He-Thing

rode his trusty steed,

War Dog,

across

the Plains of Misery.

Seeded by blood,

and the ancient ruins

of forgotten galaxies,

the abyss of grains

undulated before our

titanic hero

like a woman’s hair.

A grim dawn of storms

fomented on the horizon ahead.

They had departed

the blessedly divine

Castle Brave Bone

33 days ago,

embarking on their latest quest:

To save the Omniverse

from the machinations of the

Cabal of the Cosmos,

and its evil, undead cyborg agent,

Skullatroid.

He-Thing was huge

for a man,

with bulbous biceps,

and other rippling coils

of arrogant muscle

packed into his body

like dust into a rock.

He wore nothing

but his pink skin,

and a loin cloth,

handed down from his father,

which held back

the sheer force of his manhood

through the Gods’ wills alone.

His black hair

was cut in a cascading mullet

with softness

rivaling the finest threads

of the Denailopax Coast.

On He-Thing’s back

hung his legendary sword,

the Nebule Blade,

which he had used to cut down

many opponents and villains,

and which he trusted

far more

than any man

or faithless deity.

Forged from ancient nebulae,

the weapon could be wielded

only by him,

for he was He-Thing —

there were none who compared.

He-Thing spotted

a shimmering in the sky

like a black feather

dancing in the wind,

and he peered to see what it was.

Lightning flashed;

but he knew what he had seen.

He reached down War Dog's flank,

and pulled open a saddlebag,

letting his fingers linger over

the sandpaper-like Olodian leather

for the briefest sentimental moment.

He pulled his spyglass out,

its dense, delicate weight

mere air in his strong hands,

as he lifted it to his eye.

He-Thing saw that the flash

had not been lightning,

but the shimmer

of a great, winged robot,

flying across the smoldering sky.

Forged out of elaborate kaleidoscopes

of nonlinear metals,

and

casting trapezoidal

arcs of light

that shone like dark water

in the darkest dreams,

the giant, winged robot

was an awesome machine,

the likes of which

He-Thing had never witnessed before

in all his immortal years

in the Omniverse.

The great, winged robot

glided upon the wind,

floating upon its vast wings

and propelled menacingly

by fearsome rockets.

Gazing at it, He-Thing sensed a deep

question,

and could feel

the river

BENEATH the river.

Was this monstrosity their enemy?

Or some simple beast?

He lowered the spyglass and sighed.

Time, as always, would tell.

to be continued...