Author's Notes: Been without the Intarwebz for a while now (apparently ISPs take offense to someone not paying their bills in time). More is coming.

…

…

"Know, O prince, that between the years when the oceans drank Atlantis and the gleaming cities,

and the years of the rise of the Sons of Aryas, there was an Age undreamed of, when shining

kingdoms lay spread across the world like blue mantles beneath the stars - Nemedia, Ophir,

Brythunia, Hyperborea, Zamora with its dark-haired women and towers of spider-haunted mystery,

Zingara with its chivalry, Koth that bordered on the pastoral lands of Shem, Stygia with its shadow-

guarded tombs, Hyrkania whose riders wore steel and silk and gold.

Hither came Peter, the New Yorker, brown-haired, sparkle-eyed, web-shooter on wrist,

a photographer, high-school teacher, a chemist, with gigantic melancholies and gigantic mirth,

to tread the jeweled thrones of the Earth under his web-pattern-bootied feet."

…

Hyborian era. Somewhere in the jungles of southern Zamora

Yeah, the barbarian lifestyle was seriously overrated. Sleeping under the stars sounded great until you realized you had to share the wilderness with bugs, mosquitoes, damp, noises that called to mind horror movies from your youth, and the decidedly unpleasant concept of sleeping on the rocky, uncomfortable ground.

Add to this fending off occasional amorous advances from a not very hygienic-smelling woman who looked disconcertingly like a buffed up version of the old ex-girlfriend, and you had yourself a truly miserable week of wandering the country-side. The hot, humid, smelly, filthy country-side. If you closed your eyes you could almost picture yourself standing in the New York subway in mid-summer.

Peter Parker took a deep breath. Yep. Pee mixed with all kinds of perfumes, damp mildew, sweat, grease and metal (those last three would be the barbarian redhead)...pretty much a subway station in July.

"You have no idea where we're going, do you?"

Sonja looked at him, smirking.

"Gobble gobble. It's a good thing you can't understand me, or you'd know how lost we are. Never been in this area before."

He looked around. At least there was a path, of sorts. Looked more like a game trail, but there were little signs of locals that suggested otherwise. Unfortunately it was the skulls-on-sticks-with-feathers kind of 'Keep Out, Or Else'-type of signs of locals.

"Now be quiet. These are Pictish lands."

"Yeah, yeah, Adrooshkie babooshka pixies to you too."

She gave him an odd look. "Did you just say 'my knee is made of cheese' in Hyperborean? You are a strange one."

"Okay, Brain, but where are we gonna find ten gallons of Zima and Julie Andrews at this hour?"

"I said, be quiet. Gods, I need a bath. We got chased out of town so quick I didn't have time to clean up..."

"No, I prefer Moe to Larry. And nobody likes Curly."

There was a split second of warning as his spider-sense rang like the Notre Dame cathedral, and he had just enough time to push his wayward guide to the ground before over a dozen arrows struck the trees behind where they had stood. "Cripes! I don't think the locals appreciate us being here!"

"Picts!" Sonja drew her sword looking to try fencing with the projectiles, but Peter was having none of it. He grabbed her by the waist, let fly a web-line and sent them in a nicely graceful arc above the treetops. She yelled and protested, but since he didn't understand a word of it anyway he just smiled blithely and ignored it.

"Ah, what a beautiful day for a web-slinging ride. The air is warm, the sun is shining, the natives are trying to kill us and - hey, hey, personal space! Hands off the caboose, okay?"

"You are crazy, strange one! I think I like you!"

…

…

Modern Day. Tuesday. About Tea-time.

Jennifer shuddered, and ceased staring at the device being constructed before her. Susan looked up from where she'd been tinkering with some gadget or other and gave her a look of concern. "Jen? You okay?"

She shook her head. "Fine. Just...felt like someone walked over my grave is all."

A smug face appeared from behind a very large cyclotron in the corner of the warehouse they were using. "Ah, a human saying. Denoting inexplicable sense of discomfort, often connected to innate sixth sense. Why you monkeys haven't done research into your latent psychic talents is beyond me. By the way, could you bring me that turbine? Yes, that one. I'd fetch it myself but you seem to be more designed for physical labor."

She looked at him, picturing his head being slowly crushed between her fingers, then glanced at Sue. "Remind me why we need him again?"

"Because he's the only one willing to help us make a working time machine?"

"Oh, right. Damn."

"Lovely! Already threats of physical violence disguised as humor! This is most educational." He beamed at them before vanishing behind the cyclotron again, barely missing a high-velocity spanner aimed at his head.

"Damn. Missed." Her heart wasn't into it, though. "What're you messing with there, Susie Q?"

Sue gave her a Look. "God, don't call me that. Johnny used to call me that all through high school. So annoying. And this, my dear, is a bio-sensor. I grabbed one from a trashed Fantasticar and...well, I'm hooking it up to the...you don't care, do you?"

"Only sort of. The techno-babble I can do without, what it's for is another thing." She sat down by Susan, looking more closely at the device. "Hit me with the layman's terms."

"Well, we're going to have to find him once we're there, right? Not like he carried full communications gear with him, so I took some DNA-samples from his comb and pretty much set this up to home in on his signature and nobody else's. According to these old history files I once, ah, borrowed from Namor, the period we're going to was almost entirely humans with occasional Atlantean survivors from the Second Empire, so there should be very little alien DNA interfering with his biosigns."

"Why would alien biosigns interfere with his?"

"Radiation. Most aliens, humanoid or otherwise, come from high-radiation environments that prompt the development of different skin pigmentation among other things. Some even grow brightly colored fur. Anyway, our mutual friend has a radiation-altered body chemistry, just like you and me, with raised levels of rads in his body fluids. Nothing immediately dangerous to other people, though blood transfusions might not be entirely safe. Since most aliens also have that, well..."

"So basically it wouldn't work today, with all the non-terrestrials running around?" A mild headache was settling in, much like when the archive clerks at her old firm started talking about what they called 'continuity'.

"Well, it would, but it would require a much bigger sensor and far more delicate programming. But I'm a biologist, not an engineer, so that's Reed's area, and he already made his opinion on this little venture known." Sue shrugged. "Anyway, it should work, as long as we account for the Savage Land."

"...right."

…

…

Back in the Hyborian Era, True Believers...

There seemed to be an unending stream of what Sonja kept calling something sounding a lot like 'pixies', though he had so far seen no sign of wings or fairy dust on any of them. Just bad B.O. and horrible teeth. Not fun. Setting down anywhere constantly had them chased elsewhere within moments, and it was starting to occur to him that either they had spread out throughout the whole jungle in forces any mad power-hungry world conqueror would salivate over, or they knew how to teleport.

He kind of doubted the last one.

Adding to this was the growing suspicion that they were appearing in patterns meant to guide them somewhere. Herding them.

"Stranger, we cannot continue like this, they are herding us!"

"You know, that's not a bad idea, but unfortunately the Spidey-mobile was trashed years ago. Also, I can't afford the gas. But anyway, I think they're herding us somewhere."

Setting down in a large, open clearing gave them time to think, or at least take a breather. He popped a few cricks out of his spine and checked his web fluid stores, finding them disconcertingly low. Meanwhile Sonja had her sword out and was inspecting the immediate area.

When she was downwind she didn't look so bad, actually.

Okay, the hair needed a wash and her teeth were slightly crooked (having no access to modern dentistry would do that, he supposed), but all in all...okay, part of it was her reminding him of MJ, the other part was her being a curvaceous, attractive woman with a deep tan wearing only a small chain bikini. So what was stopping him? Not like anyone would ever know, right?

But it didn't feel right.

For one thing, he and Mary-Jane had (eventually) split up on reasonably friendly terms and had, as far as he was concerned, moved on with their lives. Second, he was finding himself wondering if Jennifer was worried about him, or even if his absence had been noted. Everything he knew about time travel (admittedly little) suggested that if he returned to the same exact moment he left, nobody would know. But that did rather suppose he actually made it back somehow.

So what was stopping him?

Well...there had been a brief moment earlier, when flushed on adrenalin from escaping yet another ambush and there had been a very intense staring and panting at one another from exertion, but that had ended when he looked away after all of a sudden remembering the way Jen looked when waking up (adorable).

Which sort of scared him a bit.

He'd been loathe to commit seriously for most his life. The first girl he'd considered marrying was murdered by a psychotic madman, the second girl...that mess was best left unattended, and lastly there was Mary-Jane, well, the mess was fairly mutual there. All the others had been brief flings stopped by one or the other or both having issues impossible to deal with. But in the case of his longer loves, well, in most cases it had been either whirlwind adrenalin-fueled craziness with Felicia, love-at-first-fight with Gwen or friendship turning into love with MJ.

Jennifer...or Jen, was sort of all three at once. He'd known her for years, casually, and they'd always gotten along like a house on fire, that is, not at all. They'd fought alongside one another many a times, though, always needling one another, usually ending with Jen threatening grievous bodily harm (one of the other bikers of the Apocalypse).

And now he had actually had thoughts about Jen in the same category as MJ or Gwen.

Blinking, he realized that he was actually thinking of seeing her again, of simply vegging out on the couch and watching a movie with her while eating popcorn, or getting hot and heavy (and boy oh boy was that part fun), or arguing. Hoo Nelly did they know how to argue. Kind of started out like that, originally. Just like with...

He sighed. "Man, I wanna go home."

Which was when the Pixies attacked again. And this time he was too distracted and tired to put up a decent fight.

Or even make a Frank Black joke.

…

…

Modern Day. Again. Several years after The Pixies broke up as a band.

"Ah-hah!"

Three heads rose. Johnny had shown up at some point, and once he realized who they were gearing up to...rescue? He had jumped right in. In a massive fit of irony he was actually being quite helpful. His being a self-trained mechanic who happily tinkered with Reed's vehicles had given him a surprising amount of skill with advanced devices, even if he had no idea how they worked or why they worked. Now he was working busily on integrating Sue's biosign scanner into the sensor array of what appeared to be a formerly junked A.I.M. flying platform, the kind they'd ferry in their science troops with.

Only this one was tricked out.

Why Noh-Varr had insisted on 'bling' (shiny hub caps? Cubic zirconium-studded gearshift? Fuzzy dice?) was a bit of a puzzler, as so many other things about the man. Jen suspected he was being sarcastic on a professional basis.

Johnny spoke first, his voice tired. "What?"

Noh-Varr appeared from the ceiling, dangling upside down in the upper bowels of his home-made 'time displacement device'. He waved something at them. "I knew this was the problem. Shoddy components, much like everything else on this primitive mudball. Anyone have a grade 30 optical transfixer conduit?"

They stared at him.

"No?" He sighed. "Very well. I'll jury-rig something. But if this lands you all in the Cretaceous, it's not my fault."

…

…

"Third one in three days." Detective Parnelli sipped his coffee, keeping a respectable distance from the crime scene while the CSI unit dusted for prints. They wouldn't find any. There hadn't been any at the other two sites either.

"Any idea what's doing it?"

He glanced at his partner. Corrigan had gotten a promotion to Superhuman Crime a few weeks ago, and learned fast, helping defuse drunken Hulks and catching speeding Big Wheels. "Nope. Though we got one of those mystical whatchamacallit guys on the first one, said it wasn't no disease or nothing. Said it was something escaping the, what was it, 'spirit world'. Haven't heard hide nor hair from the guy since. Anyway, some kinda bug spirit eating its way through the locals."

She frowned. "Awful specific in the targets, though. Could have gotten anyone, and yet it bypassed half the vagrants in the alley just to get to a hot dog vendor. Who was the first guy?"

He checked his notes. "One Jacob Furling, going by Jake. Big pillar-of-the-community fellow until he got busted in the papers for running sweatshops. Second one was Mary Kratsky, former getaway driver for one of those goofy small-time masked crews with knock-off rayguns. Served her time, was working as a cabbie."

She leaned down to peer at the surprisingly clean crime scene. "What the hell does a sweatshop owner turned bum, a bank robber turned cabbie and a hot dog vendor have in common?"

He sighed. "Not a clue. That's the problem."

High above, a shadow flitted across the sky. It laughed, softly.

…

…

Hyborian o'clock.

Peter Parker had had three gigantic headaches in his life. The first one was after his first fight against the Sandman, who had used his head to do a very nice bongo rhythm that was sort of reminiscent of Uncle Ben's old Gene Krupa albums. The second was the one he got when he contracted pneumonia one snowy winter and Mysterio had tricked him into taking a bath in the East River. Or was it the Hudson? No matter. Third came from the days after they returned the world from time-twisted mutant paradise back to its regular sorry condition when Scarlet Witch went bananas. A whole day of reconciling two sets of memories had given him a migraine with not just a first name but a last name as well ('John Sumbitch', to be precise).

On the scale of one to twenty, this one only ranked a six and a half.

He opened his eyes. It was not an improvement. The walls were stone and damp and lichen-covered, he was shackled upside down to some kind of x-shaped rack, and adding to the ambiance were braziers filled with red-hot coals, a few black candles, various torture implements and quite a lot of whips and hooks. Reminded him of one of MJ's photo shoots. To make matters worse, his webshooters had been removed and taken apart on a table, and he was feeling decidedly under the weather.

He coughed.

"Ow. Never trust John Sumbitch."

"I told you they were herding us. But no, it was all 'gobble gobble' back."

"Yeah, well, I kind of figured that one out myself." He blinked. "Hey, I can understand you!"

He glanced over to his left where Sonja hung suspended much like he did. It was hard not to stare at how she was almost falling out of the metal bikini, so to speak, but the bruises and bloody cuts helped distract him. She was currently staring right back, brows raised in surprise. "So you can. And I understand you."

"Great. We can insult one another without the language barrier getting in the way. I'm so glad."

There was a pause. "I think I liked you better when I couldn't understand you."

He shrugged, wincing in pain when something stung his back. "Eh. Whatcha gonna do."

"Excellent. You are both awake. And I see the spell of tongues worked on you both. I find modern dialects so primitive, it is a blessing to be able to speak the language of my elders..."

The voice was like silk sliding over sandpaper.

"I must say, it is also pleasing to finally have the thorn in my side removed and at my disposal. However, I am quite intrigued by your traveling companion. Going by the talismans he wore, he seems to be well versed in alchemy..."

Peter felt himself grow cold. He knew that voice. He'd only technically met him twice, but Doctor Strange had once told him he had faced this man three times, and died during their second meeting. In another time. Or timeline. Dimension. Whatever.

"Kulan Gath."

The man who had silently entered the room was tall, at least six foot five, but the ridiculous hat added at least another foot. The hats were always a dead giveaway. Well, the hats and the dark brown, leathery, wrinkled skin that looked like the man belonged in a certain classic Boris Karloff movie with old linen bandages covering every inch of him. The ancient sorcerer wore heavy green robes, and a familiar golden torc hung heavy around his neck. The cadaverous man known as Kulan Gath smiled genuinely at Peter, seemingly pleased. It was not a flattering look for the fellow, spoiled somewhat by the yellow eyes and skull-like visage.

"You know of me? By sight, even. I find this gratifying. So few in this day and age have ever witnessed my true mien, or lived to remember it."

Peter blinked. Huh? This was not the megalomaniacal magus that had turned several city blocks into a little hell on Earth, nor was it the nigh-omnipotent necromancer who, according to Doc Strange, had turned all of Manhattan into something more akin to Tolkien. This one was...well, still an ancient monstrous ghoul-thing in big silk robes and goofy hats, but... somehow less...vicious. Also, the weird reverb his voice always had was gone. Possibly this was because he was technically alive at this point and not possessing someone else's body. Hopefully less powerful, too.

"A shame that I require a sacrifice for tonight's ritual. I had already prepared it for my dear adversary here, but since the one requirement is a pure heart, yours shall do. And my dear Sonja shall be my concubine, as is right."

The redhead spat several words Peter was sure he hadn't heard right (the one about the goat and questionable parentage and sexual orientation all mixed together was...disturbing in its implications). "I'll die first!"

The sorcerer smirked. "No, no. He will die first. You will be the mother of my heirs."

For a moment, Peter actually did feel dismay, horror, a bit of sympathy (for Sonja, mainly)...

...but then he realized the bonds holding him were wrought iron. Not to mention that the rack they were bolted to was just wood.

Which meant...

"Oh. Oh me. Oh my. Help. Help. I am petrified with fear. And terror. Did I mention the fear? That. Oh, and eek. Aargh. Please don't kill me." All delivered in a morose monotone akin to seven-foot butlers in haunted mansions inhabited by mysterious, spooky, kooky and groovy families (the ones who were a screa-um in their house like a museum). Just to make sure the point was made he rattled his manacles a little, and affected a sardonically fake look of agony.

Gath frowned. "...and I see he is mad already. Just as well. The sacrifice only specifies a pure heart, not a pure soul or body."

He leaned down to caress Sonja's cheek, and she yanked her head away to avoid it. This elicited another amused smile from the cadaverous sorcerer, and then he was gone in a melodramatic swirl of robes that could teach Mysterio a thing or two about stylish exits. Peter counted down from when he stopped hearing the footsteps outside. At least twenty seconds was needed for the noise to not be heard...

Sonja was staring at him. "Are you insane? Aggravating him when we're both in this-"

He smiled back, flexed, and felt the manacles drop off as the bolts keeping them locked snapped and careened off the walls like bullets. Then he stretched, and the remaining restraints were rendered useless as the oak rack broke in half.

The stare of disbelief turned into one of shock. Standing, he turned his head to the side. "Would you like to get out of here too, or do I leave you here to prepare the upcoming nuptials?"

He grinned at her.

…

…

Modern day. Ten minutes after Noh-Varr finished three large pizzas all by himself.

"And we're done. It'll work two or three times, then it'll either implode in a quantum singularity that might erase the entire universe or it'll simply burn out and die. Depends on whether the temporal uncertainty compensator arrays burn out before the power supply. Pray it's the latter. So, who's up for going to the grand opening of the original Disneyland? We can dress up in Hydra uniforms and trick old Walt into thinking we're members of his cell. Eh? Eh?"

The combined glares from the other people in the room caused the Kree super soldier to falter. Jen shook her head, muttering. "I can't believe I turned down Bruce's Hulk-strike-force-thing for this..."

Only Johnny had his priorities in order. "I call shotgun."

…

…

TBC