---

Norrin Radd was not accustomed to walking on a surface that was not his board. It hovered next to him, never completely out of his sight like a loyal pet. As he walked towards the one of the various and now abandoned mud-caked huts, he paused for a moment to mentally order the platform to wait for him outside.

Pushing aside what appeared to be a fabric curtain, Norrin stood in silence waiting for Strange to notice him.

The Sorcerer Supreme was seated, floating in the air in the lotus position. His eyes closed as he concentrated on what Norrin could only assume was a powerful spell. Strange's eyes snapped open and a look of shock and disappointment washed over his features.

“Norrin, my apologies. Please, come in,” Strange said, slowly letting his feet touch the ground. “What can I do for you?” The Surfer said nothing as he crossed the distance towards Strange, simply looking sympathetically toward the Sorcerer. “Ah, well, I would imagine that I am hardly as opaque as I imagine I am. You notice then?”

The Surfer nodded, saying nothing still. Nothing escaped his notice. Despite being stoic and coming off as unfeeling, in many ways the Surfer was the heart of the group. He said nothing because he cared too much.

“It started about a week before the Wendigo's attacked. I was feeling, how should I put it...mystically under the weather?” He paused for a moment to finger the hair of his beard. “Yes, that's rather appropriate. I wasn't feeling quite myself. I was making mistakes with basic spells, forgetting things that were once second nature to me. Not quite right.”

“And now?” Surfer asked, looking at the interesting Plodex furniture around them. He sat down on what he assumed was a chair, a circular object with high sides as though they were arms. Sitting was not something that was natural for Norrin any longer.

“I feel...somewhat better. Being here away from Earth, as much as it pains me, is something of a ...respite trip. I don't feel quite so...hemmed in. So unlike myself, as I did there.”

“It's strange though, Norrin,” Strange began, touching the Amulet around his neck out of habit. “It feel's as though my...astral-self is afflicted rather than my physical form.”

Norrin nodded and cradled his chin. “I expect it from Namor, but Banner and yourself are not normally this...sarcastic. You're not known for being overly aggressive, Stephen,” Norrin said, a smile creeping over his face. “Well, if we ignore those years where you split yourself into Strange and Vincent Stephens.”

Strange sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Yes, let's please forget those years. Although, I can assure you, if you were to ask Clea whether I were aggressive or not, you would get a different answer.”

“Women often have a different view to their partners, Strange, that isn't something new. Shalla Bal would most definitely tell you of a different Norrin Radd.”

“Yes, well.” Strange poured two clunky wooden cups of red fluid, and handed one to the Surfer. “To Women of the past, then,” he said, a smile on his face.

A moment of silence washed over the pair, as Norrin examined the liquid before him and Strange downed his in one go, tucking his upper-lip underneath his bottom and baring his teeth. “Banner may be more susceptible to whatever this is than you, Stephen. He has only been an Astral form for a short period of time and he does not have the defences that you do.”

“Perhaps,” Strange added, swilling the liquid in his mouth. “You know, Surfer, in my few hours of quiet meditation, something has struck me.” Strange put the glass down and looked over at his Silver comrade.

“Oh?” the Surfer inquired.

“Do you see a trend beginning to emerge? Perhaps this is just my...former profession becoming involved, but I'm starting to see threads of something that might be more of a coincidence than anything else.” Strange cracked his back and leaned against a table-like object in the corner of the room.

“Coincidences are simply the repetition of a common theme, Stephen.”

“First we have the Wendigo virus, a curse that is supposed to infect only one person at a time. For the curse to passed on it has strict rules: the person must be eaten by the Wendigo itself and that person's spirit is trapped within the Wendigo form. For there to be a herd of them, the Curse itself must have been altered…to have become virulent,” Strange postulated.

Norrin got to his feet slowly, and traced his fingers through the air. “Suppose for a moment, Stephen, that this ailment you are feeling in your soul is another one of these...alterations,” he said quietly, his fingertips glowing gently. “Lightstar tells me that Heralds are affected by the Plodex themselves, transformed into a Cosmic Power Virus.”

Strange paused for a moment, his movements stopping immediately as his brain slowly began to tick over the prospects. “I will need to do more research into this, Surfer, but it may just be possible that these infections and ailments are interconnected. Perhaps something of a bigger virus.”

“Perhaps,” the Surfer said, crossing his arms slowly, “or perhaps it's simply a repeating pattern we've only now noticed.”

“At any rate,” Strange said, lightly perturbed by the Surfer's lack of commitment since he had apparently came up with the same idea, “we may be able to find a cure or, at very least, some reasoning behind this.” The doctor waved his hand in dismissal for a moment and sighed, putting his hand against the soft wall of the building. “Norrin, there is something else that disturbs me. My Magic, it's not responding as well as I would have hoped on this planet,” he admitted, his hands turning to Norrin's. “I am attempting, in vain, to locate Namors wife.”

“Marrina,” Norrin interrupted.

“Correct, but there is something on the surface of this planet. Something that is...not only interacting with my Magic in a way that I do not understand, but it appears that hers is not the only foreign astral form on this planet.”

Norrin turned quickly as the door to the hut exploded into splinters, showering his silver form with wooden splinters that bounced harmlessly off his body. Strange reacted almost as quickly but with more desire to preserve his physical integrity. “What?” he asked, covering his face with his forearms.

“You bring us here,” the booming voice filled the hut, it's anger reverberating through both the Surfer's form and Strange's chest. He sighed and closed his eyes, stroking his beard and getting to his feet.

“Namor, I...”

“..to this distant Universe, where the Surfer's insane family tried to kill us. You DRAG me away from my Kingdom and my life to a Planet of Hate and you cannot find the reason why we are here?”

Namor's voice filled the room as Strange bowed his head. “You insisted, Namor. Do not level the blame solely at me,”

“I am MONARCH OF THE SEVEN SEAS, MAGICIAN! YOUR STANDING AND PARLOR TRICKS ARE INFANTS COMPARED TO THE ANCIENT HISTORY OF MY WORLD!” He stormed towards the Sorcerer who stood his ground before the huge man. Namor's open hand shot out towards Strange's throat.

The Sorcerer's hand, palm flat, tapped against the Kings wrist, knocking it away from him as he lunged forwards and placed his palm firmly into the king’s diaphragm. “I am a Sorcerer, yes, Namor,” Strange said as he stood to his full height, the King stepping backwards, gasping for air, “but I am a Scientist as well. A Doctor. A student of physicality and, whilst the technique I used on you was taught to me by Wong, a Master of Martial arts in his own right,” Strange continued, walking toward the king with a jug of water and throwing it over the fish-man. “The area used and the precision was down to my standing as a Surgeon and Scientist. You breathe air and water, so your diaphragm is used to pull air into your lungs, but also to push water out of your gills. To disrupt that flow is to disable you.”

Strange gestured for the Surfer, who stood in a silent state of almost stoic shock, to show Namor to a seat.

“Never forget: you are a King and your power lies within Strength and Character. I am a Sorcerer and a Scientist, so mine lies within knowledge and technique. Never presume that Strength is enough.”

Namor and Strange locked eyes for a moment, as the pair shared a steely match and gaze. “Let me hear your excuses, Strange.”

“Perhaps it is the interference from the other Astral forms or something to do with the make-up of the planet itself. I do not know at this time, all I know is that I cannot find Marrina directly.”

“But you can give me an idea where she might be located?” Namor asked, getting to his feet as the water dripped from his forehead down his eyes and onto the floor below him.

“Namor, do not begin this path,” the Surfer began, putting his hand on the Sea King's shoulder.

“This path was already tread before you and the sorcerer began to inform me of your incompetence,” Namor's tone began to change again, as Strange rolled his eyes.

“Namor, please...there is a limit.”

“A LIMIT? YOU TAKE US INTO THE REALMS OF OUTER SPACE AND YOU TELL US NOW THAT THERE IS A LIMIT?” Namor's rage rocked the building, as Strange stood and let his head hang. Though it had really been Lightstar that had brought them into space

---

“The hell is that?” Banner had just turned his attention to the gargling shore side after watching Lightstar’s more than appealing bottom disappear off into the upper atmosphere. It was clear that she wasn't coming back.

He turned his attention closer to the edge of the island they found themselves on. The Sea itself was becoming choppy, as though it were churning underneath the surface. It was as though the water were alive and rebelling against the barriers set against the land. Banner's huge Hulking form followed the waters discontent as it grew closer to the source. Huge waves were building and crashing into each other around the hunt in which Strange and Namor were situated. Spray pelted the Hulk's form as he got closer, causing him to protect his eyes with an upturned hand.

“What the hell?” Banner repeated, moving closer to the source of disturbance. Close to the edge of the water, where it met the soft purple mud of the alien planet, something was causing the anger of the ocean. The thick red water splashed against Banner's lower legs in waves of intensity that caused even he to readjust his footing. Strong as the Hulk may be, in this form his abilities were slightly more limited and even then he was no match for a body of water.

His ears, augmented by his Astral Form, which he had taken to calling the ‘Astral Gamma Wave’, caught something that was just slightly higher than human wavelengths. It was as though a tiny whale was screaming, at the same pitch and intensity, without loosing it's power. As Banner turned to try and find the source, he spotted it immediately.

Namor's trident, dug into the ground by half a foot was oscillating violently in it' purple bed. Banner quirked an eyebrow in curiosity and moved toward it slowly, lumbering with each step as he reached out to grab it. “Dah...” He muttered as his teeth immediately set themselves on edge. The vibration moved through his body, his feet shaking so violently, that he began to sink into the soft mud.

“Not the best move you've ever made...” he said to himself, as the vibrations became stronger and stronger. He opted to release his grip on the Trident as it threw him back through the air. The momentum released sent the huge form of the Plodex Hulk through the air and into the viscous liquid that was the ocean of this planet. He gargled water for a few moments before eventually pulling himself to the surface.

“WHAT. THE. HELL?!” Hulk yelled as the remaining Defenders emerged from the hut to investigate the Hulk's temper. Namor's face slowly slid from the anger that had obscured it from Strange towards arrogant and slightly smarmy.

“Is this why you brought my Trident, Strange? For a use more than to remind me of my commitments to home?” Namor asked, gripping the trident with both hands tightly and pulling it from the dirt. It rang through the air as it slowly settled in the Kings hands to match the settling smile on the Monarch's face.

Strange nodded slowly.

“The additional artifacts I brought with us are the Trident and the Chunk of the Gamma Bomb,” Strange gestured from underneath his drawn, hanging cloak towards the soaking wet Banner as he fondled the chunk of metal hanging from his neck. “They're super-charged meme-forms.”

“Meme-Forms, Stephen?” the Surfer turned to the Sorcerer, as he saw the man touch something underneath his cloak. He arched a metallic eyebrow in response.

“Correct. They're designed to funnel and channel the motives and desires of both Namor and Banner. The bomb fragment represents Banner's latest incarnation intermixed with the very core of his being: understanding and transformation.”

“Clever,” Banner said, pulling it free from his neck and staring at the glowing chunk. He remembered the purpose of the bomb…a weapon so powerful it would never be used.

“And my Trident to make me a literal King of the Seas, Strange?! What magic would make this happen?” Namor asked as he directed a funnel of water into the air with his majestic metal staff.

“The power that is invested in all of us through untapped potential, Namor. This planet appears to make...unreality…a possibility. I sensed it immediately and against a threat that can change it's form and, perhaps, take on the abilities of the Heralds of Galactus...we may certainly need an upgrade.”

Namor began to laugh, almost uncontrollably. “We defeated this village easily enough, Strange. I would not think we would require anything extra to defeat an entire world!” His smile faded as he realized that war was not an example of hilarity.

“Then this is how we fight, Defenders. Not battle to battle, but waves to shore. We bring the battle to them through the waters that connect this world.”

“Imperious Rex!”

---

An Hour Ago

The light of the rising sun glinted off his silver form as he stood in silence, watching the celestial event pull itself across the Horizon. He sighed deeply to himself, lost in thought and pondering. The others were so ruled by their emotions, Banner was more sarcastic and apathetic than ever. Strange was more sensitive than usual, and Namor appeared to be boiling what little water clung to his body.

“Norrin.”

He turned slowly to face the figure talking to him, a slow smile spreading over his face. She was a beautiful woman by all rights, sharp features that highlighted the interesting parts of her face in all the right ways. The starscape pattern that flooded over her body filled only the areas caught in shadow, while the areas trapped in light appeared to be swirling nebula, calling for the attention of his eyes.

“Good Morning, Lightstar. Have you seen the sunrise?” he asked, turning back to it his mind instantly switching gears back to his thoughts.

“I have, Norrin,” she said, placing a delicate hand on his face and pulling it towards hers. “We must leave, Norrin Radd.”

“I cannot. My friends need me,” he replied nonchalantly, turning back to the celestial event happening before him.

“Please, Norrin. You must return to your true purpose in life. You must help the Heralds to regain their lives,” she implored, grabbing his hand and wrist tightly with her own delicate grip.

“My true purpose in life is as it has always been, Lightstar. I am a Philosopher. I ponder. I do not interfere in the actions or the balance of life,” he replied, looking down without curiosity or interest at her hands.

She sighed and released him, running a hand through her galaxy-filled hair.

“I have found the source of the infection, Norrin. The Plodex have some how managed to capture a former Herald. Someone Galactus released many, many cycles ago.”

This information finally captured the Surfer's attention.

“Captured one of us?” He asked, curious.

“Yes! They pulled him from the very edges of the mind-scape. Their magicians or scientists or whatever you call their bizarre technology managed to capture him, and they dissected and ingested his body.” She reported, horrified. “They turned the poor Herald into a factory of cosmic wraiths, Norrin. What could they do to the balance of life and power in the universe with that?”

“It is part of Nature, Lightstar,” Norrin said simply, his curiosity waning.

“You have become hard and unfeeling, Norrin Radd.”

“I have not, Lightstar. You have become too entrenched in emotion to see that this is the balance working. Galactus designs and gives us his power to find him planets to eat and destroy, and this is life’s way of taking something back from Galactus. A Balance.”

“Even if it means the destruction of the closest thing you have to a family, Radd?”

“My family and love belongs to Zenn La, Lightstar. Anything in between is simply a place holder.”

“Zenn La is dead, Surfer. It is a lie that has kept you as Galactus' lap dog for longer than you should have been. We have and will always be here for you. Regardless of past indiscretions,” she added.

“I feel that the multiple attempts on my life by various Heralds is more than an indiscretion, Lightstar,” Norrin reasoned.

“Norrin, it is because of the bar you set, that your compassion is only over-compassed by your abilities. No other Herald in this reality could compare to you – you were Galactus' one and only Herald. He speaks of you with almost...fondness.”

That comment took the Surfer aback. He paused for a moment, words forming on his lips before the realization slowly over took him and he gave in.

“When we are done here, I will assist my surrogate family, Lightstar. My commitment now is with the Defenders, rather than a network of Heralds I never knew existed.”

“You would leave your brethren to die while you search for some insignificant mortal’s lover?” she sputtered, aghast with anger.

“I would. I have known Namor longer than I have been free to surf the skyways. He is a true friend and, I would hazard a guess, more of a surrogate family to me than the Heralds. Though that is not to say that I actually think of him that way...”

“I cannot believe this. If you will not help me, then I guess I have wasted my time with you, Norrin. I will take the battle to the Plodex themselves, with or without you.”

She turned from him and took to the sky, not even offering a look back at the Surfer. His response was suitable stoic. He said nothing as he watched her leave and turned to watch the Sun complete it's journey from the Horizon.

---

“Norrin...what bothers you?” the Sub-Mariner asked his friend as he stood watching the now still waters before him.

“I feel as though I have let her down, Namor.”

“Let who down?” the King asked as he moved towards the Surfer.

“Lightstar. She asked me to take part in this War of Heralds. Apparently, the Plodex are more than plunderers of planets, they are leaches of energy and the Power Cosmic. She told me that they have feed upon the very makeup of a Herald and changed themselves for the worse.”

Namor paused and smiled.

“What is funny?”

“You're a good friend, Norrin. More than I deserve sometimes. More than we all deserve. Come! Come! Defenders Assemble!” Namor called a smile on his lips. A viscous, angry, vengeance filled smile.

The group, now four strong, descended around the Sea King as he dug the end of his Trident into the soft, red dirt. Strange sighed and pulled his hands down his rather drawn, tired looking face. Hulk smirked, his new form having previously adjusted more to Banner's features shifted now as heavy-set brows slid forward slightly to begin to look more like the Hulks own face. Black hair, dangling down into the shoulders put Bruce in mind of First Nation Elders gathered together in bunches. Scratches lined his face as he examined the chunk of metal in his hands carefully.

“Where is Lightstar?” the Surfer asked quietly. Banner shook his head and put his large hand on the navigator of the spaceways head, giving it a rub as though he were polishing an object.

The huge Hulking form gave a laugh. “She took off, Surfy. Something about you being a terrible lover,” Banner joked, as the Surfer turned and pushed the Hulk's arm away with more than a little force.

Strange shook his head at Banner, as the lumbering green entity tried to apologize to the Surfer. “Listen, Shiny, I didn't mean to...”

“Cease your prattling, Banner. My patience is not infinite.”

Hulk pursed his lips and thumbed to the Surfer, looking at Namor. “Cheez-Louise, what crawled in his purse?”

Namor said nothing, ramming his trident into the Purple Dirt again in an explosive cloud of wet mud and dry dust. “We know the area in which these extra-worldly entities are being held now, thanks to Strange's magic. Our plan is simple.”

“Makes sense,” Bruce replied, met with an annoyed look from Namor.

“We attack from the ocean, a tidal wave will wash their defences while the rest of you disrupt the guards and warriors. The leader of the camp, their chief I presume, is off limits.”

“Revenge, Namor?” Strange asked, floating in the air, his cloak hanging over his slack shoulders.

“Yes, Stephen. Once we have despatched all of our enemy we will set about freeing the prisoners, my wife numbering amongst them.”

“Namor, please...I don't want you to get your hopes up. There is no guarantee that Marrina will be at this camp...”

“SILENCE!” Namor held his hand up to the Sorcerer, who's beaten features dropped to the ground. “I have lost too much since Marrina left to allow doubt to mar this occasion. Tomorrow we will have dominated the enemy forces and I will receive my wife back in my arms. Nothing will stop this.”

“Hey, maybe you should lay off, Namor.” Bruce said, standing a few feet closer to the King. “Strange was the one who found your wifey, so you should be a bit more thankful.”

Namor craned his neck to the Hulk's form and snarled. “Respect would be a fine thing from you, Hulk. Not only do you trample upon the Surfer's ill-mood, but you seek to drown mine as well.”

“I'd love to give a go at drowning you, Fish-Lips,” Bruce snarled as Strange slowly turned from the group, the bags underneath his eyes calling for him to rest them.

“See, you made Stephen leave!” Bruce yelled as Namor gripped the Plodex's huge form by the hair, pulling it down to his level.

“I did nothing of the sort! The Sorcerer left of his own volition! It was more likely to do with your sour face and irritating demeanour!”

“Sour Face? What the hell are you, six?!” Bruce batted Namor back a few steps as the King stood ready to fight. “Can you believe this guy, Surfy?” Bruce turned around as the Surfer simply held up the back of his hand to the pair of them and stood on his board.

“I cannot believe either of you. A King and a Monster you are not. You are merely ill-tempered children.”

The silver warrior took to the sky, shooting away from the bickering heroes as he put some distance between the human problems and the problems that lurked inside his mind.

“What's HIS problem?” Bruce asked Namor as the King stood by the huge warrior Hulk's side, his Trident slung underneath his armpit.

“I do not know, Bruce. His mood has been darkened since Lightstar left. I believe that something dire is happening in his world.”

“Doesn't that make it our world then?” Banner asked, looking down at Namor, who looked up, aghast and slightly disgusted by the Hulk.

“How is it that you stand by your allies so steadfastly, but you are unable to sit silently through a single conversation?”

“Maybe because you talk like a bad Jane Eyre novel,” Bruce snorted.

“I presume I should be insulted, you facile behemoth; however, I do not know of this ‘Jane Eyre’. She is a wordsmith?” Namor asked curious about the context of the Hulks insult.

“Lemme give you the Cliff Notes, Scale-Face...”

---

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To Be Continued...

Next: In Defenders #7: WAAAR, UHHH, WHAT IS IT GOOD FOR? Getting Women, apparently.

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