The Blightmaster took a stance, showing his profile. What it lacked in forehead, it made up in chin. He faced the hero across the battleground, raised his gauntleted arms and sighted menacingly down one of them.

Doctor Wonder gasped and staggered back.

“Y’can’t fall yet,” the Blightmaster called. “I haven’t started yet.”

“Haven’t?”

“He hasn’t started yet,” a small boy who had appointed himself commentator to the rest of the onlookers said impatiently.

“Then wha’chu doin’ over there?” queried Doctor Wonder.

“Warrior Pose.” The Blightmaster’s arms were sagging; he twitched them back to horizontal. “I’m just loosening up. It’s yoga.”

Doctor Wonder shaded his eyes, scanning the crowd and the decrepit buildings beyond. “Where’s Yoda? I thought he was with The Force. Is he with you?”

The Blightmaster dropped into a defensive stance. “The Four What?”

“Horrors! Men,” a woman said in disgust, her tight curls glinting with bobby pins.

Doctor Wonder wondered, “Y’mean The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse?”