"You." The man's eyes narrowed as violent energy crackled from the edges of his vision. "You irritate me. Why can I not rid myself of you?" Waves of pure, raw power washed over the room and cascaded across the newcomer's form as he stood in the center of the malestrom calmly.
He waited for the tide of energy to wash away, as the female whimpering in the corner looked on in horror. He then pulled a small zippo out of his coat pocket and calmly lit a cigarette that seemed to appear in his mouth from nowhere.
The man looked at him funny. "I thought you quit smoking."
"I did," He replied, exhaling a puff of smoke directly into his adversary's face. The small whisps of smoke proved more of an issue than the man's energy discharge. "This is just a prop for dramatic effect."
"Why aren't you circling the cosmos with your beloved? Why do you vex me?" The man bellowed.
"Why aren't I circling the cosmos? I am. Right now, I'm making love to the woman who means everything to me on the back of a comet, passing through galaxies at speeds no human body will ever travel. I'm also laying in an alleyway, covered in papers, and shivering while pissing myself. I'm also sitting at a keyboard, clapping away at the buttons while getting some inspiration from a little green bag. Just the right kind, for losing my mind. . .sorry, lost track for a sec. I'm doing all of these things, and so much more." He took a step back pulled a chair across the floor. He plopped down into the wobbly, battered seat and exhaled again.
"You can't get rid of me, because I'm your exact opposite, and therefore, your equal. You're the man who discovered his own godhood. I'm the god who discovered his humanity." He swept his arms across the room. "You're drunk on your own power. Just think of me as your personal Jiminy Crickett. . ."
***********************************
They crossed over the volcanoes and discovered a fishing village on the other side. They spent the next several days, making friends with the natives and resting up.
. . .and doing some other things.
Grimm emerged from a hut, pulling his jeans on. Three native females lay inside, still exhausted. He rubbed his eyes, stretched his arms, and yawned mightily. Down on the beach, two of his teammates watched with amusement.
"Ere," Montag started, motioning at the giant. "Why do all the natives go apeshit over Skully?"
Marshall laughed, "Probably a superstitious thing. What's the matter, Griss? Worried he'll beat your score?"
At this moment, the tallest of Grimm's female companions emerged from the hut wearing his leather jacket and nothing else. She coaxed him back inside.
"Not a chance! Ol' "Three Finger Montag" always attracts the ladies!" Montag wiggled his fingers as Drake rolled his eyes. "Even Danny's getting into it. Swear I thought I heard him say snake penis last night." The two chuckled.
"Wot about you, mate?" Montag asked.
Drake held up his hand and motioned to the ring on his finger. "I'm a married man, Griss."
Montag turned his attentions to the sand and water. "Eh. Never was the marryin' type like yourself, Drake. Lovely as Bri was, and good times we did have, but it just wasn't me style." Montag ran his fingers through a patch of loose sand as the tides washed in and out. He frowned.
"Still can't teleport anything?" Marshall's eyes furrowed as he watched intently.
"No." Was the Sandcrawler's only answer.
"Have you. . ." Marshall began, then stopped himself short. "Nevermind."
"Wot?"
"No, no, it's. . ."
"Go ahead, Drake. Say what you're thinking."
"Have you ever thought it might be. . .age?"
Montag looked up at him curiously. The two sat on the shore in silence.
