Manhattan:
42nd Street and Madison Avenue
The Baxter Building
Sometime…

Lightning flared in the darkling sky illuminating the horizon with a sickly, ruddy glow that seemed to portend the impending storm to come. A low rumble of thunder followed, rolling ominously over the city, but that was drowned out by the guttural snarl of a deep, gravelly voice…

“World’s greatest fightin’ team… please.” The hulking gray form sneered as he reached into the pocket of his black battle vest and withdrew a long, Cuban cigar. He removed the plastic wrapper, flicking the cellophane to the wind as he sniffed the aged and soaked tobacco. “They’re so great, why are they all on their asses an’ we’re still standin’?” the Incredible Hulk asked as he lit the illegal Havana.

“The Fantastic Four were always worthy foes, brute,” said Namor I of Atlantis, “as well as allies. Do not make light of their defeat, or suffer my imperious wrath.” The Savage Sub-Mariner stared down at the fallen and frail form at his feet, his demeanor one of regret as he gazed upon the woman that he once… still loved. The Hulk chuckled to see the forlorn look on the monarch’s face.

“Yer just pining over the Invisible Bitch, fish-face. Ya never could cuckold Richards and get her, an’ that burns ya.”

“Watch what you say, Banner, or you will face the- “

“…Imperious wrath a’ the avenging son. Yadda, yadda. Bring it, bitch!”

“Enough!”

Energy flared and crackled between the Gamma-spawned behemoth and the Mutant King of age-old Atlantis. Both combatants winced at the searing pain and stepped back from the sudden glow, cursing and rubbing their eyes. Slowly they saw the shining, silver-cast form of Norrin Radd, the star-spanning Silver Surfer positioned between them, his hands raised in peace but ready for war.

“We suffer an uneasy alliance, my erstwhile comrades. Cease your senseless bickering, as we still have a long task ahead. We must remain true to our cause and remain unified if we are to save the world and mankind from itself.” Both the Sub-Mariner and the Hulk stared at the once Herald of Galactus, but finally, grudgingly stepped down.

“Regardless,” another voice said coldly, “Namor is correct. The Fantastic Four are worthy of our respect. Susan Richards alone almost beat us all.”

Three sets of eyes gazed on the Master of the Mystic Arts, Doctor Stephen Saunders. His generic, pale blue face tilted towards the four fallen heroes lying about the war torn rooftop of the legendary Baxter Building. Reed Richards, Mister Fantastic lay sprawled the length and width of the building, his rubber-like body a jumbled mass of over long limbs knotted and stretched to their utmost limit. At roof’s edge, the charred and smoldering body of Johnny Storm lay broken and burned almost beyond recognition, the Human Torch a victim of his own cosmic flames. His sister, Susan Richards, wife of the debatably smartest man on the planet lay looking unscathed, though just as deceased, her skin lightly tinted blue. Lastly, the pale pink form of Benjamin J. Grimm, once the Thing sat in the roof’s corner, his head lolling and twisted about at a rakish angle courtesy of Banner. Saunders’ pastel blue face reflected the far off flicker of lightning, yet revealed little from its blank features, his body seemingly tense as his blue cloak swirled about his legs in the rushing winds.

“She always tries that bubble-head thing on me,” the Hulk said, puffing on his cigar. “Ya’d think she’d learn.”

“But for the plan, she would have beaten you again, Hulk,” the Silver Surfer said.

“Says you, shiny.”

“Ironically, it was that very tactic that gave me the inspiration for her downfall,” Saunders said. “But for the Crimson Bands of Cyttorak cutting her tie to the Hyperforce Dimension, we may have actually been beaten.”

“We won,” Namor said, his body suddenly shining as water washed over his skin, dowsed by the dark suit he wore created once by Reed Richards years before. The man that had saved his life, and whom he had just slain. “That is the important thing. We can regret the manner when this is over and the world is saved. Let us get on with this.”

Doctor Strange nodded, his hands already flying through ancient arcane maneuvers, his fingers flickering as he started to mouth words that roiled against the ear and were soon forgotten. To his right, Norrin Radd relaxed, his body starting to glow with a building radiance of white light. A hole suddenly seemed to rip into the very fabric of the air, and with little no pomp and little consideration; the Hulk and Sub-Mariner picked up their fallen foes and tossed them through the opening and into the abyss beyond. A surge of power crackled through the air, the conflicting forces of magic and cosmic energy, and with an anticlimactic ‘POP’, and the rift mended itself and vanished.

“Who’s next?” the Hulk asked, wincing and looking skyward as the first drops of rain started to fall.

“Xavier,” Saunders answered staring north and east.

“Good,” the Hulk said with a smirk. “I know a certain Canucklehead that I won’t mind beatin’ the crap out of again.”

“Then let us away.” Doctor Strange waved his hands and spoke a word and they were gone…

“You see, Grimm,” the man in the crimson armor said, his voice laced with sorrow and regret. “This is but one of the many, countless realities that loom on the horizon. The corrupt and arrogant Defenders sweeping across the globe and enforcing their ideals. The four creating a ‘Utopia’, at least in their opinion. They must be stopped.”

Benjamin J. Grimm stared sullenly at the battered and broken rooftop of the Baxter Building. The Omni-Directional Sensor Array lay in mangled ruins, a bizarrely twisted sculpture of Pop Art looming over a gaping hole where the Pogo Plane once resided. The Fantasti-Car stood on its side, smoldering. There was a huge spot of blackened, sticky tar where the Torch had given his last.

This was the fifth ‘future’ that the Centurion had shown him. The fifth alternate reality where best intentions had become warped and twisted, turned into oppressive states of ignorance and obsession…

He had seen an aged Hulk lording over a blasted and irradiated land…

He had seen an Earth repressed and depressed, a golden city hovering over Manhattan…

A world where Sentinels kept the peace, nuclear war on the brink and mutates herded into concentration camps…

The world clinically sterile, running exactly and without deviation, a generic vision of computerized Nirvana…

And the Defenders, dark and corrupted, eliminating those who would not comply with their New World order…

Each seemed worse than the last. Friends died, others were enslaved, and in every scenario mankind suffered somehow, for the worst. It was horrible, but Grimm knew what Richards had said. Any intervention created yet another new reality, another else world or what if dimension. His aid, no matter what would be pointless.

“The world is on the brink, Grimm,” the Centurion had said as the crimson clouds swirled about them again, taking them away. “It is a nexus; a focal point where any of the realities I have shown could rise to dominance. And if any of them do, then humanity is doomed. All it will take is a thought, an action and reality will spiral into despair. You can save your world Grimm. You can save Reality…”

The Thing stared as the world swirled about him. Gray shades roiling and rising, forming into shattered buildings and tattered roads. He saw a giant stride into clarity, its skin mottled and gray, ripped and falling from bleached bone as it sniffed the air.

“Brains…” Henry Pym said in a low, rasping voice, his long, gargantuan strides carrying his giant body towards the Thing.

“Aww, Jeez…” Ben Grimm swallowed his bile and stepped back into the Time Stream, flowing about him like a rushing river. He gagged, staggering back with the flow until he was standing beside the Centurion again.

“All right,” he said hacking and coughing, his body doubled over as he tried to fight back his nausea. “All right… I’ll do it…”

And the Scarlet Centurion smiled…

AS SEEN THROUGH SCARLET

By Curtis Fernlund

Manhattan:
428 Greene Street
SoHo
Now…

John Jameson slit the tape on the bottom of the now empty cardboard box with an abnormally long and hard thumbnail, folded the empty container and set it with the others off to the side. He stretched, arching his back until it popped, then stepped to the cluttered bureau and took up his half-empty water bottle.

“Ah, the life of a hero,” he said after taking a long, guzzling drink. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, wincing at the thick coating of silvery stubble that dotted his skin and scratched at his cheek. “Grimm didn’t say it would be this glamorous.”

“Be happy,” Jim Skully replied, wiping sweat from his brow with a black and white checkered handkerchief. He glanced to the far wall as the radiator began to whine and hiss, hot water surging through the pipes that would soon add to the already humid climate of the room. He, like his two friends was covered in dust and grime after unpacking the boxes that had been brought over from the old offices of Nightwing Restorations. Sweating and feeling filthy, he really did not need more heat to add to the mix. “Myself, if this is as hectic as it gets, I’ll be happy as a pig in shit.”

“Like that’s gonna happen,” Misty Knight said with a snort, placing files into a cabinet that she and her partner, Colleen Wing had picked up at the local Staples earlier that afternoon. Along with office chairs, a desk, supplies and even a new computer they had made the rounds in SoHo on a shopping spree all courtesy of Benjamin J. Grimm, AMEX member since 1965; don’t leave home without it. They had decked out the vacant rooms in Eric Arcane’s split level SoHo loft, fitting three rooms with bedroom accessories; single beds, dressers, etc., and another room as the office and command center, such as it was. It was a far cry from the Baxter Building, but it was a couple steps above Luke Cage’s Times Square office. Or at least it would be when everything was set.

“If Grimm wanted movers he could have hired ‘Ben Hur’,” Misty continued sliding another door closed in the cabinet. “Figure this is the calm before the storm, fellas.”

The two men nodded and reluctantly got back to work unpacking the boxes that contained their new lives. Misty Knight frowned as she thumbed through another box of files that she had toted from her old offices uptown. She could feel the tension in the air as they all awaited word from Grimm’s team or Colleen’s. Both were out on crucial stealth missions, at least according to the Thing.

Grimm and Midnight, the adopted son of Fu Manchu turned vampire were invading S.H.I.E.L.D., hoping to infect their computer network with a virus that Grimm had gotten from Viper of all people. If it worked, the virus would wipe them all from the World Computer. All records from Birth Announcements to IRS information would be gone, leaving everyone on the team a virtual blank slate and hopefully untraceable within the system. They would become ‘Ghosts in the Machine’ for all intents; a status that Grimm insisted was necessary.

On the flip side and just as harrowing, Colleen Wing and Eric Arcane had gone off to invade the home of Doctor Strange. Grimm had said that the Sorcerer Supreme had some artifact in his stores that would make them virtually as invisible in reality as they would be on the Internet. The Stones of Andrak she thought he had called it, and apparently Arcane had heard of it. Whatever, it left the rest of them waiting in apprehension. Taking on S.H.I.E.L.D. or Strange either one; not a task she wanted to consider at all, no way.

BZZZZZZ

Everyone jumped at the sound of the front door’s buzzer. They weren’t expecting visitors, but who knew what kind of a social life and friends Arcane sported. He had lost his Life Partner a few weeks back in the big to-do against Dracula, and he might have people still coming around to check up on him. They all had friends, right?

Misty looked to Jameson and Skully, but both men simply shrugged so she went to the intercom out in the hallway near the stairs. “Who?” she asked, then listened to the staticky reply.

“It’s Eric, babe. Open up. Forgot my key.”

The hackles on the back of Misty’s neck crackled with life and rose. The voice was right, but ‘babe’? She and Eric Arcane were a step above acquaintances, but hardly on the level of pet names. Something was up.

“Hssst!” she hissed at Jameson and Skully, the two men dropping what they were doing and moving closer. “Somethin’s up. Get ready.”

Misty watched as the two men changed without the slightest hesitation. Jim Skully’s body shimmered with a golden radiance for a moment, the overweight, balding form glowing with strength as he employed the alien belt of strength that had come from some alternate world’s version of the Time Hell that he had been trapped in for months. Beside Skully, John Jameson grimaced, the pinkish Star Gem embedded in his flesh just above the clavicle crackling as his body convulsed. He gritted his teeth against the apparent pain as his muscles roiled and shifted, silver fur sprouting from pores all over his body. She heard bone snapping as his body morphed and she could not imagine the pain he was going through even as she flexed the fingers of her own bionic right arm. Within the space of heartbeats he was hunkering and drooling, the Man-Wolf standing where the astronaut and hero had once been.

Misty depressed the intercom and the door’s buzzer. “C’mon,” she said, undoing the locks and bolts and police bar on the front door, then stepping back and drawing her .44 Magnum, aiming at the closed door. The long silence that followed was palpable as the three teammates waited, finally hearing the tread of feet on the outer stairs beyond the front door. Misty pulled the hammer back on her gun even as the door swung inward…

“Let the Crimson Bands of Cyttorak envelop thee!”

There was a swirl of scarlet, a flash of eldritch energy as scarlet strands writhed and flowed from the gesticulating fingers of the slim figure silhouetted in the doorway. Misty fired, the sound of the gun’s rapport deafening even as she felt her body stiffening as the red tendrils swirled about her, locking her limbs and body from toe to head, stopping just below her nose. Her eyes flicked to her comrades and she saw that both Skull the Slayer and the Man-Wolf had been equally entangled. Both were equally helpless and straining at their bonds as she heard the voice from beyond the doorway again, though no longer ominously bellowing.

“Remarkable,” she heard Doctor Stephen Strange say as he casually stepped into the loft. He had a cigarette in his left hand, and made a ‘come hither’ gesture with his right and Misty’s eyes bulged to see Arcane and Colleen come floating horizontally into the room, both equally as bound in crimson bands as the rest of them. Strange gesticulated, directing his captives into the position that he wanted then pulled the door shut and locked it. He turned back to his prisoners.

“Misty Knight,” he purred smugly. “As expected. Where Colleen Wing is, can the other Daughter of the Dragon be far behind? James Skully and John Jameson however are definitely unexpected.” The mage stepped forward, glancing about the apartment until he stood before the struggling form of James Skully.

“I went to a lot of effort to free you from your curse, James. A special request from Captain America in fact, a favor owed. And you throw it all away?” Strange shook his head and took a long drag from his cigarette before turning to the Man-Wolf, raging futilely in his bonds. “And you. I had heard that you were free of the Star Gem,” Strange said in a demeaning tone. “What could possibly have coerced you both into taking up the chains that you struggled so hard to cast off? I believe it is time for some answers. But who best to ask?”

Strange struck a pose, arms crossed and cigarette dangling as his gaze swept over his five prisoners, scrutinizing each in turn. His body seemed to tense, and Misty felt her skin crawl when his steely eyes locked on her own. Finally though his body seemed to relax as he took a drag from his cigarette, blue smoke roiling out and up in a hazy cloud.

“I’m sorry, Miss Knight,” he said glancing about the room. He strolled to a nearby end table and crushed out the butt, then turned again to face Misty, wiping ash from his expensive black leather gloves. “Of you five, you will offer the least resistance. I do not mean that in an insulting way, but both Skully and Jameson are in possession of other worldly artifacts of relatively unusual origin and . Arcane, though a Hedge Mage,” Strange sniffed at the term, “still possesses a minor degree of mystical resistance. And Miss Wing shares a connection with K’un L’un through her mental rapport with Iron Fist and her training in various Martial Arts makes her a bit more disciplined than an ex-cop with attitude.”

Strange shrugged and stepped before Misty even as she struggled all the harder, getting nowhere. She watched as he seemed to concentrate a moment, and when he finally spoke the creepy, booming voice was back.

“Let the Truth be Revealed in the Light of the All-Seeing Eye of Agamotto!”

Misty’s eyes went wide as Strange’s diamond and gold stickpin suddenly seemed to grow and morph. It started to glow eerily, a thin slit appearing like an eye opening. A moment later and she was enveloped in a brilliant white radiance that seemed to lay her soul bare to the Sorcerer Supreme…

Ben Grimm staggered from the churning darkness out into the small, empty room that they had set aside in Eric Arcane’s SoHo loft for the comings and goings of Midnight in just such a fashion. Arcane had explained that his apartments were shielded in various ways against mystical assault, so he had set up the small room that his lover had been planning on using as an art studio. It was eight by eight with a ten foot ceiling, a door and a window and otherwise barren. Both Arcane and Midnight had agreed that being caught even on the fringes of the vampire’s teleporting would not be a pleasant experience. Grimm had agreed.

As always he was freezing. The magical aspects of stepping through one of the adjacent Dark Dimensions always chilled him to the bone and left him with the feeling of walking through cobwebs. Even his cosmically enhanced rocky form was little proof against the elements of Dark Magic. He shrugged and shivered, turning to see Midnight standing there at the opposite end of the room, his Shadow Cloak still writhing and spewing thick, inky clouds of black. The man himself stood stoically, ominous and chilling in his black body stocking, offset only slightly by his gray fedora, which had been knocked to a rakish angle in transit.

Grimm tensed as he saw a form taking shape within the obfuscation, another dark shape though marked with a pale face striding closer. And suddenly James Woo, Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. stepped into the light. Woo however seemed unaffected by the cold of the trip they had just endured, lowering his sunglasses slightly as he watched M’Nai enfold his slim body within the Shadow Cloak, sealing the portal.

“Interesting,” Grimm heard Woo say in a voice that would make Spock sound like a little girl. Woo slid his glasses back into place and calmly lit a cigarette before turning to Grimm. “Where are we?”

“HQ, Jimmy,” Ben Grimm stated, “such as it is. Arcane’s place down in SoHo. He – “ Ben went silent as he saw Midnight’s hand flicker up for silence even as Woo drew his S.H.I.E.L.D. Needler. He controlled the natural urge to ask ‘What?’ even as both men slid past his bulky, wide body and up to the closed door.

“I sense… fear… rage…” Woo whispered almost too quietly to hear. Midnight nodded his agreement, his hand flashing the Sign for ‘danger’.

The Thing grimaced. He had no doubt about Midnight’s extra sensory abilities, and he knew Jimmy Woo wouldn’t talk out of turn. He hated not knowing though, so he eased up to the door as well, listening…

“The Scarlet Centurion?” a muffled but naggingly familiar voice filtered through the door sounding confused as Ben strained to hear. “The name sounds familiar. There are so many would be conquerors with delusions of grandeur however, it’s hard to keep track. Still, as Sorcerer Supreme of this and all bordering dimensions, that IS part of my job…”

“Shit,” Grimm hissed, glancing from Woo to M’Nai. “It’s Doc Strange. Arcane and Colleen must have got caught.” Neither man changed expression at his pronouncement, Woo actually taking another long inhale of smoke apparently unconcerned.

“Grimm is a good man and a true hero,” Strange’s voice went on drolly, “yet he has always been… gullible. I think perhaps he has been duped in this. It’s been proven time and again that the events that occur in alternate dimensions have no effect upon our own. Time lines fray and split like raggedy fringe, lengthening threads that eventually snap. Even the recent events concerning the Red Skull and his tampering with Reality simply created a divergent path that eventually came to a dead end. Granted, memories linger, but there was no lasting impact…”

“Jeez, this guy don’t shut up,” Ben whispered as he eased open the door and peered out into the living room of the loft’s main floor. As expected his five new teammates were wrapped up in one of Strange’s stand-by spells, looking like Christmas presents in red ribbon. Grimm knew that they wouldn’t be getting out on their own, as the spell was somehow connected to the Juggernaut and strong enough to hold a mildly annoyed Hulk. As hoped though, his friends were arranged to block the doctor’s view of the door.

The Thing looked back at Woo and M’Nai with a frown. “This ain’t good, fellas. Strange is on my list, but even at full strength I dunno if we could take him.”

“Faith, Grimm,” Woo said with an icy grin. “Any foe can be beaten. We have stealth, guile and strength on our side, while he only has arrogance.”

“And a shit load a magic whammy. But I like the way ya think, Jimmy. Huddle up. Here’s what we’re gonna do…”

“I have little doubt that Grimm will be anything but victorious against S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Strange went on, pausing only long enough to light another cigarette. “I do wish to speak to my old friend, however, so I guess we shall have to wait.”

Strange took a seat and slid the ashtray closer as he got comfortable, crossing his legs. He smirked watching the others struggle, knowing that only Arcane would have the slightest chance of escaping, but with his mouth gagged he could not utter his wild magic cantrips. Thus, he was little more than a simple man; the others however…

Both James Skully and John Jameson were altered humans; Skully with his alien made belt that enhanced his strength and stamina, while Jameson in his ‘Star God’ persona gained the abilities of a superior Lycanthrope. Combined with Misty Knight’s bionic arm, which she was straining against the encompassing bands, the trio was providing minor distraction. Too, he could sense Colleen Wing focusing on her inner being, trying to call upon her Chi for extra strength. Singularly the quintet would be no effort to hold. Having split the spell amongst them however also divided Strange’s attention and focus. Not taxing at the moment, but if they were forced overlong to wait on Grimm, then perhaps.

Luckily Strange had not had to fight his way past Arcane’s meager mystical shields. Knight had foolishly opened the door and invited him within, figuratively opening the door as well to his assault. He had quickly probed the apartment and found it otherwise empty, employing just a bit of effort to investigate the Hedge Mage’s private sanctum on the uppermost floor.

Now however, probing for the Thing while holding the Bands in place might prove eventually fatiguing. Perhaps a Sleep spell might be in order, he thought even as he felt the first tingling of wispy chill creep across the back of his neck.

“The Shields of Seraphim!” he shouted even as he sprang from the battered leather chair, knocking it over in his exuberance. He spun to face the door, raising his hands as verdant, translucent disks appeared between himself and smoky tendrils of darkness that groped and writhed to get at him. His eyebrows arched as he saw the black-clad figure crouched and tense, spewing darkness from a Shadow Cloak of all things. “Midnight,” he whispered even as the cold made foggy vapors form from his breath.

He had learned of the final member of Grimm’s group from the mind of Misty Knight, her thought laid bare by the All-Seeing Eye of Agamotto. She had not known however of the Shadow Cloak and thought the man simply had some smoke effects for obfuscation and the power to teleport like Nightcrawler of the X-Men, nee, the Avengers, Strange mentally corrected himself. Everyone is lumped a Mutant, he thought.

Strange mentally shifted his concentration, increasing the will spent on his shields while feeling the increased struggles of his prisoners. Still not enough to break his concentration, but the powers of a Shadow Cloak were not to be trifled with or dismissed out of hand. The Mutant, Cloak was proof of that, linked as he was to his own, each enhancing the other. Even Devil-Slayer, as addled as he was, was a force to beware. If Midnight was at all competent, Strange thought he might have a battle on his hands-

“Gah!” Strange yelped feeling the pinpricks of a dozen bee stings suddenly piercing the back of his neck and scalp. He half-turned, one hand and shield still facing Midnight while bringing the other to the opposing direction. His eyes went wide in surprise as he saw a slim, familiar Asian slide out of a doorway gun in hand and spewing tiny needles that now battered uselessly against his defenses. It took him a moment to place a name to the face, even as the man lithely dove behind the long, black leather sofa.

“James Woo,” he said wondering where the Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. had come from. He was certain that the apartment had been empty. He frowned realizing that Midnight must have brought him, grimacing in realization that he was spreading himself too thin if his thinking was that slow. They had teleported in and he had missed it. Too, it meant that Grimm was near as well, though he could not afford the time to probe for the member of the Fantastic Four at the moment.

Doctor Strange turned again to angle against his foes and immediately felt a swift dizziness race through him. He actually staggered a bit and felt a crack in the crimson bands as Skully tried to flex his way free. He was sweating and finding his focus slipping. “Drugged,” he said, licking his lips as a wave of cold washed over him, frost forming on his pant legs. He felt nauseous and knew that it was Woo’s attack. He needed to cleanse his system and swiftly or all would be lost.

“Sojisuru!”

Taking a page from the Hedge Mage’s spellbook, Strange uttered his own Cantrip and immediately felt his system purged of the foul and offending chemicals. His mind cleared instantly, the sickly feeling fading though unfortunately not without ramification.

“Asshole!”

Skull the Slayer’s fist slammed against his shield, the force of the blow cracking spider webs into the translucent barrier and staggering the Master of the Mystic Arts. The brief dizziness and diversion had allowed Skully to shatter his bonds, and now his rage was enough to press an attack worth mentioning. Strange concentrated on his shields as Skully’s fists battered on them, inching back as the fog of darkness whispered about his ankles and needles spattered like insects on a windshield. This was getting out of hand.

Strange let his left hand shield fade just as Skull swung again. He reached up and grabbed the man’s wrist, twisting his arm and stepping in to flip the Slayer through the air and onto his back with a Judo throw. With his right hand he redirected the Shield of Seraphim to block Woo’s assault even as Skully hit the thick, hardwood floor with a solid sounding THOOM! He angled then to face Midnight even as the darkness swept over him like a tidal wave.

Strange bore down feeling the cold as it invaded his very being. He could feel the draw and pull of the darkness wanting to drag him into one of Dormammu’s lesser realms, yet that was a battle that he could win having faced the Lord of the Dark Dimension in person before, many times. With a mere thought, the Sorcerer Supreme called upon the gift that would counter Midnight’s assault.

Once again he called upon the dazzling brilliance of the Eye of Agamotto’s all revealing light. The golden amulet at his collar opened and radiance engulfed the dark figure, forcing the roiling black clouds back and making the adopted son of the Celestial stagger back and hiss in agony. Odd…

But no time to consider as Strange sensed Skull rising to the attack again even as Woo fired his S.H.I.E.L.D. Needler once more, distracting. With a thought Strange summoned the Pincers of Power to his left hand, catching Skull the Slayer in their vise-like grip even as he charged forward. With his right he envisioned the Ram of Whelm and sent a column of force smashing into Woo as he popped up for another shot. The Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. slammed backwards with the unyielding force into the far wall, hopefully rendered senseless with the impact. But Strange barely had time to smirk with his efforts as a biting pain burned into his side.

He saw Colleen Wing standing before him, katana poised at an angle above her head and dripping blood. He glanced down and saw the red stained gash in his Armani suit, his jacket hanging askew and ruined. “You bitch,” he said, looking up again too late.

Blood spurted from his nose in a deafening crunch as the massive, rocky orange fist slammed squarely into his face. Strange blinked at the absurdity of it all, the pain creeping up from his toes and congealing in what was left of his flattened nose. He staggered and stumbled, falling backwards to land on his ass with an embarrassing thump. He looked up and saw Grimm standing over him. Where had he come from?

“Clobberin’ time, Doc,” Grimm said with a smirk as Stephen Strange’s mind swirled and the darkness dragged him down…

“Everybody okay?” Benjamin J. Grimm asked as he took the small device from the compartment of his belt buckle. It seemed tiny and fragile in his massive, stony fingers, a thin, crystalline stylus that sparkled as he brought it into the light. He rolled it in his fingers for perhaps the thousandth time, once again wondering if he was doing the right thing. But all that he had seen, and the things that he had done while trapped in Time; he knew he had to hope for the best.

He touched the stylus to Strange’s temple and the Master of the Mystic Arts jerked, his limp body spasming as blood drooled from his broken nose. The stylus glistened as energy coursed through it, allegedly… hopefully drawing out that black seed that would fester within Strange, one day convincing him to call upon the Defenders to set the world right. Hopefully averting one shattered and grim reality.

“Just hurt my pride, Grimm.”

The Thing looked up to see several of his new teammates gathered about him, watching. Arcane, Knight, Wing and Jameson all looking glum and curious. He saw Woo in the background looking aloof and smoking again, apparently unhurt with his collision with the wall. Midnight was nowhere to be seen.

“Strange made me look like a chump… again.” Arcane’s voice was cold, and Ben could hear the defeat lingering. “Took me like an amateur.”

Ben stood, feeling the signaling tingle that the stylus had done its work. He slipped it back into his belt compartment and looked at the Hedge Mage. “He’s the Sorcerer Supreme, Eric. Master of the Mystic Arts and head honcho of yer Union. Ain’t no shame in getting beat by the best. You know how many time’s the Hulk’s kicked my ass? Point is, ya don’t give up. Never surrender. We beat him in the end, an’ that’s what counts.”

“I suppose.”

Grimm saw Misty Knight place a hand on Arcane’s shoulder. “He’s right, Arcane,” she said. “Any landing you can walk away from.”

“Did that thing work, Grim?” Jameson asked, his Wolfen form repressed again though his body still held a light fuzz of silver fur.

“Seems so,” Ben said as Arcane squatted next to the downed mage. He saw Eric’s hand hover over the closed amulet at the sorcerer’s neck, then move to dip into the man’s jacket pocket to withdraw a tied leather pouch. “Hopefully averted whatever was in him that would make him a threat. Hopefully too, he won’t remember this little encounter. That the merchandise, Eric?” he asked, looking at his new friend holding the bag in hand.

“Yeah,” the Hedge Mage replied. “Stones of Andrak.” Arcane hefted the small sack in his hand a moment, then tossed it to Grimm. He then placed his hands on either side of the sorcerer’s broken nose and with a ‘CRACK’ popped it back into place. “If we’re done here, I need to sleep. I must’ve put on thirty years through this shit,” he said standing.

Grimm nodded, knowing that the wizard’s power was directly connected to his life force. Every spell he uttered took some time off his years. It was theoretically possible that he could die expending his magic. Ben hoped it would not come to that. “Go ahead, Eric. We can clean up.”

They all watched as Arcane mounted the stairs and slowly headed up towards his sanctum and new bedroom to sleep and recover. He had given up his old bedroom that he had shared with his lover, not wishing to enter it again after Alex Markham had died, taking a large chunk of his heart and soul into the afterlife.

“And just what is clean up, Ben?” Colleen Wing asked, wiping her sword clean with a bit of the sorcerer’s ripped suit jacket before slipping it into her obi and scabbard. “We have the mystic defender of this dimension splayed on the floor. What do we do now?”

“If we care, we take him home an’ let Wong fix his nose.” Grimm shrugged. “If we don’t, we dump him somewhere and move on. He won’t remember this, mostly.”

“That’s it?” Colleen wing asked, her voice rising in pitch. “We just beat up a friend, Grimm. A hero! Strange has saved this world too many times to count and you want to dump him in an alley somewhere? He deserves better!”

Ben looked down at his old friend, the mage looking battered and well beyond his age. He sighed. “Yer right, Colleen. He does. I’ve known Doc Strange more years than I care ta count. He’s a good man and a friend, but against the big picture, well, I’ve had to adjust. I said there’d be hard decisions to make. This here’s one. One we’ll have to make again and again before we’re through. You ain’t up for that, Col, no problem. Leave now and no hard feelings. I’ll do it alone if I have to.”

Colleen Wing stared at him for a long, tense moment, then Ben saw her look to the others. They all looked miserable. Finally though, Colleen nodded.

“I’m in.” And they all echoed her sentiments. Ben sighed with relief.

“Thanks. Skully, find someplace to drop the Doc. Home… the docks… I don’t care. Then come back an’ get some rest. The rest a’ ya too. We’ll wait for Midnight. Figger he slipped into the Dark ta heal up. When he’s back, we’ll talk about the next mission.” Grimm watched as Skully picked up the limp form of Doctor Strange and headed for the door, the others slowly dispersing, heading for their rooms. They were all miserable. They had won, but at what cost?

Grimm sighed again and slumped down onto the sofa. He was exhausted, mentally. There were many times that he had tested Reed Richard’s leadership in the Fantastic Four. Now he knew better. It was a thankless job. His teammates might not hate him, but they certainly did not love him.

But they had won, and that was all that mattered.

At least for now…

Next Issue: With one win under their belt and one dark Reality averted Ben and team move on to the next pending threat…

A few years back, the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants tried to assassinate Senator Robert Kelly. They failed thanks to the X-Men, but his response was to push the Mutant Registration Act through Congress, which led to the decimation or internment of the world’s Marvels and a reality where Sentinel’s ruled. That bad seed still festers, and has to be stopped, so it’s off to Washington DC with our heroes and a date with disaster in a little tale that I just had to call…

Future’s Past Imperfect!

Be here!