Seth

Seth had everything it took to become the next legendary comic book creator… except one tiny detail. He couldn’t write a decent plot to save his life. His artwork was breathtaking. Dynamic poses, cinematic action, incredible attention to detail—publishers would stop and stare at every page. Then they’d read the dialogue. That was usually where the crying started. His superhero roster wasn’t helping. There was Supernana, a crime-fighting grandmother armed with orthopedic shoes and hard candy. Catman, who was legally distinct from every other cat-themed hero… according to Seth. Orchid Mantis Woman, because apparently “regular mantis” wasn’t specific enough. Parrot Girl, who solved crimes by loudly repeating what villains had just confessed. Purple Lantern, who absolutely wasn’t copying anyone. And then there was Cardboard Man, whose greatest power was being surprisingly recyclable. His villains somehow managed to be even worse. The sinister Mild Trickster Man specialized in annoyances that were only slightly inconvenient. Alexis Luther spent more time threatening lawsuits than world domination. Tianos insisted he was inevitable despite repeatedly tripping over his own dramatic cape. Every new villain Seth invented somehow sounded like a typo that had gained sentience. The worst part? His own characters knew. Every time Seth opened his sketchbook, they stared back at him with exhausted expressions, silently begging for a rewrite. Heroes questioned their life choices. Villains demanded better names. Even Cardboard Man once asked if he could be replaced by “Literally Anyone Else.” Seth ignored every complaint with the confidence of a misunderstood genius. One day, he promised, the world would appreciate his comics. His characters weren’t nearly as optimistic.