He-Thing and War Dog

climbed

the Nameless Mountains

through a tall, jagged mouth

of fang-like stones.

The ground itself was

a conflagration of sharp rocks,

shuffling and sliding beneath

War Dog’s paws,

which were each wide and round

as a Time Centurion’s shield.

Eventually,

He-Thing’s keen ears

could hear the softest,

most ashamed

whimpering,

and he knew that

his most dedicated companion

was in pain.

He-Thing slowed

and dismounted

his poor Fearwolf.

He bent to see to her wounds

from the serrated earth,

gently removing

the sharp rocks

from the crevasses in her paws,

and licking his thumb

to wipe away the blood and dirt.

Afterwards,

he looked deep into her eyes,

ashamed

that she had been ashamed,

that she had refused to whimper

until she could no longer

silence her pain,

and he whispered something to her,

something older than language,

older than the melodies

that language grew out of,

an ageless password

between man and beast.

The sun was obscured

by the tall rocks,

and the day was growing late,

and long shadows began to

creep around them.

He-Thing knew

something vile

lurked nearby.

The malevolent presence closed in,

and He-Thing drew his sword.

War Dog growled —

she could sense it too.

“Shralalala!”

Lizardman battle cries broke out

and six of the barbarians

attacked!

He-Thing instantly

beheaded the closest,

as War Dog

pounced on another.

Sparks flew

as He-Thing's Nebule Blade

was parried by a lizardman's javelin,

and our half-invincible hero

wrenched the bronze weapon

from his opponent's grip,

impaling the lizardman

with the god-slaying Nebule Blade.

War Dog spat out a lizardman arm

in both exhilaration and disgust,

as two of the reptilian fiends

surrounded her,

but He-Thing rushed

to his trustful steed's side,

and with the Nebule Blade,

spilled one of the foe’s intestines

across space-time

in a smear of blood and death.

Two foes remained.

Both lizardmen took a step back,

fear in their eyes,

knowing that if they stayed,

they would die;

but they were too proud,

or too hungry,

to retreat.

He-Thing and War Dog

leapt simultaneously,

each dispatching

one of the barbarians to

the Nineteen Hells.

He-Thing sighed,

as War Dog sniffed the corpses

to see if they were edible,

which they were not.

He-Thing,

unwounded

and not even winded,

looked upon the carnage.

What had these fiends wanted?

Were they agents of Skullatroid?

Evil was everywhere,

all around him,

in the very air he breathed,

with nefarious allies

assembling secretly in his heart.

to be continued