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UNTITLED

By Curtis Fernlund

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Avengers Quinjet: Rogers
Somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean

With a sigh Benjamin J. Grimm turned from the port window and dug his huge, rocky fingers into his reinforced travel bag, withdrawing his over-sized silver Zippo and a long, fat Cuban cigar. Outside the viewport he could see the thickening night as the sun set behind them in the west, the Quinjet crossing the Terminus and heading deeper into the dark, towards Europe at speeds that he did not even want to calculate. Not that he couldn’t…

Back in the day – about a million years ago – Ben Grimm had been a test pilot for the USAF and on the Top List of hot shot pilots being considered for NASA’s Gemini Program; getting drunk with the likes of Glenn and Shepherd on Friday nights and flying recon over the Nam on Saturday morning in the fastest planes that US tax dollars could build. At least until Reed Richards had come knocking on his door.

He and Richards had been roommates and best friends back in college. Grimm the jock and sports star riding through State University on a football scholarship. Richards the brain and geek, breaking down barriers in every field of science, his biggest rival; Victor Von Doom. Grimm had to smile at that as he puffed his cigar to life, watching the flame flicker and burn like a torch. If they had only known back then what they knew now, he would have said ‘No’.

“No, Richards. I ain’t flyin’ yer rocket – unshielded – up inta space with you, yer sexy little girlfriend an’ her kid brother as the payload. ‘Cuz ya see, Reed good buddy, there’s these things they call ‘Cosmic Rays’ that are gonna scrub the mission an’ change us all. Sure, you, Johnny and Suzi will get these neat super powers an’ become celebrities, be on talk shows an’ magazine covers, invited ta talk at graduation ceremonies and hob knob with the rich and famous. But me?

“I’ll be a freak, Frankenstein’s Monster, ‘cept yer Frankenstein, Richards. You made me the freak, the monster, shunned and ignored, a nightmare ta scare kids with when they won’t do their chores or get ta bed on time. Hated and feared, an ugly bastard made outta rocks that only has one thing goin’ for me – an’ that’s what Suzi named me when she first saw me – a Thing.

“And what’s that one thing that I got in my favor, Reed good buddy? I ain’t the Hulk.”

Grimm chuckled as he glanced out the window, the black of night stretching as far as he could see. He hated these quiet times, like any soldier waiting for the next fight, the next battle, not knowing if this might be the last. He knew he should be trying to get some sleep but he was too wired, too tense. He had people down out there somewhere, probably hurt, maybe dead. It was his job to bring them back, dead or alive, and he would be damned if he failed at that. He owed his people that much, the honor and respect they deserved for their help, fighting his fight . . . his war.

Misty Knight; Private Detective and adventurer with a bionic right arm, one half of Knightwing Restorations and the Daughters of the Dragon with Colleen Wing. She was an old and good friend. An ex-cop that lost her arm in a bomb blast, she had received a prototype bionic arm developed in a joint effort by Stark Industries and Wakanda Technologies and had gone on to fight the good fight; a good soldier that Grimm would go to the wall for.

Eric Arcane was a newer friend but no less loyal or worthy. He was a magician; labeled himself a ‘Hedge Mage’ that used Cantrips – Words of Power, apparently – to cast spells. The thing was, Ben recalled, was that every spell he uttered seemed to suck power directly from his Life Force, what Colleen Wing called his ‘Chi’. Every spell he cast aged him. The more powerful the casting the greater the drain on his life, the closer he came to dying. He literally gave his all every time he went to war, putting his life on the line more so than any of them. And Ben Grimm would not forget that.

Even Midnight, or M’nai as his real name suggested, had proven his worth. He had had probably the most bizarre and convoluted history of all of Grimm’s team. The adopted son of the Celestial: Fu Manchu, he had been trained in various martial arts but specifically Ninjitsu in order to become the Lord of Strange Death’s chief assassin. He had actually died in battle against his adopted brother Shang-chi, then resurrected by Kang the Conqueror months later as part of his ‘Unliving Legion’ to battle the Avengers in the Limbo of Immortus. But it even got stranger . . .

He had been resurrected again by the Kree and given near Cosmic Powers to battle the Silver Surfer at some point, Grimm knew. He had ended up on the Moon with theInhumans for a time but eventually made his way back to Earth, only to return to his adopted father and become a pawn in some mad scheme; a partnership between theDevil Doctor  and the Lord of the Vampires, Dracula himself.

Midnight had been turned as part of their pact, and now was apparently again one of the Undead and Dracula’s Get. Dracula’s plan had failed in the end, but Midnight had survived and had come into the possession of one of the fabled Shadow Cloaks that allowed him – like Cloak and Devil-Slayer – access to one of the myriad Dark Dimensions and the ability to teleport, create obfuscating darkness and pull weapons seemingly from nowhere. Through a stroke of luck Grimm had come upon the Ninja, and seeing his worth had drawn him into the fold of his team.

Now however the three had fallen off of the radar.

Grimm had sent the trio on a mission to England at the bequest and warning of the Scarlet Centurion. Like all of the missions that his strike-force had undertaken of late, the Scarlet Centurion – a Cosmic Entity with like ‘Awareness’ – warned of an impending incident focusing on Brian Braddock, Captain Britain, or whatever he was calling himself these days. Apparently Braddock, like so many others before him, was the catalyst destined to change the course of the future and send the Earth into a parallel universe that would end in – at the very least – the destruction of most of humanity and a Hell on Earth for those who managed to survive.

It was the mission of Knight, Arcane and M’Nai to use a mystical tool to extract that variant from Braddock and thus save the future. The last Grimm had heard they had been successful; they had averted catastrophe. Then they had vanished. Ben Grimm had called in a few favors and had gathered a new team to find his friends and allies, and they had, they thought, and were now speeding over the Atlantic towards Europe.

Grimm swiveled his seat about and glanced about the Avenger’s Quinjet’s compartment, watching the others, the latest group that he had coerced into helping in his battles.

Anthony Stark sat beside him in the pilot’s chair, and Grimm figured there was probably only a few better suited to handle the Quinjet in flight outside of John Jameson and himself, of course. Stark had designed the thing after all. Millionaire playboy he was up there with Richards and Doom as one of the smartest men on the planet; industry-wise at any rate. He had been a weapon’s designer and manufacturer for the United States during one of their many ‘Police Actions’ across the globe. For his efforts he had been caught in a bomb blast and shrapnel had been imbedded too near his heart to operate with any success. He had persevered though and created a device to stimulate his heart and keep him living; the chest plate that was the focal point of his Iron-Man armor.

Since then he had changed his ways. He was no longer the arrogant playboy he once had been, and though he still designed weapons he was far more judgmental over who he sold them to. He was instrumental in backing the creation of S.H.I.E.L.D. He had helped found the Avengers. He had saved the world with help and solely on his own more times than Ben Grimm cared to count. Grimm knew that he had recently lost control of his company to his cousin, Howard Stark, but the man had stepped up when Ben had asked and offered his help to save Misty Knight and the others, despite recent issues, namely the Thing being labeled a terrorist. Ben Grimm would never forget that.

“You really shouldn’t be smoking in here, Ben,” Stark said as his red-gauntleted hands adjusted the Quinjet’s controls minutely, sending the ship to soar a bit higher over the waves. In their wake a fishing boat churned and rode the swells created in their swift passage.  “It really degrades the computer op-system.”

“Tough,” Grimm said blowing a plumb of smoke towards the front view screen. His gaze drifted over the pilot’s control panel and he shrugged. “All these high-tech gizmos and ya didn’t think ta put in a humidifier?”

“I was just saying.”

Stark had his helmet retracted into his polarized armor and Grimm noticed the worry-lines marking his otherwise handsome face. A few gray hairs streaked the otherwise black coif of his mane and goatee. He looked as tired as Ben felt.

“Hard times, brother,” Grimm said and Stark glanced at him.

“Aren’t they always?”

Ben Grimm nodded and swiveled his chair to look at the rest of his rag-tag rescue party. They were five in all.

In the back of the compartment he saw Jean Grey and Scott Summers; two core members of the X-Men. They were sitting apart from the others and speaking in low whispers, whatever they were talking about, none of Grimm’s business. He knew that they both deserved their quiet time; both having led extraordinary lives in their quest to follow the dreams of Charles Xavier and unite the burgeoning race of Mutant-kind and get them as a whole accepted by humanity. It had not been an easy row to hoe.

Grimm knew that Grey had died at least twice and been resurrected, a pawn of the Phoenix Force – yet another Cosmic Entity that wanted to decide the fate of mankind and the universe. And Summers – the poor sap – had always been caught up in the bigger picture and screwed royally every time. Grimm didn’t know their relationship now – and that was none of his business either. He had heard rumors of Summers and the White Queen, Emma Frost, a villain through and through as far as he was concerned, but again, none of his business. What they all did in their little Mutie soap opera was their concern.

Jean Grey however had been instrumental in helping to find Misty Knight and they were heading full-tilt towards the area that she had divined by intruding on the psyche of Colleen Wing; the group’s fifth and final member.

Colleen had a special friendship with Misty Knight, and Grey had brought that out with her Telepathy. That in accord with the technical sensors that Stark and T’Challa – the Black Panther – had designed to keep track of Misty’s arm were leading them, via a link with Jimmy Woo back in Manhattan, towards Eastern Europe and a small postage stamp country lost within the new Russian Federation, in old Romania somewhere . . .

Transylvania.

Grimm stared at Colleen Wing where she sat a few seats back. She was staring out the window, trying to look at ease, but Grimm could almost feel the tension radiating off of her. She was deathly worried over the fate of her friend he knew. He remembered a time not really so long ago when he had been that way, worrying about people he had foolishly considered friends. He had seen the light though; his eyes opened up clearly for the first time in years during a fight with yet another incarnation of the Frightful Four.

And he had been shown what needed to be done to save the world, and maybe all of creation. The Scarlet Centurion had chosen him to be the spearhead of a strike-force that would set Reality to right, eliminating potentially disastrous, unlimited futures destined to bring about the fall of humanity, and the universe if left unchecked. Grimm had had his doubts of course, and he had burned many bridges in his war, but in the end it would all be worth it. He was just an ugly, rock-encrusted freak anyway, so he was expendable and could give his all for the mission. He wondered though at what would happen to his comrades.

Not friends. He would never have friends again.

“What?”

Grimm looked up from his reveries and saw Colleen Wing staring at him intensely. He puffed on his cigar, rolling it to the other corner of his mouth.

“Sorry,” he said. “Just day dreaming. You okay? How you holdin’ up?”

“I’ll live,” she said. “Just worried about Misty. And the others.”

“Yeah.” Grimm agreed, flicking ash to the floor. He heard Tony Stark sigh. “You got an empty Scotch bottle, Stark; I’ll use it as an ash tray.” Tony Stark flicked a switch on his console and a slim compartment slid open on the arm of Grimm’s chair.

“No need, Ben.” Stark grinned and returned his attention to flying the Quinjet.

“Why didn’t you bring the rest of the team, Grimm?” Colleen asked. “We might need them. I’ve got a bad feeling.”

“I thought about bringing Jameson. We might’ve used Man-Wolf if we gotta go tromping through the wilds, but the others…” Grimm shrugged.

John Jameson, the son of J. Jonah Jameson was an ex-astronaut and war hero that had come back from the Moon with an extra-terrestrial jewel that turned him into a silver-furred werewolf of sorts. He was a pilot, and when he had control of his wolf form an attribute to the team to be reckoned with. But, his control of his other persona was not always dependable. Grimm didn’t need distractions at the moment.

Hobie Brown, the Prowler was probably top of his field at hacking buildings and espionage, but this was not a mission for him. Grimm had the feeling that things would get nasty before this trip was through, and that was not what Brown had been brought on board for.

James Woo was a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent in Fury’s top echelon. He was a computer geek, but no slouch in the field and had been instrumental in taking down the Yellow Claw years ago. Somewhere along the line he had been almost turned by a vampire and so had a few quirks, not to mention assets. He was better suited as liaison and information source though; a spy through and through. Not his kind of fight, if there was going to be a fight.

And James Skully . . .

He had been a passenger on a flight that vanished in the Bermuda Triangle years ago. He and others from the missing plane had struggled hard to survive against aliens and automatons in some weird tower that reproduced eras from the past; some alien zoo as near as Grimm could figure. Somewhere along the way he had picked up a belt that enhanced his strength and resilience. That belt had eventually taken over his psyche, turning him into the Blazing Skull for a time. He had since conquered his demons and had gone south to deal with real life a few weeks back. He had not been in touch since.

“Figger we’re bad-ass enough ta handle whatever comes our way. Hell we got an Avenger an’ two X-Men backin’ us,” Grimm said as he took a long drag from his stogie.

“I hope so,” Colleen Wing said with a sigh, looking out the window again.

“Ooooohhhh . . .” Jean Grey said as she stood and strolled forward. “The tension in here is so thick I’d need a hammer and chisel to cut through it.” She stood beside Wing’s chair but looked at Grimm. She was dressed in casual clothes; Jeans and a tee shirt and tennis shoes, looking nothing like one of the most powerful beings in the universe. “I sense you have some issues, Ben. I can help you. If you’ll let me.”

“I don’t need you in my head, toots,” Grimm said swiveling his chair back to face front. “Save it for your boyfriend.”

“Seriously, Ben,” Jean Grey continued as she stepped up behind him, placing a hand on his chair as well as Stark’s, leaning forward slightly. She appeared to gaze out the front view screen for a moment, her proximity making Grimm feel a bit uncomfortable. He hated mentalists and had had his mind messed over too many times because of them. He’d known Jean Grey for years and trusted her to a point, but he wasn’t about to let her traipse around inside his skull. He was about to tell her just that when she spoke again.

“I can ‘feel’ the wrongness in you, Ben. It’s emanating off of you in waves of emotion; anger predominantly but also doubt and insecurity. I can only imagine how it’s affecting your judgment.”

“Sister, if you looked like me an’ not some Miss America knock-off, you’d have a little anger and self-doubt bottled up inside a’ ya too. You Muties think you got it so bad, but at least you an’ Summers can pass as normal folk. Me, I gotta wear a trench coat, scarf, sunglasses and a big Stetson just ta walk down the street, all the while hoping a stiff breeze don’t blow my hat off and send my adoring public into a panic.”

Grimm tensed as Grey placed a calming hand on his shoulder. He could see Stark watching the reflection in the tempered glass of the wind screen and when he shifted his gaze he could see a slight tint to Grey’s eyes.

“I thought you’d conquered those demons long ago, Ben.” Grey smiled slightly and Grimm felt some of his tension ease, but only for a moment as his mind raced with doubt again. Was she doing something to him?

“My eyes got opened up recently, honey-bunch.” Grimm shrugged off her hand and turned towards her. Her eyes looked normal and she was still smiling. “I figured out what my ‘so-called’ friends really thought of me. Richards and his cronies kept me around for my strength, but they were always patronizing. Always with the mock pity and sympathy, tryin’ ta make me feel like I belonged. They suckered me in good, but never again.”

“That’s the Wizard talking, Ben. Whatever he and the Puppet Master and the Controller did to you, it’s left scars. I can fix that. Heal you. Whatever happened to you with Alicia in Florida has left a mark as well. Killing Maximus when he threatened the child.” Grimm saw her smile falter as her gaze seemed to stray. “Oh, my god . . .”

Grimm was out of his seat in an instant. He grabbed Grey, his massive hands encircling her upper arms and holding her tight. He saw her wince and tears welled in her eyes, a pleading look washing over her face as she stared up at him. “You’re in my head now, ain’t’cha, you bitch!”

“Grimm!” Ben Grimm saw Cyclops jump from his seat, his hand to his ruby quartz visor, which was crackling with unbridled, other-worldly energy waiting to be unleashed. “Let her go.” Grimm saw Grey’s hand flutter, waving Cyclops to stand down. He didn’t.

“You killed Moon Knight,” Grey whispered in astonishment, “stranded Hawkeye and the rest of the Avengers back in the past. Spider-Man . . . You’ve created the parallel universes that you’re trying to eradicate. My god . . .”

“I won’t tell you again.” Summers’ fingers played at the dial on his visor.

“Ben . . .”

“Umm,” Stark said as his hands maneuvered about the pilot’s console. ”This might not be the best time to prove who’s the Alpha Male on board. We’re entering the air space of the Russian Federation and I’m getting flack.”

“Trust me . . .”

Ben Grimm looked up into Jean Grey’s eyes, and before he could move . . .

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.

He heard Jean Grey gasp . . .

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.

Warmth flowed into his body as the Phoenix Force enveloped him, flames washing over him, cleansing . . .

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 . . .

“Bastard!”

Ben Grimm gritted his teeth and grimaced as the Phoenix Force burned through his body. He convulsed as Grey pressed her fingers into his temples, but otherwise his limbs were useless; putty to mold in whatever form she chose.

Damn, he hated mentalists.

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.”

“You’re 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.”

“Ahhh . . . ” Jean Grey moaned as she felt the Thing’s fists closing about her arms, crushing. Still she probed, ignoring the pain, flicking away Moondragon’s pathetic attempts to help Ben Grimm. With a flick of her fingers she washed away the last remnants of the Wizard’s hold, and the Puppet Master as well. She dug deeper into his psyche . . .

“Do . . . it . . .”

Victor Von Doom blinked; actually surprised to hear the thin and rasping voice of one of the three men he hated most in the world. He felt Grimm’s free hand rest on his arm, the weight if not the grip, feeble yet oddly firm in resolve. Grimm was trying to smile, but his swollen and bloody lips twisted the effort into a conceited sneer.

“Do it, Vic . . .” Grimm spat, a trickle of translucent crimson drooling from the corner of his mouth. “Ya know ya want to. End it.”

Doom hesitated, his arm dropping slightly as he considered his foe, sagging and weary in his outstretched grip. Had he won? Had Grimm actually given up? No. The fire and determination remained within. Doom could sense it, feel it. What then was his goal? What –

He felt it. There was something on the back of Grimm’s neck. Something small enough to avoid detection at a glance apparently and only noticed at the intimacy of Doom’s embrace. Metallic and circular, studded at the center, it was a disk of some sort, and seemingly familiar.

“Sandhurst . . .” Doom whispered as all suddenly became clear. Grimm’s enhanced brutal attitude and loutishness in the recent battle against the Dark Rider and Cotton Mather in old Salem. The Avenger Moondragon’s efforts to clear Grimm’s mind of some outside influence. Obviously the Priestess from Titan had failed, or was there more?

Doom knew that this Grimm was some shadow from an alternate, future Earth that may or may never come into being. He had seen glimpses of the brute’s world when Moondragon had linked the minds of the ‘heroes’ for a final assault against the primordial Arch Magus; a dark and twisted reality full of hatred and unadulterated violence. Doom had thought the Thing just a byproduct of his alien environment, but now it seemed there was more.

He was being controlled by Basil Sandhurst, the Controller, though obviously that link was severed within the Time Stream. It appeared however that Grimm had been twisted enough that his baser instincts were brought to fore. There was a savagery within the now frail frame that had risen and taken control. An almost sociopathic lack of concern beyond his own self and surroundings. Doom had seen it during the battle, but otherwise occupied, had not made the connection. All too apparent now, however.

Grimm’s fist bounced off of Doom’s faceplate with a resounding, hollow echo, bringing Doctor Doom back to the moment at hand. Still fighting, Grimm would never admit defeat though the purpose was not even his own. Doom’s victory could be swift and sure, but unfulfilling in the end. It would be like snipping the strings of a marionette, defeating Sandhurst rather than Grimm. And in truth, there would be no joy in gloating before a shadow Reed Richards, presenting the head of a Thing that would never be. Still . . .

“Cretinous clod!” Doom snarled as he gripped the mind control disk imbedded in the thin flesh at the nape of Grimm’s neck. His armor’s sensors flared as he employed the slightest force, warnings flashing on internal displays as his armor shifted to compensate against a potential backlash of energy. Too he saw Grimm’s biological statistics shift into a dangerous area, mostly in the cerebral range, his mental faculties. Removing the disk thus might kill the man, or simply leave him a blithering idiot. A mindless vegetable to be ignored and cast away beneath the notice of Doom. A step up in certain aspects, to be certain.

Doctor Doom laughed as he ripped the disk from the back of Ben Grimm’s throat. Blood spewed forth in a wide stream as the man screamed, finally sagging in Doom’s grip. Von Doom held fast, watching as the pale imitation of his foe kicked and spasmed, his eyes rolling back as his tongue lolled awash with viscous saliva. He whined and whimpered like a mad dog, his whole body shaking as his mind slowly began the tedious process of shutting down. Doom sealed his armor against the stench of excretion, then calmly began to unfurl his cloak from Grimm’s twisted grasp.

The body trembled, occasionally jerking in reflex. Putrid air escaped the chaffed lips in a long hiss. Doom considered, then quietly opened his hand, watching only a moment as Benjamin J. Grimm was scooped up like a brittle, dead leaf in an autumn wind and tossed into the tempest to disappear . . .

. . . With time

“Jean!”

Scott Summers screamed as he pulled at Jean Grey’s shoulders, trying to pull her away from Benjamin J. Grimm. She was fixed though, her psyche merged with the Thing’s, her being one with his, all that he was. She was riding his past and trying to save his future, Summers knew.

And there was nothing that he could do . . .

“Foul!”

There was a flicker in the energy field, and suddenly two forms stepped from the ether. The first was tall, balding and blue-skinned, dressed in a long shimmering gown of gold. The other was dressed in armor obviously hobbled together by a colorblind blacksmith in greens and purple and sporting a bright blue facemask. The Grandmaster and Kang the Conqueror come to tally the final score.

“I cry foul!” the Grandmaster repeated, striding forward as though he owned the world, and just possibly did after Ben’s interference. Grimm knew that he had done just what the Black Knight had done in the first round. Could be that the Elder was about to pull rules out of his ass, or maybe declare a third and deciding round, except that by Ben’s count, the only Avenger left was the Wasp. The Grandmaster stopped not so far away, glancing at his three downed champions and finally pointing a long and bony finger at Ben Grimm.

“You have interfered in the Game, human! You who are not an Avenger! Even as did the Black Knight in the first encounter, so too have you robbed Kang’s champions of a clear-cut victory. I declare this round a draw, and shall now send the combatants back – “

“Hold, Elder!” Kang said, his voice clear and sure as he stepped forward with an upraised hand. “You presume interference wrongly. There has been no foul, as this man before you is indeed an Avenger!”

“What?”

Kang smiled at the Grandmaster’s confusion, nodding smugly even as he drew a small, fist-sized and futuristic looking gun from the folds of his tunic. “Not an Avenger in the time of these others to be certain, but you forget that Kang is a master of time itself, and the Avengers have ever been a… passion of mine. I know this man for who he truly is. Benjamin J. Grimm . . .”

Kang raised his weapon and fired. Ben screamed as he was bathed in a burning, golden light. It was like fire and ice all at once, and seemed to permeate his every cell, every fiber of his being. He staggered in that unholy glare, his body seeming a burden, weighing him suddenly down. And even as he collapsed under his own mass, he knew what was happening . . .

“. . . The Thing!”

Kang laughed as the Grandmaster stood solemnly staring at the strange rock-skinned man-monster struggling to rise before them. The thing was heaving against the sudden mass of his own body, his muscles rippling and contracting as his skin shifted through a series of mutations until it became hard and chiseled. Finally it grunted, almost a scream as it convulsed a final time and shuddered. Grimm was struggling to rise as the Grandmaster turned away.

“Explain yourself, conqueror. I recognize the Thing of the Fantastic Four, not the Avengers.”

“Not yet, Elder.” Kang chuckled, glancing at the three Avengers as though considering. Finally he shrugged. “The Thing will join a branch of the Avengers established on the West Coast of North America some years in their future. It is knowledge to me. And as we did not specify a specific time frame as to whence I plucked my champions, unlike the intervention of the Black Knight who was not an Avenger when he interfered, the Thing most definitely is. I declare victory, Grandmaster. I win!”

The Thing saw that it was the Elder’s turn to consider. The blue-skinned alien was a survivor, the last of his race so the story went and, bored, sought to while away the eons by chasing sport across the universe. It was supposedly the first time that the Grandmaster had lost. Grimm knew it would not be the last.

“Of course,” the Vision said, stepping forward. “I recognized your image from the Avenger’s files. The image of Ben Grimm of course. That is why you seemed so out of place.” The android looked the Thing up and down and Grimm glanced down at his rocky form as well. He was draped in the tatters of the German uniform, but that was not what caught his attention. He could feel the change, oh so subtle, but one he was well acquainted with. He was trapped again.

Trapped in the body of the Thing . . .

“Very well,” the Grandmaster conceded. He waved his hand and Ben saw the still Invaders as well as the three Avengers vanish in a flare of crackling energy. He turned back to Kang. “We shall discuss your prize back in the future. A future where this one does not belong.”

Again the Grandmaster pointed at the Thing, but Ben was recovered enough to stand his ground this time. “Bring yer best, Little Boy Blue. I beat yer brother, an’ I figure I can take you too.”

The Grandmaster raised an eyebrow at that, but before he might respond, Kang stepped between them. “Hold, Grimm. You have done me a great service and laid victory in my lap, and a power beyond your comprehension. Never let it be said that Kang does not show his gratitude. What boon might you ask of me?”

Ben tried to ignore the conceited smirk that crossed the Grandmaster’s lips as he thought. Kang was the alleged ‘Master of Time’, at least to hear him tell it, so his first thought was to save Captain America. But why stop there? If Kang was all that, why not have him fix all the things that Ben had messed up in his trip through time; save Hawkeye and Mockingbird, revive Moon Knight. Hell, Kang could reset time and save Maximus  . . .

No.

Ben knew that he had fucked up. No matter the reason, whatever he had done, and he was sure that there was probably more, he would have to face up to it in the end. Having Kang wipe the slate clean was not an option, no matter how appealing. Too, he knew Kang for what and who he really was and knew that whatever he might ask would somehow come back to haunt him.

“Just send me back where I belong,” Grimm finally answered with a sigh. Kang smirked –

“Done, monster,” Kang said as he replaced his weapon back within the folds of his tunic. He then placed one hand upon his belt and held the other out towards the Thing. “I send you back . . .

“Where you belong!”

And as Paris of 1942 slowly faded away, Benjamin J. Grimm realized his mistake. Kang was a villain after all, and just like asking wishes of a Genie…

It was all in the words.

“No!” Jean Grey cried as she felt the hands pulling at her. She clutched even harder, her fingers digging into the rocky flesh as images of the past flickered before her eyes. Images that should not have been and must never be…

“Aw, crap . . .”

Ben Grimm stared up at Uatu, the Watcher, even as the gigantic alien stared back down at him. The alien was stoic and unblinking in consideration, and Grimm felt his stomach churn knowing that no good could come of this. In the back of his subconscious he heard the grinding of gears and the squeal of metal. The sound of the jet engine grew louder but he paid it no heed.

“What?” he said, standing before the Watcher. He knew that the alien was only supposed to appear in times of dire circumstance, and even then he was breaking the rules. The FF had met him first on the Moon when they had been battling the Red Ghost and his ‘Super Apes’. He had later appeared when Galactus had come to eat the Earth for the first time, and then countless times thereafter. Uatu was a rogue of sorts, always just a little too concerned for the Earth and its denizens, and he had been reprimanded by his peers for interfering many times. Of late he did not say much, but everyone knew that when he appeared, shit was gonna hit the fan.

The Watcher simply stared, glancing at the sound of the jet engine. Grimm turned and saw the Drone Plane easing out of the hanger on its tracks and picking up speed. It would pass right by him if left unimpeded, but he knew what was coming. On cue he heard the sound of the motorcycle.

As the plane trundled along towards fate, Ben saw Cap and Bucky on the old cycle. Captain America gunned the engine as his partner struggled to hang on, standing on the seat and reaching out to grab at the plane. Ben could not hear what they were saying, but he could imagine as it was ingrained in his head . . .

“We’re too late, Bucky! We have to go after it in another plane!” Cap was shouting.

“No! Don’t stop!” Bucky screamed, stretching for all he was worth. “I think I can reach it, Cap!”

“Fuck!”

Ben Grimm gave the Watcher a final dark glance as he picked up the bulk of the robot. He swung, spiraling once before flinging the dead weight into the path of the motorcycle.

“Bucky! Look out!”

Cap shouted, gunning the cycle’s engine, trying to jump the sudden obstacle but it was too late. The front tire of the motorcycle hit the bulk of the android spilling both Captain America and Bucky to sprawl onto the ramp of the plane’s ascent. To his credit, and fate, Bucky stretched, trying to the last to grab the Drone, but things had changed.

Grimm turned, charging up the ramp and brushing past the Watcher without pause. He knew what he had to do. Things had changed, and somehow all of his stops throughout time had been leading up to this moment. He was no Reed Richards, but he knew . . .

The death of Moon Knight. Stranding the West Coast Avengers in the past . . .

The madness of the Salem Witch Trials. He had changed Spider-Man then, and God knows what else . . .

Killing Cap in 1942 . . .

Maximus . . .

It was all connected somehow, and leading to this. History – HIS history was changing. Cap and Bucky would survive, but how would that effect the outcome of the war?

Ben Grimm shook his head as he charged up the ramp for all he was worth. He ran full tilt, cursing as the Drone Plane roared past.

He leapt . . .

He heard metal crumple and crunch as he grabbed hold, trying desperately to get a grip. He could see the sparks of the fuse as it burned, Zemo’s failsafe meant to destroy both the Allies’ hope and his greatest foes. A bomb, just as history said. But Ben was not Bucky. He was the Thing, rock hard and fancy free. He could handle any Nazi bomb . . .

Light.

Heat.

He felt the plane disintegrating in his grip, breaking apart in a glorious flare of brilliance, the sound deafening as he screamed in sudden agony . . .

“Nooooo!”

The water was cold. The darkness comforting, soothing as he drifted down . . .

Down . . .

Down.

“No!”

Grimm stared wide eyed and panting at Jean Grey and Scott Summers as they lay sprawled in the aisle of the Quinjet after his outburst. Whatever Phoenix had done he had finally slapped her away, but she had left him sweating and hurting and…

Human.

Ben Grimm stared at his hands; pink and soft, not rocky and orange. At some point he had gained the ability to shift between his stone-encrusted form and his human self just like his friends . . .

Not friends. Grimm ground his teeth.

But the pain was not there . . .

The hatred was fading . . .

Going . . .

He remembered. And a new darkness swept across his vision, dipped in scarlet.

He had been used. All this time.

“Ben?”

Benjamin J. Grimm turned to face Anthony Stark, the Iron-Man in turn staring back. His eyes were wide but his hands were fixed and dedicated to the job at hand; guiding the Quinjet by rote.

“We’re over Transylvania. Woo says we’ll be on top of Misty’s location within five minutes. You okay?”

Ben Grimm reached down and picked up the stogie that had fallen to the floor. He brushed off the spent ash then touched the flame of his Zippo, puffing it back to life taking a long, deep breath.

He felt his body convulsing, hardening as his skin converted…

Reverted to the state that it was always meant to be. Rock flowed replacing skin. Encrusting him… Covering him fully and sealing his fate.

He knew . . .

Ben Grimm knew what had happened. All the things that he had done.

And he knew what he had to do to make it right.

Grimm crushed out his cigar in the ash tray and stared forward as the European countryside swept by in a river of darkness. He glanced at Cyclops and Phoenix picking themselves up in the aisle of the Quinjet, Colleen Wing with her katana in hand ready to fight.

Ready to kill.

“I’m fine.”

Grimm smiled but it was not a pleasant thing to see . . .

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To be continued in Tomb of Dracula . . .

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PS:

Doomstadt,
Latveria

The sound of his iron-shod boots echoed about the cold gray stone as he stalked down the dank, dark hallway. In the sparse fluttering of flameless torches’ glow he could see the trails of slime and mildew lining the old walls chiseled and restructured so many decades before from the very bedrock far beneath his castle. A fat, filthy rat scurried past hugging the wall’s base in his passing. He made a note to punish the grounds man assigned to this sector. At a glance the pseudo torchlight flickered in brightness and the shadows fell away, his gaze more than enough to turn the darkness. In the distance, far in the dim he saw the shimmer of metal; a humanoid form adjusting to block his approach and bar his way.

“Doom-bot V-87,” he said without breaking stride, “terminate function.”

The placid, generic face almost seemed to take on a look of despair before it went blank. Its eyes dimmed and the squat, thick body slumped as its master shoved it aside to clatter to the ground, a toy discarded and forgotten.

Victor Von Doom stood before the reinforced door of one of his deepest laboratories buried far beneath the grounds of his castle, removing the metal gauntlet from his left hand even as he leaned in towards the red sensor of the retinal scanner.

“Maria,” he said as he touched the full flesh of his palm to the door’s sensor plate and light flared from the screen scanning his eye, the lines and contours of his hand, analyzing the timbre of his voice. There was a deep hiss of air discharging and a cool breeze ruffled his cape as the heavy door unlocked and slid into the wall. Doom slipped his hand back into his metallic glove and strode into the room beyond.

“Guntz!” Doom said softly, but with a voice full of authority as he stalked into the room. Lights flickered and flashed and he could feel the constant thrum of turbines churning as power coerced beneath his feet, feeding the chamber with unbridled power. Machinery rose into the dim recesses of the ceiling, huge pipes and conduits criss-crossing overhead leaking energy with enough excess power to light any of the small European countries encroaching the borders of his own for decades. Doom ignored that, relying on contingencies in the circuitry and regulating programs to gather the leakage and store it for future purpose.

No waste.

Everything would be used to its fullest potential. Thus was Doom’s law, and so it was.

“Guntz!” he said again, his voice only slightly louder knowing that the churn of the machinery might have muted his first call. To his satisfaction he saw an elderly man step from the shadowy recesses of the laboratory in the distance of the vast chamber. He was all but bald with a feathery whisper of gray hair about his ears, thin on the border of fragile and weathered with age that had been extended far beyond its allotted time. Doom did not pause in his stride as he saw the old man reach up to adjust his thick-lensed glasses, peering forward with widening eyes at his approach.

“Master! Ich bin durch Ihre Anwesenheit geehrt. Was kann ich tun, um Ihnen zu gefallen? ”

“If you want to please me, cretin, you can anticipate my whims and already have the Memory Extractor powered for my pleasure and use. I somehow doubt that you do, however.” Doom stopped before the smaller, older man, his steely gaze enveloping the elder form with contempt. He hated the German refugees that had come crawling to his homeland for shelter after the war decades before, but he was not adverse to using their misguided intellect, redirecting it for his own purposes in a far grander dream than der Führer could ever comprehend.

Wilhelm Guntz had been a psychiatrist of some renown in Germany before Hitler had come to power and the Reichsmarch had taken over. His abilities had been tested at a small, secluded facility near Kiel, then later at the horrors of Auschwitz; prying information from captured Allies and Jewish insurgents alike. He had been present when Magneto had manifested his powers and razed the concentration camp, devastating the contingent of loyal troops stationed there in his bid for freedom. Guntz had barely survived, and like so many of his brethren, had crept over the borders into Latveria, there to be succored by King Vladimir Vassily Gonereo Tristian Mangegi Fortunov. Upon Doom’s rise to power he had slain Fortunov, but he kept the cowering Germans under his control for his own purpose.

Hauptmann . . . Gittrlsohn . . .

Few remained.

“Verzeihen Sie mir, Meister. Die Maschine wird fertig in Augenblicken. ”

Doom watched, feigning impatience as the little old man scurried about to please him. A panel opened in the wall to the side with a strain of metallic hiss and Doom noted the inadequacy of function, logging the lack of maintenence in his memory for retribution later. For now there were more pressing concerns.

A chair slid from the recesses even as a wide, transluscent helm descended from a port in the ceiling far above. Guntz wiped at the chair clean, unused for years, then went to a bank of controls and adjusted the energy flowing throughthe equpment before turning to Doom with an expectanct smile.

“Der Memory Extractor ist bereit, Meister.”

“And the files I demanded from the Memory Grid from the Time Machine?”

“Ja, Meister.”

“Then stand aside, fool and man the controls.”

Doom stepped forward and sat in the offered chair with no trepidation. There was little risk of betrayal as the Memory Extractor did nothing but sort misplaced images from the mind’s eye, circulating and collating facts to be reproduced in a collage of imprints to later be displayed for the person wishing to see the view of forgotten memories. Doom gave Guntz a final glare as he raised his hands and touched pressure points on his armor. With a ‘Sssssss” his faceplate fell away and his scarred face was exposed.

Doom saw Guntz shrink back, his face twisting momentarily in horror. “Place the leads, fool. And be quick about it. Doom does not have the time for your squeamish antics.” Doom watched as Guntz steeled himself and complied, attaching the lead wires to Doom’s temples and forehead. The eld scientist then moved back to the machinery, twisting dials and flipping switches. Doom watched the process through narrow, slitted eyelids.

“Bereit, Meister.”

“Then get on with it, fool.”

Guntz nodded emphatically and eagerly gave a final adjustment to the dials before manning the levers and guides that would empower the Extractor. Doom watched as small panels in varying color sprang to life on the machinery, satisfied that the complex programs he had designed were searching the memory logs of the time machine that he had been forced to abandon years ago in upstate New York.

He had only learned after the fact that a contingent of the Avengers had infiltrated his American castle, bypassing the security that he had set in place and made their way to his secreted laboratories housed in its depths. Goliath and the Wasp, the Black Panther and Hawkeye had all come running at the emotional whim of Captain America; his overwhelming desire to learn the final fate of his partner from World War II, Bucky Barnes. A wasted effort apparently, if recent rumors of the Winter Soldier were to be believed.

But something strange had occurred.

The males of the Avengers had left the Wasp at the controls of the time machine while they had traveled back to view the sacrifice of James Buchanan Barnes just a few short weeks before the end of the war in Europe. At some point however, Janet Van Dyne had fallen asleep and her fingers had inadvertantly – or so it was assumed – adjusted the controls of the machine ever so slightly. Nothing had been thought of her lapse at the return of the male Avengers, but they soon learned that they had been transported to one of the myriad parallel dimensions within the Multi-verse. The particular dimension was one where the original founding Avengers had eliminated all villains at the time as well as all other heroes at the urging of a cosmic being known as the Scarlet Centurion.

The ‘New’ Avengers had remarkably beaten the ‘Old’ Avengers and whatever threat the Scarlet Centurion had posed was eliminated. As the triumphant Avengers had been sent back to their allegedly rightful timeline, the memories of their adventures had been all but erased from their minds and they had moved on, perhaps just a bit confused.

Doctor Doom had only learned of all of this when he had returned to his American-based castle to retrieve his resources that had been abandoned there. Monitors had recorded the Avengers’ incursion on his grounds, and only a bit of effort had revealed what they had attempted to do. He had not been able to gather all of the facts of their journey, but he had divined enough to realize what had happened. Doom had set about then to investigate other breeches of security based on time travel, and even he had been astounded at the activity and ignorance of the Avengers, and others.

The arachnid-enhanced fool Spider-Man had been cast back in time as well as into the future, battling in old Salem during the Witch Trials alongside the Scarlet Witch, the Vision and Moondragon at first, as well as Doctor Doom himself. Then in his attempt to return home he was cast into the alternate realities of Deathlok the Destroyer and the Freedom Fighter, Killraven, in a world where the Wellsian Martians actually existed and ruled . . .

Captain America and the cretinous Thing had gone into yet another future to aide the Guardians of the Galaxy in defeating the war-mongering Badoon . . .

The West Coast Avengers had gone back in time to the era of Rama-Tut and later were cast adrift landing in America’s ‘Old West’…

And most recently Ben Grimm had been sent back in time again.

The Thing had been mind-controlled by the Wingless Wizard, the Puppet-Master and the Controller and was bent on seeking revenge against believed slights at the hands of his comrades; the Fantastic Four. Doom was impressed by the efforts of Debra Bernard, the nanny of the Richards’ children, Franklin and Valeria. The Ex-SHIELD agent had tricked Grimm onto the Time Platform that Reed Richards had recreated and sent him back to the reign of Rama-Tut in ancient Egypt.

Grimm had been yet another figure thrust into events that included the Fantastic Four, Doctor Strange and the West Coast Avengers. The Thing however, in his controlled and warped persona, had altered time…

He had killed the Moon Knight in ancient Egypt and stranded the West Coast Avengers there in that timeline…

He had aided Spider-Man in Eld Salem but again had altered history. Oddly Doom himself did not recall the Thing’s inclusion in defeating the Dark Rider, nor their own apparent battle as Doom had used the temporal technology long ago laced into his armor to return home to his proper time. Doom surmised that Grimm had inadvertently created yet another divergent timeline with his intrusion, and another Victor Von Doom.

That Doom had cast the Thing into the Time Stream where he had apparently landed in still another alternate dimension. There he had helped a contingent of Avengers in World War II Occupied Paris against the Invaders; Captain America, the Human Torch and the Sub-Mariner, all caught up in the games of Kang the Conqueror and the Elder of the Universe; the Grand Master.

And he had finally taken the place of Captain America, saving the Star-Spangled Avenger and his young partner from their fates and being plunged into suspended animation himself for decades when he stopped them from attempting to halt Baron Zemo’s sabotaged Drone Plane. It was Grimm who then spent years submerged in the ocean and encased in ice, preserved until he was found and thawed and swept up into the world of the Red Skull’s failed Fourth Reich.

Grimm’s bumbling efforts in all of the Times had created yet more splinters in the Multi-Verse, the ramifications of which had yet to be determined. It was that, which Victor Von Doom hoped to learn.

Victor Von Doom settled back in the padded chair of the Memory Extractor, trying to relax as the myriad tributaries of the Time Stream washed through his conscience mind and being. He tried to focus as his computer programs sifted the pertinent data and collated, sending any findings his way in a blizzard-like flurry of images fluttering through his mind’s eye…

Doom gasped.

Victor Von Doom saw the Scarlet Centurion trying to alter Reality, using the Avengers to eliminate all villains and heroes from a specific Timeline. He saw Grimm’s escapades throughout time, altering incidents that would affect their own Reality, turning it towards the Centurion’s goal.

But why?

Doom’s mind flickered with images, fluttering swiftly through memories suppressed and truly never experienced. Memories of another laced with his own.

In his mind, Doom saw the flash of the pharaoh Rama-Tut, followed by a man in red armor and finally, the image of a conqueror from the far future among many more. His body thrashed as the rush of memories from different eras and divergent realities battered his mind.

The machine stopped and the scientist rushed over to his master, carefully disconnecting the diodes. He held the metal faceplate up for Doom, but the villain made no effort to take it.

“Meine Liege?” asked the scientist.

Doom’s hand suddenly snapped up, grabbing the doctor’s wrist and shattering every bone inside. He rose to his feet, looking down at the faceplate. He slowly started to return to his senses and he returned the faceplate to his helmet.

Then, he said one word: “Grimm.”

---

 

Next Issue: Head on over to Tomb of Dracula for the conclusion of this cross-over. Then head back here next time for the next chapter in the Tales of Ben Grimm: the Thing. The defecation is about to hit the oscillator in Thing, Avengers and Tomb. Don’t miss out!

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A Quick Word:

It’s been awhile . . .

Marvel Omega hit a slow down for various reasons a couple years ago. No harm in that. Real Life catches up to all of us eventually as it did to me last year. In 2014 in the space of 6 months I lost first my father, then my mother and then an old and dear friend. Needless to say, writing was the last thing on my mind for quite awhile. I’m only now starting to snap out of the semi depressive laziness that had sapped my ambition for so long.

Dino Pollard gets the credit for getting me motivated again, when he sent me an email wanting to get going on Avengers once more. Dino is a good friend and not wanting to let him down and leave him holding a lot of loose ends we hammered out a rough arc of plots leading up to Avengers #50. Then knowing that the Thing will be integral in some of those stories to come, I got going again. And here we are with the first story I’ve written (and completed) in over a year. Hope you all enjoyed it.

This issue of the Thing was supposed to be a bit more action-packed, but after my long absence it seemed better to have an issue with a bit of down time for Ben. I did have the idea to use Phoenix / Jean Grey to finally purge the Thing of the last of the Mind Control and hatred that had been driving him since my run on the Fantastic Four before the long break in my writing, and figured that I could do that as well as get everyone up to speed again. Hope it worked. And thanks to Chris Munn for loaning out Phoenix and Cyclops.

For the full story however you’ll have to do some reading. Here’s a short list of the Marvel Omega stories that expand and enlighten you, the reader as to the references throughout the story you have just read.

Ben Grimm first started down this dark path when he killed Maximus the Mad. This happened during my run on the Fantastic Four (10 years ago). Giant-Sized Fantastic Four ended the story arc Maximum Annihilation with the Inhuman, Maximus using Luna – the daughter of Crystal and Quicksilver as a shield to save himself from Grimm’s wrath. It didn’t work.

Later in my FF run, the Frightful Force attacked (FF 8-10). Therein the Wizard, the Controller and the Puppet Master Mind Controlled Ben making him evil and hating his friends and family, using the Thing against the Fantastic Four. He went toe to toe with some of Omega’s best and had a slug fest with the Hulk In collaboration with Derrick Ferguson.

Finally he returned to the Baxter Building to seek his revenge and was cast back in time via Doctor Doom’s reconstructed Time Platform by the nanny of the FF children, Debra Bernard (FF #14).

Ben’s next adventures were chronicled in my Marvel Two-In-One mini-series here at Omega. Trapped in the Time Stream he did what he had to, to get back home. Read the mini for reference to Marvel 616 and the stories that he interrupted and altered.

Then read Thing.

And let me know what you think. Praise and/or Criticism is always appreciated.

It’s all coming to a head very soon. Read Tomb of Dracula and Avengers for the full story.

Stay tuned . . .

Curt
4/27/15

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