Benjamin J. Grimm groaned as he struggled to rise. His every muscle seemed to be aching as he strained, pushing slowly, agonizingly to his hands and knees. His head was pounding, his ears ringing. Hell even his eyelids were throbbing with pain. He felt as though he had just gone ten rounds with the Hulk, and then quickly remembered that he had done just that. But even after their wildest slugfests in the past he could not remember ever having felt so miserable.

As the Thing, he was not immune to pain, nor nowhere near invulnerable, but he could generally get as good as he gave. And lately he had ‘given’ a lot. It had seemed non-stop actually, since the little excursion the Fantastic Four had taken to the Moon. Granted, beating on the Inhumans was generally light work to Grimm, but that whole thing had gone sour when he had had to kill Maximus, Black Bolt’s crazy brother.

Granted, Maximus had been threatening Crystal’s little girl, Luna, actually hiding behind the kid, and Grimm could have probably stopped him without lethal force, but… But it was like something had finally snapped within. Like a line that had been drawn in the sand years ago had finally been crossed.

They had dealt with the Inhumans for years, and he knew exactly what would have happened otherwise. Black Bolt would have slapped Maximus on the wrist and locked the nut job up for a few months, only to have him bust out of prison and try his Pinky and the Brain routine again. And Grimm had had enough of that. He was sick of it. So, the Thing took the logical appropriate step to save not only Luna, but also the world –

He snapped the maniac’s neck. End of story.

But it wasn’t, really. No sooner had they gotten back to Earth than the Frightful Four decided to pay a visit, complete with a few guest appearances and a spiffy new name: the Frightful Force. Grimm had to chuckle at that. It didn’t matter who or how many the Wingless Wizard added to his crew, they were no match for the real deal. And with Crystal of the Inhumans on hand again (traveling to Earth to find her daughter and ‘run’ away husband, Quicksilver), even the extra help of Puppet Master, the Controller, Medusa and Hydro-Man couldn’t turn the tide for the evil FF. One good thing did come out of it though. Geiger had opened Grimm’s eyes.

Oh, sure, the Wizard thought that they had him mind-controlled, but all that Sandhurst, Masters and Geiger had done was let him see the light at last. He saw the hell that his life had become as the freak and joke of the Fantastic Four. He saw all the shit that he had taken over the years, and worse, he saw the agony and danger that Alicia was always, would always be exposed to. And he saw the reason. All the hell pointed back to Reed Richards, and like Maximus, he knew what he had to do to make sure the insanity stopped.

That quick solution of course didn’t sit well with Johnny and Sue however. They tried to stop him, capture him even, like he was some criminal- a murderer. Punks. Luckily Triton had come and taken Crystal and Medusa back to the Moon on some royal command or they might have actually succeeded. Too, Susan Richards was distracted by the disappearance of her son, Franklin. Ben hoped the kid was okay, but that was all the distraction he needed to get his second wind.

Unfortunately Nick Fury had to stick his SHIELD nose into the mix, and he, along with the Guardsmen, some New Warriors (Rage, Speedball, Gravity, and Spider-Woman), and a couple of New Mutants- pardon- X-Men like Karma and her pet dragon, Grimm’s retribution got put on hold. They all tore up a good chunk of Manhattan for a time, but it really got interesting when the Incredible Hulk showed up to join in the fun.

They had gone toe to toe for awhile, just like the good old days, and damn near leveled Midtown before Richards butted in and hit the both of them with some nutty gun he had whipped up. Whatever it was supposed to do, it didn’t. It just made Grimm a little dizzy and made Banner glow like a neon sign on the Forty-Deuce.

The Hulk did one of his patented leaps to get away as he was brimming with Gamma Radiation, apparently, and that allowed the Thing to get lost in the sewers for awhile to recover. And rest. And plan.

Of course, no sooner was Grimm back up to snuff and ready for another go at giving Richards his due, than the FF went high-tailing into the sky in their Pogo Plane. Not to worry though. Benjamin J. Grimm was a pilot long before Richards had managed to turn him into a freak, and there wasn’t a vehicle in the Baxter Building that he could not jockey. But that’s when he ran into the Nanny.

Debbie Bernard had given him a good chase, and he had to give her credit. She was SHIELD through and through and well trained, even though she was baby-sitting the Richards’ daughter Valeria all through their little game of tag. In the end, Grimm had to give it to her. She had tricked his ass but good, pissing him off and herding him onto Doc Doom’s Time Machine.

Well, technically it was Reed Richards’ version now. The original had been destroyed years ago when the first Baxter Building had blown up. And naturally, like all of Richards’ experiments and devices- all but one- it had worked like a charm…

Benjamin J. Grimm shook his head and retched. His pounding head was turning into a jackhammer slam dance, and as soon as he moved to stand on shaking legs he felt the world start to sway and spin again. He felt his stomach churn, not an unusual sensation when riding Doom’s Time Platform. It had happened before, and coupled with the heat that he felt beaming down on him, and the collective beating he had endured, well…

Benjamin J. Grimm, the ever lovin’ blue-eyed Thing staggered once and collapsed back into the sand. The shifting sand, which gave way beneath his massive, rocky form and sent him rolling and tumbling down the nearest dune. However, it was not the hero, or misshapen freak depending on point of view that finally came to a rough stop at the base of the sandy hill. It was not the man who had murdered the insane Prince of the Inhumans of far off Attilan. It was not the fighter who had fought so bravely, or perhaps stubbornly against the rampaging Hulk.

It was instead the man, the human of pale flesh and blood: Benjamin J. Grimm, now unconscious in the burning desert sun…

THE SANDS OF TIME!

By Curtis Fernlund

And it was some time before Grimm was finally awake, and longer still until he was able to get to his feet again and trudging slowly across the rolling dunes. Amazingly he felt better. The headache had subsided to a low pulse and the ringing in his ears was all but gone. His aches and pains too had faded, mainly, though he could see dark, purplish splotches marking the various wounds and bruises that he had suffered over the last few fights. Unfortunately he found upon waking that he had other problems.

He had awakened in his human form, the body of Ben Grimm the man, and not the monster. He had no idea just how long he had been out, but the blazing sun had taken its toll on his humanity and pale pink skin, already turning it a dazzling red across his backside. And he was feeling the burn. How many years since he had been sunburned? He could not even remember. Since he was a kid running on Yancy Street probably in one of those hot and humid New York summers. How he longed for that once thought hellish heat.

He paused, shielding his eyes against the constant glare of the sun as he scanned the horizon, turning a full circle. He tried not to lick his already chapped and cracked lips, knowing that that would just make them worse, and he needed to conserve what body fluid he could. He could still see the smudge in the distance, a darkness that was obviously different than sand. It could be an oasis, or even a town or city, but after walking seemingly forever in the oppressive heat, he still seemed no closer to reaching it, whatever it was.

He was tired, hot and thirsty. He wondered just how long it took for heat stroke to set in. Richards could tell him, but he was not there naturally.

Richards…

This was all Reed Richards’ fault. If not for him and his crazy, ill-fated shuttle flight to nowhere. If not for him, Ben Grimm would not be a monster. If not for Reed Richards, if he had not rebuilt that damnable Time Machine, Grimm would not be walking to his death in the middle of some god-forsaken desert. What desert he did not even know. Not a clue.

He did not even know when he was. If Bernard had simply spun the dial he could just as easily be in some post apocalyptic world as in the dim past. Without some sort of landmark, something to make heads of there was just no way to know. The sun looked as right as it should, at least in his opinion. It was not any bigger or smaller that he could tell. And the sand was… well, sand. There was just the speck on the horizon that could be civilization, maybe, or at least some shade.

Grimm shrugged, hissing as his shoulders sizzled with the movement, and walked on…

It was afternoon best as he could determine, some time and many dunes later when he heard the low rumble. The sun had not slackened in its relentless beaming, but it had finally started its slow crawl towards the horizon. Grimm figured the going would be a little easier after the sun went down, if he didn’t die of exhaustion first. Or then freeze to death at night.

Why can’t I change back? Just when I need ya, ya big orange freak –

Grimm crested the latest rise, cursing and huffing, trying to relax and catch his breath as he scanned the way ahead. The thunderous sound was louder now, nearer, almost as though moving closer. Finally he saw the reason why.

Horses. Has ta be.

There was a cloud of dust churning and racing across the sands in the not too distant distance, and definitely moving his direction. If he could catch one? Or better, if they had riders?

Still, Benjamin Grimm had been around the block a few times in his day, and experience had taught him to err on the side of caution. Wild horses would be hard, if not impossible to catch, even under the best of conditions, which he was not in. If there were riders, there was no guarantee that they would be friendly. History told of slavers, pirates and ravagers though out the ages in the deserts of the world. He could as easily be captured and sold into slavery as rescued. Just like that time the FF went back to ancient Egypt to…

To…

“Aw, hell!”

Grimm turned and gritted his teeth as he skidded back down the dune. He could feel his burned skin scraping on the gritty dirt but tried to hold his pain in, to not cry out. He suddenly knew just where he probably was, and just who was probably riding down on him.

It had been in the early months, not even a year after the space flight that had changed all their lives. Richards had been studying some hieroglyphics from ancient Egypt and discovered that they had developed a cure for blindness. They had all four taken Doc Doom’s Time Machine back into the past, Ben’s hope that that same cure could make his Alicia see again. It was probably their second trip on the machine as best as he could recall, and Richards hadn’t figured everything that could happen concerning time travel yet.

They had run into the Pharaoh Rama Tut, another nut job would be conqueror who turned out to be an early version of Kang- or maybe a later version. It all got pretty confusing to poor Ben sometimes. At any rate, they kicked Tut’s ass out of Egypt and back to the future, which is just where they went with the cure for Alicia’s blindness.

Which did not work, of course. Anything that concerned Ben Grimm, Thing, would never work. Not even for Alicia. Just another let down, and another reason to hate Reed Richards.

But enough reminiscing. Grimm tried to slow his breathing, his racing heart as he heard the sounds of hoof beats getting closer. He tried to remember all of the events of that particular time as he waited. Tut had captured them all, zapping them with some weird Hypno-ray gun that had sapped their wills and left them virtual slaves to Rama Tut’s whims. Ben remembered that he had been chained on a river barge, his great strength manning the oars of one side by himself. It was only the fact that his body had still been in flux that had saved him, hell saved them all. He had reverted back to flesh and blood and escaped the barge, then went on to free the others one by one. He had been stupid back then.

So this group riding him down was probably a patrol, and probably out looking for him. And luckily he looked like Ben Grimm. How convenient.

Grimm shifted position as he heard the chariots do the same. Coming round his dune now. There was nowhere to hide, and he knew that he could never outrun horses. He would have to make a stand, but it would be on his terms. He scurried across the sand, towards the encroaching noise and clambered up the shifting dune. He got a foothold, waiting. Oddly, he was sweating again.

The chariot – the FIRST chariot came sliding around the edge of the dune. A quick glance and Grimm saw a second riding hard and fast behind. They must have seen him on the dune before, the speed they were going. There were two horses drawing the old Egyptian chariots, and each contraption held a driver and a spear-chucker. Not good odds at all, four on one.

He scrambled up the slope as the first roared past, hearing the shouts of the spearman. He had spotted Grimm, but the first chariot was driving too fast to stop so suddenly, or even attack. Which was fine by Grimm as he struggled to his feet in the drifting sand, charging forward. He saw the horses drawing the second chariot and leapt.

Ben Grimm slammed hard into the surprised form of the spearman on the second chariot. The warrior had a grip on the handrail; his other clutched about the haft of his short spear. Ben saw the soldier’s arm going up, but he was too late. Ben tackled hard, carrying the man from the back of the chariot and onto the sand, letting him take the brunt of the fall. Grimm felt a gush of rancid air wash over him and saw the soldier heaving, gasping for breath. Ben reared back a fist and smashed it into the man’s nose to the satisfying sound of snapping, crunching bone.

Ben Grimm gave the man a quick scrutiny, noting the closed eyes and blood streaming then grabbed for his discarded spear. He was up and running, chasing after the second chariot, following in a thick cloud of gravel and dust. He could see the shadowy image of the first trying to force a turn in the tight area between the dunes. The rear vehicle was forced to slow or crash into the first, giving Grimm a chance to catch up.

He leapt onto the rear of the chariot, and without hesitation, swung the haft of his spear. He heard a crack even as the driver was starting to turn. The blunt end of the weapon smashed across the driver’s jaw, snapping his head sideways with a spew of blood and teeth from his mouth. Grimm wasted no movement as he whipped the spear about again and drove the butt into the man’s stomach, then spinning, slammed the shaft down as the driver doubled over in pain. The driver tumbled from the back of the chariot, hitting hard and bouncing finally to a stop.

Grimm grabbed the reins and shouted, spurring the horses forward again. He saw the front chariot pulling about, the spearman there adjusting his stance to take a shot. Ben hunkered, snapping the reins, driving forward and readying his own spear, hoping that the pair of horses knew better what to do than he did.

Over the beat and clatter of hooves and the grinding of wheels he heard the other chariot charging forward. He heard the driver’s shouts, urging his team on and picking up speed. Ben Grimm peered through the railing and saw the spearman angling his way, ready to throw. He ducked, looping the leather leads in his left fist and hugging the inner wall of the chariot closest to his oncoming foes. He eased back, watching and saw the horses come into view.

Pain lanced through his calf, a searing pain that made him cry out. He heard the clatter of the other’s spear rattling to the floor of the chariot. Ben gritted his teeth, saw the other chariot surging past, as time seemed to slow. He saw the driver, eyes focused and determined, muscles straining as he held the reins of his team. He saw the spearman staring hard, his face covered in sweat and grime, twisted in rage. Ben screamed, thrusting his spear forward.

He let go as the haft was ripped from his hand, feeling the burn and tearing skin. He heard the wood shatter as the stout spear drove into the spokes of the spinning wheel, heard the screams of the men as the chariot rocked, bounced and started to overturn. He heard the shrill cries of the horses as the cart dragged them to the dirt.

Grimm watched through the dust that his own chariot was kicking up in its wake. The horses were bucking and struggling to rise from their leads. He could hear the terror in their cries. Dumb animals, he felt bad about them. The men weren’t moving, and he did not care in the least.

“Yer tough luck, fellas,” Ben Grimm said coldly as he gripped the reins and pulled himself to his feet, trying to ignore the pain lancing through his leg. The wound was not too bad he saw, glancing down. It was bleeding and raw, but it would heal once he got it cleaned and covered. He stared a moment longer, then turned and tried to take control of the team, soon driving them on…

Ben Grimm stared at the city, wondering just what to do.

He felt better, almost rested. The Driver had had a bag strapped to the base of the chariot containing dates and a skin of water. Probably for the horses, but they served Grimm just as well, quenching his parched throat. He had rested for a bit and cleaned his wound, wrapping it with the hem of his now over-sized trunks after stripping and wringing those out as best he could.

He had driven on then, after splitting almost all of the remaining water between the horses, saving a final swallow if needed. His leg had throbbed fiercely for a time, but the bleeding had stopped. It would be stiff and sore tomorrow, if there was one for Aunt Petunia’s favorite nephew. For awhile things had looked bleak.

But hell, he was Benjamin J. Grimm. Even before Richards turned him into the Thing he had gotten out of tougher scrapes than he was now in. He remembered that Tut’s stooges didn’t hold a candle to the pansies on Yancy Street, let alone Momma Grimm’s best boy. There was a way out of this mess, and he knew that he would find it.

He watched the city from the relative safety of a stone pile just on the outskirts. The huge blocks had been hauled up from the quarries up the Nile and dumped here waiting to be added to the rising pyramids, tributes to the latest God made flesh. In this case that was the Pharaoh Rama Tut.

The city was just as he remembered it, though time had made his memory sketchy. It had been years after all, and the Fantastic Four had seen wonders in their collective time that made an Egyptian city seem like a wide spot in the desert. The pyramids, two of them were well on the way to completion as slaves and citizenry alike dragged the heavy stones about at a steady pace. Tut, or Kang, made the job easier with futuristic devices; anti-gravity guns and frictionless material spread across the sand, the mathematics of a less ignorant time somewhere beyond Ben’s own era. Still, there was grunt work to be done, and as always there was a Cast System, where the lower classes were indentured or enslaved to do the heavy work.

Grimm ignored the masses however. He was no Karl Cullinane to go around freeing slaves. AND he knew that anything he did here would not matter a rat’s ass anyway. He could not change history and anything that he did – even the slightest interaction – would simply create a divergent timeline. Granted, that timeline might come out better in the long run, but in most cases they did not. Richards had been right about that. Not that he cared. Ben just wanted to get back home and out of this Steve Martin nightmare.

He saw Rama Tut’s Sphinx ship. That was how Kang had got here, crashing through time and set himself up as a virtual God with his gadgets while repairing the ship within the great stone Sphinx. The easiest thing would be for him to just bust into the Sphinx and steal Kang’s ship, but…

He remembered that the ship only got fixed towards the end. That was what Kang/Tut had Richards doing while his will was sapped. When the shit hit the fan, Rama would high tail back to the future courtesy of Mister Fantastic. Grimm had no idea just how close to finishing Richards was though. He strained to recall all that had happened. The very fact that the charioteers were out looking for ‘him’ meant that ‘he’ – his other self – had escaped already. Best as he could recollect, it had taken a couple hours of sneaking around before he managed to free the others. That meant that Richards was in the Sphinx, Suzi was either still on Tut’s barge or maybe in the throne room, and matchstick was entertaining the troops in between firing stone.

And speak of the devil, he saw Storm fly up in a fiery ball, his flame not quite tight yet as he did loops and spirals, putting on a show for the workers. He vaguely remembered that, so Grimm figured that he still had a bit of time. He just had to find the platform and take it back –

Grimm?

Benjamin J. Grimm jumped, feeling his heart shoot up into his throat. He spun about, his spear up and out, expecting the worst.

But I just left him…

Grimm stared at the familiar form floating just a few feet above and before him. He breathed a sigh of relief and lowered his weapon. He seemed strange – no pun intended – sort of washed out and almost transparent, but it was definitely –

“Doctor Strange! Man, am I glad to see you.”

He saw the magician blink; oddly looking shocked for just a second before the usual stony façade fell back into place.

You see me?

“Well, yeah. Yer right there, Doc.” Grimm jabbed his spear forward, and through the translucent form of the Sorcerer Supreme. He saw Strange blanch, and that startled look again, followed by perturbed. “A little pale maybe.”

Stop that, Strange said, floating back and out of reach. He looked quizzically at Grimm, shaking his head. It took a moment for Ben to realize that he was hearing the magician in his head.

This is astounding. How are you able to see me? And, how are you here? I just saw you near the river –

“Wasn’t me, Doc,” Grimm started, then scowled. “Well, it was I guess, but an earlier me. I’m from 2006. The Ben Grimm you saw’s from early in the FF’s career.”

2006? That is yet in my future. This is amazing…

“Yeah, well, I’m sure it is, but right now even more amazin’ would be you spoutin’ some boogedy-boogedy an’ getting’ me back home.”

I’m sorry my friend.

Ben Grimm stared at the magician as though the man had just slapped him.

“What?”

In my astral form, my ability to affect the Real World is quite limited.

“Yer shittin’ me, right? Yer the High Muckity-muck Magician of the world an’ ya can’t wiggle yer nose an’ get me back where I belong?”

It is not that simple at any rate, Ben, but no. Again, I am sorry.

“Yeah, well fuck you, asshole!”

Grimm smirked to see the look of shock that fell over the magician’s face again. Strange was usually stoic, a masque of indifference, and it was a pleasure to see him taken aback for once. He did not care a bit if he offended Strange either. If the mage wasn’t going to help him, then he could go screw. Ben had to get home.

Ben? What has happened? What’s wrong with you?

“What’s wrong?” Grimm snarled, wishing that he could drive the spear through the magician’s chest. “I’m trapped in the past an’ a guy what wuz supposed ta be my friend just told me ta take the bus. Take a powder, pal. Yer getting’ on my nerves.”

You do not seem in your right mind, the magician said after a moment. What has happened to you?

“That’s fer me ta know, an’ you ta find out in yer future, Doc.”

No! This I CAN do…

Grimm saw the world lighten and realized at once what was happening. He had seen Doctor Strange use his nutty amulet often enough. Fine. Let him. Like he said, ‘nothin’ he could do’.

Let the All-Revealing Light of Ammagatto show me what troubles you, Grimm.

“Yada-yada-yada…”

Ben Grimm ignored the light enveloping him, wincing, focusing his attention on the city again. If Strange could not help him, then he just had to remember where the Time Platform was waiting. Screw Richards and this other-time FF. Grimm didn’t care for shit how many timelines he diverted to get back home. Still, his mind reeled as the glow washed over and through, seemingly to his very soul. Grimm knew that there was nothing wrong with him, but in doing his mumbo jumbo, Strange had actually kick-started his memory. He knew where he had to go now, if he had the time.

You are not in your right mind, Grimm. The All-Seeing Eye shows that you are bathed in radiation, and your mind is unstable. Too, there’s something on the back of your neck. A disk of some –

“That’s yer mama, Steve. Hit the bricks!”

Grimm heard Doctor Strange gasp as he moved, charging forward and heading towards the city. He had pissed around long enough.

Granted, Ben Grimm’s memories of their first trip back to ancient Egypt had been sketchy, but he did remember enough to know that it wasn’t Grand Central Station on the Nile. First he was there – twice. Then Strange popped up. And now…

Grimm watched as Hawkeye and Moon Knight crept along through the shadows of one of the huge temples. Had to be them, he figured. Hawkeye was about the only guy to wear purple and be proud of it. Well, him and Paladin. And if the guy in white wasn’t the Moon Knight, then Ben was a monkey’s uncle.

He vaguely remembered the archer going on – and on and on and on – about one of the West Coast Avenger’s adventures where they were lost in time. It was at one of their poker games with Fury and Jarvis, and frankly Ben had been more concerned with drawing his fourth ace than listening to another weird tale of the Wacko’s. Barton had said something about seeing the FF back in Egypt, but Hawkeye did like to talk, and he did exaggerate.

But if they were here, odds were that there was another platform waiting somewhere, and Ben’s chances of getting home just doubled. Screw Strange and the Wacko’s too. Odds are they were all running through some divergent timeline now anyway, and had been as soon as Grimm had taken out the charioteers and changed history. That meant that all bets were off.

Once he reached Doom’s Time Machine and set in the proper coordinates, the machine would adjust to the traveler and do the right thing. Grimm would shunt sideways until he got to his own proper time and reality. That’s what Richards had said anyway. That’s the way that it worked, and since when Richards had said it, it wasn’t concerning Ben Grimm personally, then it had to be true.

If only Bernard had known what she was doing when she had lured him onto the platform. Or maybe she did? Grimm shook his head, doubting, but she had inadvertently sent him one way into the past. With his machine gone, he needed to find either the FF’s, or the Wacko’s –

Ben…

Geez…

Grimm turned slightly, trying not to lose sight of Hawkeye and Moon Knight as he peered at the ghostly looking mage still following him. Strange was hovering over him, looking sad and concerned in that condescending way that he had. Fuck him.

“Take off, Strange. Ya don’t wanna be part a the solution, then yer part a the problem.”

Let me help you –

“Ya already said ya couldn’t. Ya can’t get me outta here, then ya ain’t nothin’ ta me. Just an annoying distraction. Get lost!”

Ben Grimm chucked a handful of sand at the mage, watching as the dirt passed through his astral form. Strange did not even flinch.

The All-Seeing Eye can help your damaged psyche, Ben. I would hope for your permission. You are my friend.

Ben flipped Strange the bird.

Very well, Strange said clearing his throat. Let the All-Encompassing Light cleanse you…

Ben Grimm winced and shut his eyes as the white light washed over him again. He quivered, shaking with rage that Strange, his alleged friend would do this without his consent. He felt a surge of warmth wash down through his body as he struggled to rise, to confront the magician. He stood and tentatively opened his eyes as the glow slowly faded.

Strange hovered there still, his nutty amulet slowly closing back into its shell-like housing. He looked confused.

By the Hoary Hosts…

Grimm didn’t want to hear it. He stepped forward and started waving the spear through the magician’s wispy body. Doctor Strange ignored the ineffectual assault, cocking a worried brow at Grimm.

I did not realize the depths of the depravity that had been thrust upon you, Ben. Your mind has been twisted on so many levels. It’s horrific what’s been done to you. I’ve eliminated Master’s meager hold, but the others…

I’m sorry.

“Ya keep sayin’ that. Ya sound like Richards after tryin’ ta cure me.”

Of course. How foolish of me. I had assumed that you were in your human form wishing to better blend in with the populace. I see now that the wave of Cosmic Radiation recently bathing this era has affected your altered structure. Reed once came to me, seeking a cure for you coincidentally, and explained that in the early days you often reverted from rock to flesh at random. He theorized that it was connected to the amount of solar radiation and Cosmic Rays passing through the Earth’s protective atmosphere. Your then unstable form often shifted when solar flares occurred, or sunspots he confirmed. That selfsame effect recently washed through the solar system like a tidal tsunami, and the affects are still…

Ben?

Grimm hurried along, racing towards the temple. He kept low clutching his spear and favoring his sore leg as he rushed towards the cover of shadows and trying to fall in line with the two Avengers. He ignored Strange; as long winded as Richards on a good day. And he was just as good at the double-talk to boot. Right then and there, Grimm did not give a damn about Cosmic Rays unless they were going to swoop in and carry him back home.

Grimm flattened against the warm and dusty stone wall, wiping the sweat from his heated brow and breathing hard. He was out of shape, and not used to the dry heat, so unlike a New York summer. As he rested a moment he kept the movement of the Avengers on the edge of sight while scanning the wide roads of the city. He could see a vast plaza not so far away, just beyond the line of low stone buildings that were probably the equivalent of middle class apartments here in ancient Egypt. There were statues of men and women; rulers no doubt, as well as images of the various gods that the people worshipped. The latter were huge and majestic, lording over the city with the heads of animals: cats and birds and antelope that he could see. There were plenty of people about too, though as far as Grimm could tell no soldiers or guards, at least not near enough to matter. That was good.

He turned to look back at the progress of the Wacko’s, and of course saw Strange hovering before him again. Grimm shook his head in disgust, annoyed.

“Just can’t take ‘No’ for an answer, hunh?”

I will not, Ben. I am your friend, and will do all within my power to help you here. And when I return to my own time, I shall endeavor to aid you the rest of the way, somehow. But for now…

Ben Grimm grimaced as he saw Strange gesticulate in that bass-ackwards inverted Spider-Man way. He had seen it often enough, and knew that since it was pointed his way there was nothing good going to come of it. Strange was too powerful in that queer way for Ben to do anything about it, other than run. Even as the thought occurred however, he felt an old familiar tingle race about his body.

It did not hurt, and never had actually. It had been disorienting in the early days, a little nauseating sometimes but even that had disappeared with practice over the years. He felt the hard-packed earth under his feet shift first, the ground cracking to accommodate his increasing mass. He felt the old familiar itch as his skin roughened and flaked, the lumpy scales of his armor starting to form, washing the pinkish burn of his skin to a deeper orange. His body eased off of the wall at his back as the armored hide expanded about him, covering every square millimeter and broadening him in the process, making him actually grow and expand by a few inches. It was a quick and easy process, kick-started by whatever wacky spell Strange had been whispering. In a few heartbeats it was over.

How do you feel, Ben?

Grimm looked up at the magician, still hovering before him. If only he was flesh and blood…

“Just great Doc, considering I just got duked up the ass by a buddy. Thanks fer makin’ me a monster again.”

But –

Strange started to speak, that look of surprise back on his face. Grimm ignored him, stepping right up with a rage and ferocity that actually caused the mage to float back and away, out of reach.

“Fuck with me again, an’ I’ll kill ya,” Grimm said, his voice gravelly but oddly low and cold. “That’s a promise, bitch. An’ ya know I keep my word. Now stay outta my way.”

Grimm turned and stalked off, certain that he had finally made his point. If Strange was so sure that he knew what was wrong, hopefully he would not think that Ben was bluffing. Those days were gone.

Ben…

Grimm ignored Strange, the persistent mage still floating along at his side. Fine. Let him. Grimm did not care, and the time for stealth was gone too, thanks to the good Doctor. The Thing stomped on, and pity the fool that got in his way now.

Strange babbled on as the Thing stalked across the plaza, following in the wake of Hawkeye and Moon Knight. He just caught a glimpse of Moonie’s cloak whipping around a corner on the far side, so he started to pick up the pace. He knew that both Avengers were good, and if they got too much of a lead he would lose them.

Grimm ignored the terrified screams of the people that were in the plaza. He never really got used to the reaction. It had always hurt to see the fear well up in a woman’s eyes when she saw how he looked, or the terror that would wash over a child’s face as they looked up and up his rocky form. He learned to turn cold against it however. He had to, or it would have driven him mad long ago. Now however he simply ignored the cries of gibberish that probably meant ‘monster’ or ‘demon’. He paid little attention as the panic ensued, the mob separating, then finally starting to run away. Next would come the cops; soldiers in this case. Or maybe not.

The Thing looked up as a fiery gout of flame arched into the sky. He could just make out the skinny form of Johnny Storm within the head of the fiery comet. The Human Torch’s fire was blazing towards white hot, and that meant that he was pissed, and that meant that time was running short. He was free and looking for revenge against Rama Tut. Time to get a move on.

The Thing broke into a thunderous run, charging after the Avengers. He knew – thanks to Strange – that the FF’s platform was on the far side of the city, and then a ways beyond in the outlying desert. If he ran, Grimm could reach it well ahead of the Fantastic Four, but hopefully he would not have to exert himself.

He rounded the corner, then thundered towards the only obvious doorway, rushing headlong into the dim interior of the temple. His eyes adjusted to the light, and sure enough there was Hawkeye and Moon Knight standing there, and the old familiar square of the Time Platform hovering just off of the dusty floor. He charged forward.

The two Avengers both turned at his sudden, noisy approach. The Thing did not break stride in his charge even as Moon Knight cried out his name. Hawkeye, pro that he was already had an arrow notched and drawn, easing only as he recognized who he thought to be an ally. Even better.

“Ben!” Hawkeye almost shouted, the tension easing on the bow as he lowered his aim. Grimm slowed to a jog, trying to appear the ever-lovin’ friend. “What are you – ”

Before the Avenging Archer could finish, Grimm swung his fist, back-handing the Moon Knight right across the jaw. There was a crunch and snapping sound as the Avenger’s head spun sharply and the white-garbed knight collapsed to the floor in a heap and bundle of cape. Grimm turned to Hawkeye, almost grinning at the shock on Clint Barton’s face.

“Ben?” he gasped. “What have you done?”

With surprise on his side, the Thing took a massive step and reached out before the amazed archer could react. Grimm snatched at Hawkeye’s bow, grabbing the polished wood and shattered it with a simple, casual squeeze. Hawkeye started to stagger back, but Grimm quickly grabbed the front of his tunic and heaved the bowman into the air.

He whipped Hawkeye about overhead, spinning him easily, making him dizzy in the process, which was a plus. The true purpose was to scatter the archer’s remaining arrows, of which there were not many. Clint Barton had been busy, and Ben could see that most of the heads were simple stone on makeshift shafts. Still, Grimm ripped away at Hawkeye’s bandoleers, where the archer kept extra heads, and some of those were special created by the likes of Stark and T’Challa. Some of them packed a punch with enough force to actually give the Thing pause.

Satisfied, Ben simply tossed Hawkeye aside to smash into the wall and crumple to the floor. The archer had a hard head though, and Ben could see Barton trying to shake off the dizziness, retching as he struggled almost immediately to rise.

“Ben…” he moaned, but the thing ignored him, stalking towards the glowing platform. He glanced about, wondering where the rest of the Wacko’s were, remembering that the compliment had included Tigra, Mockingbird and Wonder Man at the time, and maybe even Iron Man or War Machine. The only other ‘person’ he saw though was Strange, hovering over the still form of the Moon Knight and shining his nutty light again. By the Doctor’s grim expression, Ben knew that Marc Spector was probably dead.

“Don’t do this.” Ben Grimm heard Hawkeye and turned back his way. Barton was crawling towards him, struggling every inch. “Don’t… I gotta save Bobbi…”

“Ain’t nothin’ personal, Barton,” Ben said indifferently as he stepped upon the glowing square. There were no controls, no machine, so Grimm assumed that it was either set on auto pilot, or else one of the Wacko’s was manning the time machine back in the future. It did not matter either way. Once he was back in Wacko time he would reset the controls for his own, and Doc Doom’s greatest invention would handle the rest, getting him to his proper reality.

“Please…” Hawkeye whined, still clawing his way closer. Ben stared at Barton, shaking his head even as he felt the odd tingling again as the shimmering square of light started to rise about him, taking him away. Grimm shrugged –

“Don’t stress it, Barton. Yer officially a divergence now, at least ta me.” He saw Hawkeye look up, aghast and his eyes wet with tears. “Besides, yer wife’ll be dead in a few months anyway. Ain’t worth the effort son, but if ya crawl fast ya can probably catch the FF before they head out.”

The Thing pointed north, the sound of Hawkeye’s anguished wailing cut short as the Time Platform carried him away…

NEXT: Ben Grimm thinks he’s headed home, but little does he realize that his trip is destined to make a few detours along the way. Join him next time, as the Thing meets…

Well, that would be telling, now wouldn’t it?