Far, far below the surface of this world there exists a realm of torment and fear. A realm so vile, so full of suffering and evil that those who reside within can have no name for it. In this realm there can be no names, for they only serve to remind that flotsam and jetsam of existence that there is a better world, and were they to remember that they would surely go mad! But there was one being who lived in this world who had a name. He was known by many names in fact; Satan, Beelzebub, Lucifer Morningstar, Martha Stewart... but to one man he is known merely as "Boss".
Not so far below the surface of the world (in the basement of a house in a suburb in Nova Scotia to be exact) a phone rang. This was quite surprising to the one person who called this hideous (and uncleanly) hole home. Mainly because he did not, technically have a phone down there. Looking over from his latest scathing review designed to turn a hapless Impro newbie into a pile of suicidal mush he spied the phone. Picking it up he gave his typical response to a phone call.
"Go away."
And he promptly hung up.
He went back to figuring out the best way to phrase, "I believe this use of the word 'and' when you really meant 'or' indicates a profound genetic defect which will require the elimination of your entire family line to correct the gene pool of humanity." He did this for about three seconds. At that point a yawning portal of bleeding reality opened and sucked him down to the infernal depths of the stygian abyss. He looked around him in further surprise and dismay. For though he had held onto his manuscript, in the depths of the stygian abyss it had burned to a cinder.
EPSILON!
"Ah, Lucifer, my lord and master..." he said in his most innocent voice. "What may I ask do you want?"
YOU HUNG UP ON ME, YOU PATHETIC MORTAL FOOL! IF YOU WERE NOT UP FOR ANTI-CHRIST I WOULD TEAR YOUR SOUL FROM YOUR MAGGOTY CORPSE AND FEED IT TO MY PET DEMONS FOR A PERIOD OF NO LESS THAN 100 YEARS, BARRING PAROLE AND PROBABLE APPEAL!
"Indeed? I simply must remember to acquire caller ID," Epsilon managed to say without breaking into a panic. "I take it then you want to discuss the matter you tried to phone me about in person!"
QUIET, YOU PATHETIC EXCUSE FOR AN ULTIMATE EVIL!
"Indeed."
I HAVE LOCATED A WAY FOR YOU TO REDEEM YOURSELF IN MY EYES AND GAIN MY FAVOR!
"But I am doing much more evil than any of the other Anti-Christs!" Epsilon protested.
SHYAA, AS IF! THEY HAVE COMMITTED ATROCITIES AND HORRORS, THEY HAVE STARTED WARS AND HOSTED MIND-NUMBING TELEVISION QUIZ SHOWS! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE? TORMENTED A COUPLE OF DOZEN HOBBY WRITERS ON THE INTERNET!?!
"It a very personal -direct- sort of evil. I mean, any moron can pick up a gun and shoot fifty school children or give budget approval for Battlefield Earth, but my method takes style!"
SHUT UP! NOW LISTEN TO ME. IT HAS COME TO MY ATTENTION THAT SOME MINOR DIABOLIC "ABERRATIONS" IN A PLACE CALLED THE "FOCAL POINT" ARE RUNNING A TOURNAMENT OF WARRIORS. I WANT YOU TO PARTICIPATE.
"Not that I'm not honored, but as you can see I don't exactly have the physique or fighting skill for this kind of assignment. Perhaps that nice chap who shot up the school would be better suited..."
NO! THEY WILL ALLOW ONLY "AVATARS" INTO THIS TOURNAMENT, AND YOU SEEM TO BE THE ONLY ONE OF MY ANTI-CHRIST'S IN TRAINING WHO QUALIFIES.
"Avatars... you mean, SELF-INSERT AVATARS!?" A spark of not-really joy but better than utter indifference entered Epsilon's eye.
NO NEED TO SHOUT.
"Bwaha! Don't you see? This is a -self-insert- tournament. It's for writers in a fictional universe! It'll be GRIT all over again!"
NOT THAT AGAIN...
"And that must mean... I'm a self-insert right now!" He chuckled in an unpleasant manner. "And since I know this... and I am a writer I can call upon my ultimate power!"
WHICH IS?
"Narrative Imparity! Bwaha, bwahaha BWAhahaha BWAHAHAHA BWAHAHAHAHAHHAAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHHAHA!!!"
OH-KAY...
"Witness as I go now to face this tournament!" Epsilon stood up and waved his hand. "Plot Advancement... Convenient Coincidence!"
HUH?
Epsilon strode over and locked behind a rock. There, not very much to his surprise, he discovered a metal circle imbedded in the floor. "Ah, a Telering. This should take me straight there."
VERY WELL MY SERVANT! FIGHT WITH ALL YOUR MIGHT AND I MAY MAKE YOU ANTI-CHRIST YET!
"Oh, I will Satan! I will!"
Yun [insert current romanization here] was sitting as a table in the Focal Point, talking to his teammate, Keori. The two were no doubt having an interesting and scintillating discourse of some nature that, quite frankly, the narrator had no -clue- about because he hasn't read the R.O.K. and Sake Connection's intro yet. They were just about to leave when suddenly from out of nowhere stepped... Epsilon!
"So we meet at last, Cheolsu!" Epsilon said in his most dramatic manner. He stood in his dark trenchcoat, with the black weapons Fact and Opinion on his belt.
"Who are you? And my name is [insert current romanization here], dammit!"
"Oops," Epsilon rubbed his head. "Sorry... Plot Point Insertion...Designated Rival!"
"Epsilon!" Yun spat and fell into a fighting stance. "I should have known you would show up here! After your crimes on the Impro Message Board, you can not be forgiven!"
"Uh, Yun," Keori poked him. "Are you feeling okay, I thought you didn't know him?"
"How can I not know him! He is Epsilon, my bitter rival!"
"Indeed," Epsilon replied. "And you are Yun [insert current romanization here], my less bitter but with a nasty aftertaste heroic nemesis!"
"Yun, a heroic nemesis?" Keori found this amusing for reasons which shall remain a mystery in this introduction.
"I shall defeat you right here!" Yun cried.
At this point a Timely Intervention occurred (which pleased Epsilon as he didn't have to make one happen himself) and a staff member showed up. "No fighting outside the ring. Those are the rules."
"Fine, then! I will meet you in the ring, [insert current romanization here]!"
"Uh, sir?"
"Indeed?"
"This is a team tournament. Where's your partner?"
"I need a partner... oh, great. I don't have any friends..." Yun found this amusing, Epsilon did not. "I have a solution, however!" Epsilon raised his hand to the heavens. "Very well, Narrative Imparity...Plot Intervention!"
And with that he was gone.
Ryu leapt through the air...directly into a Shoryuken from Ken. Seconds later, the Shotokan master fell to the ground, defeated.
"Continue?" asked the game.
"Dammit! I hate Ken!" stated Gaijin Dan Mastriani, pressing start to indicate that, yes, he did intend to continue. "Maybe I should use Dan this time?"
That train of thought might have continued had not Epsilon fallen out of the sky onto the Dreamcast and thus caused the game to reboot at that very moment. "Dan?"
"Hey! Aaron! What brings you here, to my room, that I didn't think you knew the location of? Not to mention that you live in Canada, making you simply dropping in very unlikely. And, now that I think of it, I probably shouldn't know what you look like, either. Eh. Yare, yare. Want to play Street Fighter?"
"NO!" Epsilon wailed to the heavens. "Not him, anyone but... comic relief!"
"Come again?" Dan blinked.
"Narrative Imparity... Dramatic Plot Twist!" Nothing happened.
"Humorous Intervention... Temporary Gag!" Nothing happened.
"I have only one trick left..." Epsilon stood up on the Dreamcast (causing it to make several crunching sounds) and shouted, "Ultimate Narrative Technique... Complete Rewrite!" And lo, again nothing did happen.
"My Dreamcast..." Dan was beginning to get annoyed now.
Epsilon sighed. "Apparently the story is best served by you becoming my partner."
"Who in the what now?"
"I have come to join forces with you in a tournament... and in it you shall join me in smiting our enemies!"
"A tournament? Really? Wow. And you came to me because you wanted me to be your partner?"
"No, I have no idea why I'm talking to you of all people rather than someone halfway competent like, say, anybody else. Us teaming up will no doubt be incredibly embarrassing for me," Epsilon didn't say out loud. "Yes," he did.
"Yosh! Just let me get my coat and sword, and we can go!" Dan dashed off to procure the aforementioned items.
"Of course." Epsilon began massaging his temples ahead of time.
"There you go, gentlemen. Your team is now registered," the official faked a convincing smile. "So, what do you intend to do with the prize, should you win?"
"Hm?" Dan scratched his head. "There's a prize?"
"I, too," added Epsilon, "had not been informed of this."
"Why, of course, sirs. If you win, you each get a wish! Any desire of yours can be granted!"
"Anything? Damn! You hear that, Aaron? This just might rock!"
"Indeed," replied Epsilon, stroking his chin. This could, indeed, rock.