It was a thump. Odd, really, as there should have been nothing at all. No sensation whatsoever when the Time Platform was in operation. One was simply there at one point, and as the glowing white square descended (or ascended as the case may be), you were suddenly elsewhere, or when depending on your point of view.

But he had felt it, in the midst of transmission. Definitely a ‘thump’.

Benjamin J. Grimm staggered as the time square shimmered overhead then vanished abruptly. His head was swirling, actually throbbing and his stomach was twisting in new ways that he had never experienced before as he stepped away, groping for support, finally leaning against a tree.

“Jesus,” he groaned, doubling over as the bile rose in his throat. He let it flow.

He was on his knees, heaving dryly when he heard the shouts. He had to ignore them a bit longer, though he looked through strained eyes into the darkness, wary.

He was no longer in the desert, thankfully. As he glanced about, finally acclimating to his surroundings he realized the cooler, temperate air and the fresh smell of the forest that surrounded him. He spat, trying to get his bearings.

Definitely a forest. It was dark of course, but he could see the thick foliage of various trees; pine and fir and others that he recognized but did not know the name of. There was grass underfoot, and loam, the decayed discarding of fine layers of moss and dirt and pine needles. The air was fresh and cool, a slight breeze rustling the branches of the thinning trees, blowing down off the low mountains that loomed at the horizon, almost glowing in the light of the fading moon cast in Earth glow. Along the eastern horizon he saw the first glimmer of sunlight, the shaded grays of false dawn settling over the land.

Pre-Industrial then, as he smelled no pollution in the air. But how many thousands, if not millions of years did that mean? And where for that matter? He had been shooting for Manhattan, but unless this was before the Pilgrims he doubted that he had made it.

Grimm glanced aside at the sound of voices again. He had thought at first that he had imagined it, but that was definitely a crowd of people, jeering by the tone. Not too far away either. A community maybe; some town or village. It was too jumbled to make out the words or dialect though.

He stood, still bracing against the closest tree as he turned his attention towards the noise. There was a glow in the distance but off in almost the opposite direction, a fire by the looks of it, pulsing and flaring. Forest fire maybe? Didn’t smell like it. And apparently the crowd didn’t know. They might need help – not that he cared, mind, but still. He would check it out.

Benjamin J. Grimm pushed away from the tree with enough force to uproot it. He ignored the crashing sound as it fell, his arm sweeping wide as he knocked down another, and another, with every step he took. He’d need to find his way back again, after all.

If the platform returned of course…

NO TIME LIKE THE PAST!

By Curtis Fernlund

“Demon!”

The Thing shook his head in disgust as he stepped from the thicker trees of the forest heading towards the more barren hill where the crowd was gathered. He had heard the outcry all too often every time he made an appearance, especially back in the earlier days of his career with the Fantastic Four. Those first hateful months after Reed Richards had turned him into a monster.

“Monster!”

He started up the slope, a grimace contorting his orange, rocky face as he took in the scene ahead of him. It was a crowd all right, though more a mob really, and by the way they were all dressed, of the worst kind. Zealots and religious fanatics, simple folk twisted by their spiritual leader and the mythology of the currently vogue gospel. He immediately recognized the people by their clothes; the women in long, thick dresses and blouses, aprons and scarves and hats to cover their hair, the men in high hats and short pants, blues and blacks and big buckled shoes. Pilgrims!

“It’s the spawn of the Dark Lord!”

That narrowed down the time frame a bit, and the area where the time machine had spat him out. He did not know why exactly here or when, but something tickled in the back of his head, a gnawing memory. Despite having had the story of the Pilgrims hammered into his brain all through grammar school, it seemed like there was another story that he should be recalling, though what exactly –

“The witches have summoned it to set them free! Kill it!”

That was it. He was in Salem then, Salem Massachusetts and the time was 1692; the Salem Witch Trials! But there was more, and again he only knew bits and pieces from when he had been a member of the West Coast Avengers. It had involved Spider-Man, the Scarlet Witch and the Vision somehow, lost in time and back in old Salem. Doom had been involved too, somehow, but…

“Kill them! Kill the witches and their conjured Hellspawn will vanish!”

It was then that Grimm saw what was actually happening. He scanned through and beyond the gathered mob, most faces pale and frightened as they stared back, the women huddling against the men, they holding clubs and torches, pitchforks and scythes. Beyond where he saw a gray haired man astride a jet-black horse that reared at the sudden panic. The Puritan was dressed as most of the others, though his clothes were black and finer with a long cloak. He held a cross in one out-stretched hand as if to ward the ‘demon’ away and cradled a bible under the other arm while his fist held tight the horses reins. But that was not the worst.

Even as he strode forward, anger rising and boiling within, the Thing saw several people now, hands bound behind them and nooses trailing to the sturdy branches of the huge tree that dominated the top of the hill. They were lined up, standing on boxes and barrels, their faces twisted in horror as well, though whether at the sight of him or the travesty of their impending hangings, Grimm did not know.

“No!” he snarled, batting aside one of the braver men that stepped up with a hoe to block his path. Grimm’s eyes went wide in shock as one of the mob kicked away at the support beneath one of the accused ‘witches’. He heard the snap of rope and bone as the rope came short. She kicked for a bit, then went limp, swaying in the breeze.

“You stupid… ignorant… ”

Fury swept through Grimm as he in turn pushed through the crowd. He ignored the screams of pain and terror, swatting the people aside like flies buzzing about his head. He did not care that he was hurting, perhaps killing. He did not care if he was altering history. His very presence had made that point moot. His only concern was to save the people so wrongly accused by their friends and neighbors, caught in the pandemonium of the jealousy of a handful of little girls.

But there were too many, and even though the crowd was scrambling now to get out of his path he saw another and another fall to the noose. The gray haired man was spouting verse and screaming to hurry at his approach. And the men doing the actual deed seemed more afraid of the old man than of the Thing. They would regret that.

“Demon!”

A girl stepped in front of him, pointing a shaky finger of accusation. Her eyes were wide and rolling and a foamy froth of spittle spewed from her lips as she dropped to the ground in convulsions. Grimm did not remember the names of the girls that had started all of this madness, but recalled that a slave woman that had supposedly taught them the black arts of Voo Doo had influenced them. Whether true or not, the girls had turned on her as well, and learned the art of manipulation if nothing else.

Another girl joined the first, falling to the dirt and spitting vile obscenities, rolling around in the grips of a seizure. Grimm considered stepping on the brats, it was no more than they deserved for all the misery they had caused, but a loud ‘SNAP’ shook him from his reveries.

Benjamin Grimm looked up and saw the last of the prisoners dangling at the end of his rope, his head cocked at an odd angle and tongue lolling from the corner of his mouth. Too late, too slow, and history had repeated itself.

“The creature… remains!”

Grimm stared at one of the men that had been performing the executions. There were three of them, bearded and burly for the dirty work, now looking scared spitless as the Thing snarled and continued stalking forward. As one the men first backed away, then turned to run as Grimm started to reach out –

And was blasted off of his feet by a fiery beam of golden energy!

The Thing slammed against the base of the Gallows Tree, heard the ancient oak groan in protest as he slumped to the grassy dirt about its thick roots. He blinked, shaking his head and feeling the sting of burn where the energy had struck him. He gingerly touched the spot, which felt like a sunburn and realized that his injuries sustained in Ancient Egypt had probably added to this new pain.

Grimm looked up and saw the gray haired man barely keeping the dark stallion in check as he tentatively approached, almost prancing. The horse was probably the smartest of anyone on the hilltop, wanting no part of the madness of people.

“Hellspawn!” the old man shouted, holding the cross out before him. Grimm noted that it was glowing slightly, and appeared almost to be smoldering. “Cursed Demon of Hades! Let the purifying Light of the Lord send thee back to the Pits! And tell thy accursed master, ‘twas Cotton Mather, High Priest of the Lord and Witch Slayer that sent ye hence!”

The Thing winced as the cross in Mather’s hand exploded in a golden glow and fired a beam of energy that bathed his rocky hide in a sizzling fire. It stung, an annoyance more than actual pain, but given time Grimm supposed that the fanatic might actually do some real damage. He shrugged and moved, feeling the burn, actually hearing the hiss as his rock tough armored skin began to heat up. He ignored it with a grunt of effort and struggled to his feet. Grimm raised his arm, gritting his teeth as he blocked the beam with his off-hand and started forward.

“Yer dead, old man,” the Thing snarled, drawing closer. He saw the horse shuffling back, trying to bolt as he approached despite the priest’s best efforts to hold the beast in check. “I don’t care if history does get altered. You’re too sick an’ perverted ta be allowed ta live.”

“History…” the old man mouthed more than said, and Grimm saw his face slacken in shock and understanding. Mather licked his lips in sudden nervousness, looking away towards that spot that Grimm had noted the fire before. And as his attention wavered, so too did his devotion. The glowing flame of the ‘Lord’s Light’ dulled to a sputtering flicker even as Grimm surged forward.

The horse reared as Ben grabbed the trailing lead, but too late as Cotton Mather flew from the saddle. The old man hit hard, rolling away a bit down the slope of the suddenly deserted hill. Apparently the mob of goodly Puritans had had enough for the night and retreated to the safety of their homes and scripture. Mather scrambled to his feet, still clutching his cross and staring wide-eyed at the Thing.

“Ye be one of them!” he shouted, and Grimm almost chuckled at the fear in his voice and the way that he spoke; like Thor slipping in and out of some twisted version of Old English. Ben released the horse and started down slope even as Mather backed away, then turned and started to run as though the Devil himself were on his trail.

“I must away! I must warn the master!”

Grimm paused, watching the old man run, his gangly legs churning madly for balance and speed. Spry for his age, he quickly lost himself in among the buildings of the village nestled about the base of the hill. There was no reason to hurry, Ben figured, casting his gaze to the flaring sparks of energy that seemed to explode beyond the village of Salem. Cotton Mather was running a B-line towards that, and Grimm had a fairly good idea of what was waiting there.

Ben glanced back for a moment, staring at the people left for dead, hanging from the gallows tree. He could not recall their names, and their faces were cast in shadow, backlit by the first rays of the sun cresting the horizon. They would be remembered, regardless of what he did. The madness of Salem’s 17th Century was set in stone, no matter his own involvement. Time would diverge and right itself somehow, but the sheer ignorance was depressing. So many lives lost…

“An’ one more won’t matter,” the Thing snarled, finally turning his back on the ancient oak; the Gallows Tree of Old Salem, and started down the hill…

And he had been right, of course.

Ben Grimm hunkered down in the foliage and brush that surrounded the wide clearing, watching and remembering as the events unfolded before him. He spotted Cotton Mather right off, blathering away at the being that just had to be his master. The priest was near frantic, pointing back the way that he had come running and waving his cross and bible wildly to the disinterested ‘Master’.

Said master was a giant in man-shape, roughly twenty feet tall and massive by the look. He was dressed in the Puritan garb of blacks and buckles with high jack-boots and a black cloak as well. His head gave him away as not being quite human though; with his pointed ears and pig’s nose and sporting a Mohawk that sat like a slab of mud atop his head. Grimm vaguely recalled from the cross-indexed files shared by the FF and the Avengers that the being called himself the Dark Rider, and he was allegedly some antediluvian wizard that had once ruled the world until mankind rose up and crushed him and his fellows. He had escaped into the Time Stream back then, only to reappear in Old Salem with a plan to alter time in his favor, according to the files. It had only been the combined efforts of three Avengers, Spider-Man and Doctor Doom himself that stopped the wizard. Watching the tableau before him, Ben Grimm had no idea just how they had managed that little feat.

Doctor Doom was held immobile, trapped in a floating, glowing bubble that hovered over the scene. The Dark Rider had beaten him somehow, and Grimm suspected that the huge wizard was siphoning off Doom’s powers, as he had some apparatus strapped to his knuckles and wired into the pulsing field that surrounded the Latverian monarch. Grimm saw Doom twitch occasionally as energy seemed to seep and flow through the apparatus, making the Rider’s own crackling hand flare even brighter.

Near as Ben could tell, however, there was no help coming. He saw the Vision, Scarlet Witch and Spider-Man each lying unconscious on what appeared to be a huge slab of white marble, like an altar stone. At each of their heads was a machine of sorts, piping almost with cables that stretched up to the transparent bubble that held Doom. The Dark Rider was apparently sapping away their powers and energies as well, running all through Doom who was by birthright, a witch himself. A neat little trick, if he got away with it. Something that the Thing could not allow, if he wanted to ever get back home. Grimm rose, stepping from the brush –

And glanced aside to see Moondragon doing the same, just a few yards away. Both hesitated, staring at one another. Grimm had almost forgotten that the Priestess of Titan had been involved, and in fact – by the reports on file – had been the deciding factor to turn the tide.

“Grimm,” she said, her lips twisting as she looked him over. “So Wanda has summoned you as well. Perhaps your brutish strength will be of some diversionary benefit whilst I save our comrades and put an end to this madness.” And with that the bald priestess simply turned and strode majestically forward, her green cape fluttering behind.

Ben remembered just how condescending the woman was back in the day, feeling that she was better than just about anyone short of the likes of Thor. It was her upbringing on Titan, just a little girl who’d lost her family in accidental circumstance in the early days of the Kree/Skrull war. She had been raised by priests in hopes that she might be the Celestial Madonna, another garbled bit of religiousness that had caused a number of problems for all involved. He knew too that she would get her comeuppance eventually, and for now he would just have to deal with the attitude, like it or not.

Even as the Thing grumbles under his breath and starts forward he sees the Dark Rider produce a crackling dagger seemingly from nowhere. The long knife seethes and boils with magical energy as he hands it to the near petrified form of Cotton Mather. “Take the Soul Blade, Mather!” the Dark Rider shouts. “It is only fitting that, as it was you who preached my coming, you who unleashed the witch-riots in my name, should be the one to seal the fates of these and bring about the glories of the Golden Age!”

Grimm watches as he hurries forward, Mather staring at the dagger in his hands, then tentatively gripping and raising its point over the head of the still slumbering Scarlet Witch. “Forgive me,” he whispers, the blade shivering in his grip.

“Arrgh!” A booming scream shatters the momentary tension as the Thing sees Moondragon attack, actually staggering the Dark Rider with a searing mind blast. Grimm hurries forward, his eyes on Cotton Mather, momentarily hesitating, seeing the three on the altar beginning to stir.

“Never have I felt such force, tearing at the very fabric of my thoughts,” the Rider says, turning towards Moondragon, barely casting a glance at the Thing. “Your powers are formidable woman, but shall merely add to my own in the end, along with your brutish familiars’.”

“The Thing is hardly my familiar, creature,” Moondragon almost laughs, “and you shall find that I am far more than a mere woman!” With that the Priestess of Titan unleashes another staggering bolt of mental energy at the Dark Rider. This time however, he is prepared for the onslaught and raises his handheld apparatus to intercept the blast and send it back at the Avenger.

Grimm hears both Moondragon and the Rider scream, the two suddenly standing stock still as though frozen. He ignores them, hoping that the bald Avenger is as good as her own hype allows and leaps across the altar to slap Cotton Mather to the ground. The zealot falls hard, and Ben hears the old man’s breath gush even as the long knife tumbles from his limp fingers and disappears back to wherever it came from.

“Benjy Boy!” Grimm hears a familiar voice and turns to find Spider-Man perched on the edge of the altar stone rubbing the back of his neck. “Are you a sight for sore eyes, buddy.”

“Likewise, kid,” Grimm said, seeing the Vision helping the Scarlet Witch to sit up as well. They all seemed weak and drained, but ready to continue the fight. “You okay?” Ben asked, knowing that he would need them to summon their Time Platform, doubting somehow, knowing that his own was gone for good.

The Scarlet Witch nodded, touching bloody wounds about her face, wincing as the Vision held her close. Grimm remembered that they were still married at this point in time, and the android was in his ‘all but human’ phase. “Getting there,” Wanda said, breathing deeply. “I sent out a final Hex Bolt before I was rendered unconscious; a cry for help. You and Moondragon answered?”

“Looks like it,” Grimm lied, glancing up at Doom still held in stasis above them. He saw that there was actually a physical sphere holding the monarch, still pulsing with energy but something that could be broken. “I suggest we get reacquainted later though, an’ get Doom outta his plastic bubble. I got a feelin’ we’re gonna need him ta take down tall, dark an’ gruesome.”

“Agreed,” the Vision said, reluctantly releasing his wife and floating up to Doom’s prison. “Between the three of us, our strength should be more than capable of shattering Doom’s transparent cell, severing the Dark Rider’s seemingly endless supply of stolen power as well.”

“What he said!”

Even as the Thing scrambled atop the altar he saw Spider-Man leap right onto the bubble. The magical prison flared at contact, and Spider-Man seemed to falter for a moment before screwing up his courage and strength to begin hammering on the sphere like the hero he was. An instant later, the Vision seemed to grow darker, solidifying and adding his own might to the task of tearing apart the globe. Finally the Thing struck, his own massive blows chipping away at the mystical creation. The three were knocking chunks out, but slowly.

“It’s a magical construct, my friends,” they heard the Scarlet Witch say. Grimm glanced back and saw the woman standing on shaky legs, raising her arms and bringing her red gauntleted hands slowly together. “It shall take magic in kind to tear it asunder!”

“Yow!” The Thing heard Spider-Man’s panicked exclamation even as all three men backed away and the Scarlet Witch’s Hex Bolt struck the already weakened globe. There was a sound almost like rending metal and suddenly the sphere exploded in a shower of molten glass. Grimm raised his already burned arm to shield his eyes and barely saw the still unconscious form of Doctor Doom fall to the dirt with a thud and clang.

All turn at a scream in time to see Moondragon sagging to her knees, reeling from her mental struggles with the Dark Rider. The Rider in turn seems dazed even as Wanda rushes in front of the fallen Avenger to protect her, unleashing yet another Hex Bolt that seemingly has no effect on the giant except to strengthen him.

“Foolish witch,” he snarls, raising his hand in claw-like fashion, mystical energy boiling from his outstretched palm. “I had hoped to complete the sacrifice and add your full powers to my own, but I see that I must settle for that which I have thus far stolen.” The Dark Rider almost seemed to shrug. “So be it.”

“No!” shouted the Vision, once more taking to the air, his eyes ablaze as he strafed the Dark Rider with his solar beams. Now, with the sun well over the rise of mountains in the distance, the android’s powers were swiftly swelling again to peak, the tiny jewel affixed to his brow absorbing the life giving radiations of the Earth’s star. “You shall not harm my wife again!”

“Jeez,” Spider-Man said, crouching next to the Thing and watching the battle rage. “You ever feel you were in over your head, Benjy?”

“Never, Spidey,” Grimm grunted. Running with the Fantastic Four for so long and seeing the things he had seen, fighting the likes of Galactus, the Silver Surfer, hell, even Doom, he couldn’t help but feeling that way, though he would never admit it. He never let it stop him either. Stupidity, or bravery, it didn’t matter. The job had to be done, no matter the consequence.

Ben Grimm turned, staring at the still unmoving form of Doctor Doom and trying to remember just what had to be done to win the day. He didn’t truly care how it all turned out. He had a feeling that history had already been altered and fragmented into new time lines, but he had a feeling that getting trapped in whatever mad world that the Dark Rider was trying to create was not an option that he wanted to think about. They had to win, and he also figured that to do that, they needed Doom.

“C’mon, Webhead,” he said as he crouched at his greatest foe’s side. “Help me wake up Doomsy. I got a feelin’ we’re gonna need him ta beat that big creep, like it or not.”

“Lesser of two evils, hunh?” Spider-Man said as he leapt to the far side of the fallen doctor. “I agree. I think I’d rather live in a world where the FF’s around to stop Doc Doom, than in a world where there’s just us to stop the Dark Rider.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Grimm nodded as both he and Spider-Man began trying to rouse the villain. He did not care to admit that the web spinner was probably right, damn him. It generally took the full effort of the Fantastic Four or the Avengers to take on Doctor Doom, but in the end he was beatable. At the moment the Dark Rider wasn’t looking that way.

Even as Victor Von Doom finally began to stir, Ben glanced back at the still raging battle. The Vision was circling the giant, still unleashing his eye beams though apparently with as little effect as the Scarlet Witch’s Hex Blasts. The only one who seemed to be making a dent was Moondragon, but she was wavering and looked ready to collapse, sweat pouring as she relentlessly blasted away with her mental powers. The Dark Rider in turn was lashing out, half-blocking Moondragon’s assault, ignoring Wanda’s and swatting at the Vision in passing. They were distracting at best, maybe forcing the Rider to use up the energies that he had stolen as his connection to Doom had been severed. Speaking of which…

“Do not touch me, lout!”

Grimm turned to see Doom awake, his bloodshot eyes glaring, staring daggers at the Thing while his left hand clutched Spider-Man by the throat. Ben could hear Spidey gagging and gasping for breath, trying to pry Doom’s arm away to no avail. He doubted that the hero would win, proportionate strength of a spider aside as Doom had gone toe to toe with the Thing on way too many memorable occasions.

“Let the bug man go, Doom,” Grimm said, trying to keep the snarl out of his voice. “We was just tryin’ to wake ya up.” Ben saw Doom’s eyes narrow through the slits in his cold gray faceplate as though evaluating the sincerity in the words. Finally though Doom conceded. His gaze shifted then as he saw the lop-sided and pointless battle. Ben thought he actually heard Doom sigh.

“Even with the appearance of Moondragon, the powers of the three Avengers will not be sufficient to defeat a wizard of that one’s magnitude. He is well skilled in ancient dark arts that even Doom has yet to master,” he scowled, turning to Grimm, “due to constant interruptions. It shall take the might of Doom to sway the battle in our favor.”

“Not to disagree, Doc,” Spider-Man said, rubbing at his throat, “but you took gruesome on before and got your tin can kicked all over the street. We’re all weaker now to boot. How’re we going to beat that?”

“Foolish arachnid,” Doom said rising to his feet and casually brushing a bit of dirt from his cloak as though unconcerned. “Doom prepares for every eventuality, and it was only a matter of time before I discerned the weakness of this ‘Dark Rider’. He is powerful in his own right, but his magicks are dark. Doom however is a master in forms both black and white, and it is the latter that shall be that one’s downfall. We shall strike together, one final fatal blow that shall end this once and for all.” Doom turned to the Thing then, considering.

“Go, and broadcast your thoughts that the Priestess of Titan might relay our strategy. I must prepare to deliver the killing stroke.”

Ben hesitated, only a moment, returning Doom’s gaze. It was as though he knew the truth, though how? Not that it mattered. Doom was right in that they had to deal with the Dark Rider first. “All right, Vic. Don’t get yer cast iron shorts all bunched up. We’re goin’.” The Thing turned, glancing at Spider-Man. “C’mon, Webhead. Looks like we get the shit end a’ the stick again.”

“Story of my life, buddy,” Spider-Man quipped as he sprang into the air, flipping casually and shooting out his webbing to swing to a better vantage of attack.

The Thing simply charged forward. There was little finesse in his abilities, not at times like this. No wrestling or boxing involved, rather simply his Sunday best. Not a problem though. He did as Doom ‘suggested’ though, broadcasting the plan, thinking thoughts at Moondragon.

He saw the woman pause and turn to him, a look of confusion passing across her beautiful face momentarily. Then she nodded and Grimm felt the mental surge as she sent the message forth. He actually felt a slight tingling as the world seemed to sparkle with a moment’s clarity, and he knew that she would be directing them all, mind-linking them to strike as one.

He saw the others fall back, acting exhausted and beaten, waiting for the cue. The Dark Rider too seemed tired, but he recovered quickly, standing tall and laughing.

“Fools! You have no chance of defeating me!” he bellowed, and Ben saw the magic crackling about his hands again. “I shall slay you all and plan again. History is ripe with opportunity.” The Dark Rider seemed to glow even as Ben heard Doom’s voice in his head…

Doom can stomach no more. Strike!

And as one, they did. The Scarlet Witch raised her slim arms high overhead, touching her thumbs lightly to produce a Hex Sphere that grew and grew, swiftly enveloping the dark Rider in a crimson globe. His eyes widened even as Moondragon blasted away with a mental bolt of incredible strength, and Grimm realized that she was tapping into the mental energies of both he and Spider-Man as she attacked. There was no chance to protest though as he lumbered forward, leaping even as he reared back a massive, rocky fist, even as he saw both Spider-Man and the Vision swooping in at the same time.

“It’s Clobberin’ Time!” Grimm shouted, and even as the three connected simultaneously with Moondragon’s assault and the Witch’s Hex, they all heard in their minds…

Indeed!

Fire spewed from Doom’s metal gauntleted hands as he directed his magical might at the Dark Rider at that same instant that the three physically struck, while Moondragon attacked and rattled his mind and the Witch’s Hex altered probability. Ben and Spider-Man bounded away as the Vision soared above the sudden conflagration, all watching as the Dark Rider writhed and screamed within the blaze. The Scarlet Witch, Moondragon and Doom continued the assault however, pouring their energies into the attack as the eld wizard struggled, his own dark energies useless against the onslaught. They saw his body wavering, slowing as his struggles lessened, his screams rising in pitch as his shadowy form first dwindled, and finally started to break apart, crumbling.

The Witch was the first to falter, her body swaying as she lowered her arms in exhaustion, swooning. The Vision was at her side however, catching her and gently lowering her to the ground. A second later Doom’s fiery display ended, and only then did Moondragon relax. She was sweating and breathing hard but remained standing, too proud to show any more weakness than necessary. Grimm turned to look at what was left of the Dark Rider and saw Spider-Man hunkering over the pile of ash, all that remained and dispersing in the breeze. Ben sagged with a slow, heavy sigh.

“That’s it?” he asked. “It’s over?”

“I do not sense the Dark Rider’s presence,” Moondragon said, eyeing Grimm queerly.

“Of course,” Doom’s voice echoed coldly over the clearing. “While your more mundane efforts forced the Rider to defend himself, Doom employed the Flames of Faltine to erase the aberration from reality. The cleansing fires discorporated his very being, sending him to join his archaic brethren in whatever pagan Hell set aside for he and his ilk. He shall not return, and all of his machinations have been wiped away. Doom has triumphed again.”

“Your welcome,” Spider-Man said sarcastically, standing. He glanced about the group. “So, what happens now? We should try to help John Proctor and the others. And hey! Where’d Cotton Mather slither off to.”

“Forget the Witch Slayer and the accused, Spider-Man. There destinies are set to stone despite our best efforts. There are some things that cannot be altered.” Moondragon seemed unaffected by the apparent deaths of so many as she turned to face the Thing. “We go home, but first…

“I sensed turmoil in your mind, Grimm, when we touched briefly before. You are under some outside influence,” she said stepping closer and raising her green gloved hand towards his face. Grimm swatted her hand away.

“Hands off, lady,” he snapped, taking an involuntary step back. “I don’t need you fuckin’ with my head. I’m fine.”

“Nonsense,” Moondragon said with a slight grin. She quickly reached up, her martial arts training making her faster than Ben might have imagined as she touched her fingertips to his temples. “I know what’s best for you,” she said huskily, her brows knitting for a fraction of a second. Ben felt a quick pulse, like a migraine flaring in his head and just as quickly fading away. He staggered back, shaking his head and rubbing at his eyes.

When his vision cleared he saw everyone staring at him, all save Doom that is, who was tapping at an opening in the armor on his forearm. They seemed shocked, and as usual it was Spider-Man who broke the silence.

“Ben,” he said, sounding confused. “You’ve changed!”

Ben Grimm shook his head, trying to clear it fully, then slowly raised his hands only to find flesh and blood rather than orange rock. Moondragon had sparked the change with whatever she did. He looked up, staring daggers at the Priestess.

“Ya witch!” he snapped, trying to will himself back to his rocky form. It would not come. “What did’ja do ta me?”

“I simply removed the outside influence on your psyche, Grimm. I’ve helped you. Your hostility is unfounded. There is something yet that remains. Something naggingly familiar that I cannot affect, but for the most part – ”

Ben stepped forward swinging, catching the Avenger unawares with the sheer unexpected hostility of his attack. His fist struck Moondragon squarely on the nose, causing a quick spray of blood as the surprised priestess fell back on her ass. Spider-Man was suddenly in front of him, his hands up in a warding gesture.

“Whoa, Ben. Hold up. We’re all spent. Let’s not get nasty here.”

Ben Grimm clenched and unclenched his fists in rapid succession. He wanted nothing more than to beat the crap out of the woman for what she did, but he knew that in his human form he was no match for Spider-Man. He seethed, but held his ground. There was a long tense filled moment before they heard the hollow chuckling.

“Amusing as this is,” Doom stated, closing the panel on his forearm, “Doom has better things to do. There are other, greater threats to reality rising even as I waste these precious moments on the likes of you. Using the Time Circuitry that I long ago incorporated into my armor, I shall return to my present. You may fend for yourselves, but rest assured that when next we meet it shall be as enemies rather than forced and erstwhile allies.”

Doom struck a defiant, imposing pose as his armor began to glow, his body slowly beginning to fade. Grimm shot forward –

“No ya don’t!”

Doom’s eyes widened as Ben Grimm tackled his armored form, wrapping his arms about his midsection even as he drifted away, fading into the Time Stream…

And vanished.

“What the heck was that all about?” Spider-Man asked in confusion.

“That was not the Thing we know,” Moondragon answered, glancing aside as the glowing white square of Doctor Doom’s Time Machine appeared, hovering nearby. “He was from a divergent Timeline as best as I could discern. Twisted and corrupted by events in his own reality, he was a troubled being. His assistance was invaluable however, so I tried to help him.”

“Unsolicited help,” the Scarlet Witch answered darkly, leaning against the Vision as he comforted her, enfolding her within his golden cloak for warmth. “I hope he’s all right.”

Moondragon shrugged.

“He follows a different path than we. Ironically…

“Only time will tell.”

NEXT: Lost in the Time Stream! In mortal combat with Doctor Doom! How can our hero survive? Well, right at the moment even I don’t know, but hopefully I’ll have it figured out by next issue when our Time-Tossed Thing meets… The Invaders!