The group walked across the dunes, their deep footprints quickly buried by the windblown sand behind them.
Cloak rubbed the tip of its collar against the Sorcerer Supreme's face. It felt terribly weak; the atmosphere of this dimension made it profoundly uncomfortable. If it had a stomach, it would probably have thrown up by now.
Probably something like suffocation combined with motion sickness, the edge of the fabric wrote behind Deathstroke.
That was to be expected. Just as many demon dimensions rejected technological equipment, it was perfectly normal for creations of the Mystic Side to feel unwell upon entering a space of digitized reality.
Stuffing an Energy Gem into it was enough to stop its complaints.
In truth, though the environment was harsh, the group itself was not having much difficulty.
The black sand blotted out the sky and sun, reducing the desert's greatest threat—the heat—to the bare minimum.
This was an exceptionally cold place, where even the wind was icy. The people who had wanted chilled soda earlier were now shivering, unless they possessed extraordinary physical endurance.
"Brr, it's way too cold. I take back what I said earlier. If you died here, you'd probably turn into a Zombie, like that Maya maiden displayed in the museum." Peter rubbed his hands together. It was not yet cold enough to freeze someone to death, but the fierce wind rapidly carried away body heat, and his fingers were already starting to feel numb.
"There aren't even any plants here, let alone any way to tell what season it is. Maybe you can judge by counting the wrinkles on your balls. Hahaha."
Rocket, being covered in fur, was doing fairly well. He just could not bring himself to drink the icy soda anymore, so he held it between his paws.
But before