the man was…let’s just call it “curious”. Add that to his apparent youth, and you get something that, for all intents and purposes, has the intimidation factor of an infuriated hamster.

But that scythe…there was just something about it. Something wrong. Something that made Nathan slowly remove his hat and extract his gun. Well, something slightly different from the sheer, abject terror that normally inspired the movement. The weapon had a sort of menacing aura about it, the sort one would see around a tensed lion or a bowl of particularly spicy salsa.

Edward was gaping slightly. This strangely-dressed man before him was the first living being whose primary goal was not the ravaging and subsequent devouring of his face in such a long time that the experience was akin to a dream. The fact that the man seemed frightened and was reaching for what was more likely to be a deadly weapon than a welcoming gift did nothing to reduce the elation which had pierced his sanity-defending ennui.

For a brief instant, Edward’s long-dormant emotions pushed him to run up and embrace this welcome sight (proving Nathan’s hypothesis in the process), but he remembered his goal before putting a foot forward. He glanced at the odd statue, then turned his gaze back to his opponent as Nathan, Glock raised, began to address him.

“Alright, girly-boy, only one of us gets to leave this room…no, wait, both of us get to leave, but only one of us gets to…screw it. Point is, one person gets to advance. I assume you’re here for the wish?”

Though the most advanced firearm Ed had seen up to that point was a flintlock, the shape of Nathan’s weapon made its purpose and capabilities obvious. The Lych fingered the handle of his scythe as he responded.

“That I am. I have been searching for the Grimoire, for the chance to undo my mistake, for what feels like an eternity. I will not be stopped now. Get out of my way.”

“Yeeeeaaaaaahhh, no.”

Ed scratched his chin as he attempted to recall his lost conversational skills.

“Please get out of my way?”

“Previous answer still applies. Read the book, there. Tells you what you should be doing.” Nathan indicated the Grimoire with a nod of his head. Ed slowly walked over, his eyes and the barrel of Nathan’s gun always locked together.

Ed knelt down to read, but only got as far as “removed” before hearing a click, a curse, and a string of angry grumbling, of which only the words “fucking safety” were intelligible. The Glock roared as Ed rolled to one side. The Lych slammed his hand onto the ground, causing a wall of sheer darkness to rise around him, catching the remaining six bullets of Nathan’s volley.

Nathan frowned as he ejected his clip, but before he could reload he hastily ducked an inky tendril intent on giving his brain a new air hole. Nathan shoved the gun into the holster on his side as he sidestepped two more intruding tentacles. Ed stood and gripped his scythe as Nathan’s hands disappeared into his sleeves.

“Attacking while my back was turned. Dirty move,” said Ed in a hoarse monotone.

“Oh, go stick that scythe up your bum.”

Nathan’s hands reappeared, a card deck in one and a single card in the other.

“Know what this is?” Nathan asked, grinning.

“It’s just a playing card, isn’t it?”

“Not in my hands, it ain’t,” replied the magician as he flicked his wrist. The thin missile streaked towards Ed, who ducked. The card struck the far wall and exploded. Ed’s eyes widened as he stared at the smoking hole. Some sixth sense told him to dodge as three more zipped past his head, exploding in turn. The Lych rose and charged the magician in a weaving, unpredictable pattern, scythe carving a deadly pattern in the air.

Nathan’s grin widened. Girly-boy had either not seen or not understood the thin layer of explosive gel on the first card. He launched another volley of three newly-combustible cards at his approaching foe. The words “Marvel” and “copyright” intruded into his thoughts, then went off to sulk in the corner of his mind once they realized they were being ignored. All three shot right past Ed. Nathan backpedaled, only to realize that he was uncomfortably close to a wall. He tried to get one more volley off, but the card in his hand was rent in twain by Ed, now at arm’s-length. A lucky stumble saved Nathan from losing an eye from the follow-up swing. He turned ninety degrees and backpedaled furiously towards the side wall, coming within several inches of losing an extremity numerous times as the scythe careened through the air. Throughout the chase, he muttered one phrase, over and over again:

“FuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmeFUCKME.”

He crashed into the wall back-first with Ed’s scythe at his throat. Nathan tried desperately to keep his Adam’s apple as immobile as possible as he spoke.

“Unless you’re actually a girl, that offer’s not valid.”

“Give up,” said Ed, either ignoring or not understanding Nathan’s words.

“What part of ‘no’ do you not understand?”

“Look, I don’t want to hurt you-“

“THEN TAKE YOUR DAMN SCYTHE OFF MY NECK!”

“-but I need this wish. Everybody…everybody in my world is dead. I need to bring them back, so please just give up.”

Nathan almost agreed before he remembered the superintendent. The 6’9”, 290, former wrestler, may-or-may-not-have-strangled-the-last-superintendent superintendent.

“Yeah, well, I’m going to lose my apartment if I don’t win. It may be small and cramped and it may smell of week-old sushi, but I’ve got a lot of good memories in the place!”

Ed’s jaw dropped at this astounding display of selfishness (possibly astounding enough to win top honors at the National Selfishness Competition. Unfortunately, the last winner refuses to relinquish the trophy).

“I’m trying to bring people back to life, and you’re trying to save your APARTMENT? What is wrong with you?!”

“A great many things! Still, the place is important to me!”

“My world was ravaged!”

“My rent got jacked up!”

“Selfish pig!”

“Pussy!”

Fire burst forth from within Nathan’s sleeves, causing Ed to stumble back and extinguish his now-smoldering clothes. Nathan surreptitiously put the small butane-powered flamethrowers back in their respective pockets within the sleeves, metaphorically patting himself on the back for thinking to lace his sleeves with asbestos. Ed, having no knowledge of the trick, was subjected to a second torrent of flame from Nathan’s now-exposed hands. Shielding his eyes, he swung the scythe blindly, unleashing a burst of Solar Cascade.

The blast slammed Nathan back into the wall with enough force to crack the marble. He launched one more stream of flame, then began running towards the statue as Ed removed portions of his flaming attire to stamp them out.

Suddenly, Nathan got an idea. It wasn’t a very good one, however, so he thought of another one.

Down to just his jeans, Ed stomped on his burning shirt and coat, cursing in several strange tongues, never meant to be spoken by man, which he had learned in his years of study. Suddenly, he heard a whistle.

“So, you a boy or just flat as a board?! Come’n get me, pussy!” shouted the magician, who was standing at the statue’s feet.

As wise as he was, Ed was still physically and mentally a teenager, and thus easily riled up by assholes who were in his way. Gritting his teeth, he clenched his scythe tightly enough for his knuckles to turn white and rushed.

Nathan watched him come, pulling out his gun once more and grabbing a fresh clip. Something about the clip bugged him, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

With a grunt, Ed gave a brutal horizontal swing. Instead of his scythe and Nathan’s face becoming much better-acquainted however, he heard a dull sound, somewhere between glass breaking and a brick wall being punched. In his haste, he had failed to register a very important detail:

Nathan was right in front of the statue, which now had a fresh hole. The scythe was completely stuck, its strangely forged metal unable to break free of the divinely-wrought marble. The magician laughed and planted his gun on Ed’s forehead.

“Your turn to give u…”

Nathan’s eyes widened as he realized what had been bugging him. They widened a little more as Ed’s free hand wrapped around the Glock’s barrel. They didn’t widen when the Glock connected with Nathan’s jaw, however, as they were clenched shut in pain and were thus unable to widen.

Nathan brought up his free hand and clutched his mouth, spitting out blood and a broken tooth. A new idea hit him as he did. He slipped something into his mouth just before the Glock was stuck in it by Ed. Nathan desperately tried not to enjoy the feeling of the barrel in his mouth.

“Give. Up. Now.”

Nathan’s hands slowly rose up, then stopped abruptly, a certain digit extended on each hand.

There was an awkward silence.

“Does that mean you surrender?”

“Whuh uh fuh, ah gehuhh ih cohiheh eheehee uhehih (Where I’m from, that gesture is considered extremely offensive),” was the reply, muffled by the gun.

“Oh.”

Another awkward silence.

“Just give up! I don’t want to-“

Before he could finish, Nathan’s hand came up and launched a jet of flame. Reflexively, Edward squeezed the trigger.

Ed barely heard the report. He didn’t watch Nathan limply hit the floor. He let go of the gun, eyes tightly shut so as to not see the frozen face of the first sentient being he had seen in eons. He clutched his head, trying to figure out what to do. Maybe he could use Nathan’s blood to sign the-

“Well done, lad.”

He spun around. There was Nathan, on his feet and laughing.

Nathan spat something out. Ed’s eyes widened as he recognized a bullet.

“H-how did you…but you were running...bleeding..."

“A test, lad! I wanted to see what you had in you!”

Ed freed the scythe with a burst of Solar Cascade, breaking part of the statue as he swung it at Nathan’s midsection. The blade stopped dead as it hit Nathan’s not-exactly-six-pack abs, his subconscious belief overriding his repeated mental claims that it was a trick (the fact that he had no knowledge of the concept of a blank round was another point in his belief's favor).

“Won’t work, lad.”

Ed stepped back, jaw wide opened. Nathan kept up his cocky exterior, praying that the slowly-spreading urine stain upon his pants would not compromise Ed’s belief in his invincibility.



Let us step away from the fight for a moment and discuss a facet of Mr. Tosche’s unusual ability. Even against one less gullible than Edward, his ability has a sort of momentum; once an opponent is convinced of one impossibility, they become more likely to accept a subsequent impossibility. This is not an actual part of “Seeing is Believing”; rather, it is a part of the human thought process that makes the ability so deadly.

And now back to your regularly scheduled deathmatch, already in progress.



“You can’t win.”

Ed couldn’t deny it. The scythe, forged from light and darkness, failing to cut someone? Preposterous.

And yet here was Nathan, unscathed from a massive blow. The Lych sank to his knees.

“Do not worry, boy. You have impressed me,” said Nathan, still pretending to be some sort of invincible cliché. “In honor of your skill, I will use the wish to save your world.”

Ed looked up, eyes full of hope.

“Just sign the contract in your blood, then stick it in the statue’s head.”

Being unable to win the fight, Ed did so. As he placed the contract in the statue’s forehead, a gate opened, as did the door he had come through. Nathan strode towards the gate. As he entered, he turned and called back.

“One more thing, lad!”

Ed met his eyes.

“I lied.”

With his middle finger held high, Nathan walked through the gate.



Supernatural Observation Center
Somewhere in Alaska
One Day After WARDEN’s Fight With Mammon

Commander Jacobs was re-watching WARDEN’s clash for perhaps the dozenth time when his aide knocked on the door. Jacobs let him in, and the two sat down at the Commander’s desk.

“What’s the word?”

“Take a look at this.”

The aide passed Jacobs a sheet of paper. Jacobs read it, eyes widening as he realized what it meant.

“Oh, shit, they found the book.”



Unknown Location
Nowhere Near Alaska
One Day After WARDEN’s Fight With Mammon

They had agreed to keep the lightbulb flickering instead of perpetually off in an attempt to maintain both a menacing atmosphere and the ability to see. The men crowded around the table, munching pizza and discussing the results of the fight they had just witnessed. The pizza guy’s freshly-shot corpse was being dragged off.

One of the men suddenly shuddered.

“Somethin’ wrong, boss?” asked one of the others.

“I’ve got the strangest feeling, like we’re being upstaged by a more well-developed background plot…”