I have to say that I read none of these as they came out; I only started buying them years later. They seem to have culminated with the writer, Chris Claremont, either producing a bold metafictional experiment or suffering some sort of weird emotional breakdown. Maybe a midlife crisis brought on by the passing of the Seventies and the beginning of the Eighties, or publishing troubles with Marvel. Anyway, he spends the last few pages of the last issue explaining that HE was Dakimh, using the guise of a comic book writer to tell a tale, and that now he must be moving on. "There's nothing more pathetic than an aging hipster." - Dr. Evil.
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