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Living Stone
By : AceMaxwell
Category: G through L > Hellboy
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Disclaimer: I do not own Hellboy and I make no money off this fiction.
Chapter List
- 1
- 2
So I feel like I should explain this one before I start the story proper. This is the comic-verse. After the Somewhere Between trilogy, I couldn't go back to the Hellboy and John I knew and loved because I felt like I was taking them backwards through a relationship that took years to develop to what it was. I tried, trust me. It didn't work.
I needed to look at a new version of them if I was going to write, so I turned to the comics. The comics are VERY different from the movie. As much fun as snarky, childish movie HB is, comic HB is calm, smart, and calculating until he gets into a fight. Once he's fighting, a little more of Ron Perlman's Hellboy comes out. I get that some of my existing fans might not have read the comics, so I'm going to give you a quick overview. If you have read the comics (both Hellboy and BPRD) then just skip to the story. It starts at the 'X's. For those of you who have read them, this takes place before Hellboy leaves the BPRD.
Differences include:
Abe is NOT a psychic, he's just another agent. He uses a gun and has an attitude that is nonexistent in the movie. He can also spend as much time out of water as he wants; he has no problem breathing air.
Liz was changed a lot for the movie. In the comics, Liz is still disturbed by her own abilities, but she's never spent time in an asylum. She's very strong once you get past the first issue or two. The biggest difference is that HB is not interested in her. When she came to the bureau as a child, he was already a full-grown man. At best, he sees her as a little sister. She and Abe on the other hand… I won't go into that here.
Johann. Ah, Johann. Ignoring the absolutely horrible representation of him in the second movie, I really love Johann. He is a roaming spirit that is stored in a sealed suit with a glass helmet (much more streamline than the clunking monstrosity they put him in during HB 2). Johann can leave the suit to touch the supernatural world and get a feel for things and commune with dead spirits.
The BPRD itself is quite different. Abe, Liz, and Hellboy are not captives of the bureau, they just work there. The world knows about them (except the bureau hasn't set up Abe's intro to society, so he still has to hide) and they're treated with respect by the agents of the bureau. The bureau also hires various kinds of people to assist agents in their missions. The most human people in the comics are typically psychics. They go on missions to help HB and Abe and the others to understand what they're fighting, feeding them information about the monsters' thoughts, emotions, and/or motives and to tell them about spirit activity because Johann can't be on every mission with every agent. The remaining cast of characters the movies didn't even touch will be explained and introduced in the story as if they were new to you.
So that just leaves John. Naturally, John is not from the comics but I really wanted to use him in this story because HB/John is my reason for writing this stuff. I didn't want his introduction to the bureau to be anything close to what it was in the movie since HB is not a child and he's a respected agent. Please keep that in mind. John is definitely OOC because I've essentially reinvented him to bring him into HB's comic world. Hopefully, you'll enjoy the nuances between the two universes.
And now that I've written a page long introduction, on to the story!
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Hellboy stood in front of the BPRD headquarters in Fairfield, Connecticut, smoking a cigarette and waiting. The chilled winter air misted as he breathed out a lungful of smoke. Cold didn't bother him. Though most of the other agents tried to sneak their smoke breaks inside somewhere when it was this cold, Hellboy would go out just for the quiet. Now, he was outside purely so he could watch the road.
It was almost six-o-clock in the afternoon. The changed of shifts occurred around him quietly. Agents who'd been on the base all morning were on their way out. Most said 'goodbye' or 'goodnight' to him as they passed by. The agents coming in for the night watch did much of the same, just switching their greetings to 'hello' and 'how's it going?'
The sky was melting into fiery hues as evening descended. Hellboy scowled at the crimson color the sun had taken on as it disappeared behind thick line of trees bordering the BPRD's property. Crimson was never a good omen. When the sun turned that color, it meant blood and death would come with the moon.
Hellboy took another drag on his cigarette, taking it all the way to the filter before he stubbed it out against his stone arm. As he flicked it in the trashcan, he addressed the woman coming up behind him, "He's late."
Kate Corrigan was one of the few people who took the demon's bluntness in stride. As long as she'd worked with him, she understood that Hellboy didn't like to waste time. He got down to business quickly, always had, always would.
"He'll be here," she answered easily, brushing some of her short blonde hair away from her face.
Kate was dressed in her office clothes: khaki pants, sneakers, and an oversized pink sweater that was threatening to fall off her slim shoulder though she was wearing another shirt beneath it. Hellboy didn't need to read the file she had in her hand to know that she wasn't going on the mission with him.
If Hellboy had to be saddled with another agent, Kate was a decent choice. She made astute observations, stayed out from underfoot, was smart and quick with her gun. Though she'd started with the bureau as a folklore expert, she had become an excellent field agent. She was a far cry from Liz or Abe, but lead agents rarely worked together unless the case was too big to handle alone.
"Why did they stick him with me?" Hellboy asked, his annoyance more apparent in his twisting tail than it was in his tone.
Kate sighed and looked out at the staff parking lot, "It's not going to be that bad."
"He's not trained. I hope you picked out a cake-walk for us or he's going to get killed," Hellboy growled, holding out his flesh hand so she could drop the file into it.
She explained as he looked over the documents, "Non-malicious ghost sighting. A perfect starter for a psychic. The idea is to see what he can do before we spend the resources to train him."
Hellboy knew exactly why they handled things this way, but he'd seen it go wrong before. Inexperience was a killer.
Kate continued, "Manning's got some high hopes for this one, so he's going to want a detailed report when you get back."
Hellboy grunted in response, only half-listening. The photographs in the file were more interesting than being reminded for the millionth time that Manning wants paperwork. The man always wanted a mountain of paperwork; there was nothing new about it. Out of the dozen photos, only two of them had substantial evidence of spectral activity. The rest mostly seemed to be establishing shots of the English Cathedral where the ghost had been seen. He held a Polaroid closer to his face, examining a white smear that most people would assume was a lens flare. It was one of the better ghost photos he'd seen. If he squinted, he could almost make out the human figure.
"They disturb any graves lately? Move any old sarcophagi?" Hellboy asked, tossing all the photos back in the manila folder.
Chuckling, Kate responded with a query of her own, "Is it ever that easy?"
"Not when I have to take a psychic with me." Hellboy didn't need a watch to know that the newbie was almost an hour late. He'd always had a good internal clock. "He doesn't show up in the ten minutes, I'm leaving without him."
"No you're not," Kate stated and crossed her arms over her chest. "Because I think that's him now."
A taxi came up the driveway and parked in the loading/unloading half circle directly in front of the building. Hellboy and Kate were quiet as a young man slammed out of the back of the cab with suitcase in hand and went around to the driver. He was so young that Hellboy thought 'man' really wasn't the right term for him. 'Boy' would be much closer to the truth. It might've just been his age saying that. After forty years working for the BPRD, Hellboy thought that the new agents they brought in seemed younger and younger with each year that passed.
Shouting floated over the cab, "I'm not paying for the hour you spent driving around the wrong part of Connecticut!"
The answer was too muffled for Hellboy to understand, but he could guess that the driver said something unpleasant by the way the boy's expression changed. For a shred of a second, the boy's mouth fell open and then his anger was back.
"It is not my fault that you assumed incorrectly. I gave you the full address."
Hellboy slid a glance in Kate's direction, stating flatly, "Oh, he's a joy."
She gave him a smirk and a low-level glare, "And you're going to play nice or you'll be looking at a suspension. Manning made it very clear that he wants this kid to work for us."
"Great," Hellboy muttered and wished he had another cigarette. Not enough of a smoker to have his own pack, he'd bummed the one he had off of Liz. Usually, he preferred cigars, but when he was annoyed, he liked a stronger hit of nicotine.
Peering at the darkening sky, Hellboy tried not to think of how the wisps of clouds looked like clots in a vast pool of blood. He'd wasted enough time on this kid. Hellboy stepped off the curb and came around the back of the cab. Shoving a crumpled twenty-dollar bill at the driver, he took his new charge by the arm. It probably wasn't enough, but the driver sped off after taking one look at Hellboy. Even after the bureau had gone to such great lengths to make sure Hellboy was represented in a positive way by the media, some people still had that kind of reaction. Hellboy practically dragged the psychic back to Kate, ignoring the boy's complaints.
When they stopped, the boy yanked his arm out of Hellboy's hold and indignantly stated, "It's not my fault the driver didn't know where Fairfield was, so don't take it out on me. And I'm not a child, I'm twenty-two." He straightened his cream-colored sheepskin coat and turned his attention to Kate, "You're Dr. Corrigan." It was a statement, not a question.
"Yes," Kate said, holding out her hand. "You must be John Myers."
He shook her hand with a nod, "I am. I'm sorry I'm so late. Did you get my message?"
"I did. I tried to return your call, but it kept going straight to voicemail."
While John explained his spotty service, Hellboy eyed him. The first conclusion he came to was that John was too small. It wasn't as if the other psychics they hired were body builders or anything, but John was barely taller than Kate was and she was a tiny woman. Even under his winter clothes, his body had a delicate litheness to it that made Hellboy think he'd never make it in the bureau. Though psychics were taken on missions as sources of information, they still got in enough trouble that they needed to know how to fight.
The boy (at twenty-two, he was definitely still a boy to Hellboy) had perfectly groomed brown hair and eyes that seemed too old for his face. His features were smooth and slightly breath taking, so the deep, sorrowful gaze he had was very out of place. John's eyes looked as though they'd seen too many horrors. If he'd survived whatever made his eyes so cold, maybe he could endure in the bureau.
When those brown eyes fixed on him, Hellboy knew the boy was tougher than he looked. Keeping his thoughts carefully guarded against the psychic, Hellboy said, "The chopper is waiting."
Kate walked with them through the bureau, briefing John as they moved across the marble insignia on the floor, "Look at this like your entrance exam. Stick close to Hellboy and make sure that you listen to him. He'll keep you safe."
Hellboy walked a few steps ahead of them, so he couldn't see John's expression as the boy said dryly, "He seems so thrilled about babysitting me."
He didn't respond, but groaned inwardly. Some psychics were exclusively in tune with the metaphysical plane. John wasn't one of those. He was a mind reader, among other things. There wasn't much of a file on him yet, just the little that Manning had gathered during his research, but Hellboy had read enough about him to know that he was more powerful, if not more unpredictable, than any psychic they'd ever hired. No one was really certain what his limits were. On top of that, the boy was brilliant. He'd graduated from high school top in his class when he sixteen, though he quit college after his first year. Hellboy was prepared for all the pride and attitude that typically accompanied searing intelligence.
When Hellboy didn't make a comment either way, Kate consoled John, "He'll warm up to you." It was as much comfort as she was prepared to give him.
They stopped at a bank of elevators and Hellboy jabbed the call button. As they waited for one of the two elevators to come to the landing, he turned to Kate, "When Liz gets in from Cambodia, tell her that I put the Lexington artifact back in the vault. She'll be looking for it."
"Will do," the blonde said with a smile.
The lift arrived and Hellboy stepped inside, raising one brow at John as the boy stayed where he was. His knuckles where nearly white on the handle of his suitcase. Though Hellboy didn't have a psychic bone in his body, he could feel the boy's uncertainty. John hesitated long enough that the automatic doors started closing. Hellboy stuck his flesh hand out to stop them and hold them open.
"Come on, kid," Hellboy said without a hint of annoyance or impatience.
He could almost feel the boy prodding his thoughts as those dark, wounded eyes narrowed on him. Hellboy didn't like it when someone poked around in his head, but he'd gotten very good at hiding things he didn't want anyone to see. Knowing that John was just looking for some reassurance, he let some of his agitation ebb. There was no reason to stay angry when the mission didn't rely on them arriving at a specific time. The ghost would still be there.
Finally, John entered the elevator and Hellboy punched the button for the roof. As the door slid shut, Kate reminded him one last time, "Play nice, Hellboy."
"Do you run a lot of agents off?"
Hellboy glanced over at the boy, surprised by how straightforward he was, "No. But I don't work with a lot of other agents."
"Because you don't get along with them?"
"Because I don't like to play twenty questions," Hellboy growled, effectively putting an end to John's curiosity.
They made the rest of the ride in silence; the only sound was the growing throb of a helicopter's rotor. When the door opened, the muffled 'whump' of the blades became a deafening roar. Hellboy ducked slightly as he ran to the waiting Osprey, though the twin rotors were too high up to hit him. The massive gusts of wind the helicopter created wrenched at Hellboy's trench coat, making it billow and slap against his legs. He turned to find that John was right on his heels. Hellboy stepped back to let the psychic on first and then grabbed the handle to hoist himself into the belly of the aircraft. The moment they were on board, the helicopter lifted into the air.
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The helicopter left them outside of Wells, England, since there weren't any helipads within the small city. Though it was barely seven in the morning, the town was already bustling. A good number of commuters were headed out to bigger cities and even more were going to work within Wells. Shops and cafes were just opening for the day, employees freezing in the middle of morning duties to watch Hellboy walk through the streets. A stout man in an apron stepped outside to watch the famous investigator go by, his ruddy features dominated by a look of awe.
John had to trot to keep up with Hellboy's stride, but the beautiful, gothic architecture was distracting enough that he kept falling behind. He'd pause to crane his neck so he could see some gargoyle or towering building and look down to see that Hellboy had gotten far ahead of him. He sprinted to catch up with the demon and then the whole process started over. If Hellboy noticed, he didn't comment on it. Now and again, he would send a glance over his shoulder to make sure the boy was still there, but didn't bother him otherwise.
Hellboy stopped at the inn where the BPRD had gotten them rooms and John crashed into his back. Chuckling, Hellboy joked, "Some psychic."
The comment got him a seething look from John as the boy rubbed at his forehead, "Most people don't think about walking, they just do it. You could've said something."
"Go get our keys and drop your suitcase. If you're not too tired, I'd like to go up to the church."
"Yeah, okay," John mumbled and continued to rub at the sore spot on his head.
Hellboy was already feeling the jet lag kicking in and he was nearly immune to it, but, judging by the bruised-looking smudges beneath John's eyes, the kid didn't sleep much. After John had gone inside, Hellboy wandered to a nearby shop to get them both some coffee. The woman set down his order and stared at his horn stubs while he fished the appropriate currency out of his pocket to pay her. With both insulated cups clutched carefully in his right hand, he slapped a five-pound note on the counter and left without change. Resisting the urge to cuss under his breath, Hellboy went back to the inn.
John was standing at the door when he got there, looking around with a furrowed brow. The moment he spotted the coffee, his expression brightened and something that wanted to be a smile fought its way onto his face. He took the cup gratefully.
"It's just black," Hellboy said before John got a chance to drink it.
"It's perfect, thanks." Sticking one hand in his pocket, John sipped cautiously at the scalding coffee before asking, "So, which church is it? I've seen two so far."
Hellboy lifted one hand to point out at the bigger church that sat at the city's heart when he noticed a ragged, red scar on the boy's wrist. He hadn't been able to see it beneath the coat sleeve, but when John lifted the coffee cup to his mouth, the sleeve slid down just enough to reveal the edge of it.
John immediately picked up on his thoughts and lowered his arm to pull the sleeve into place, muttering, "Childhood accident."
The lie was obvious in the way John averted his gaze, but Hellboy left it alone, "We're headed in to Wells Church. The bishop there is the one who called us."
The town was small and the church was only a few blocks away. Hellboy started off with his brisk pace, but slowed to more of a saunter so John wouldn't have to run. The leisurely stroll gave them time to finish their coffee. Hellboy doubted they would be allowed to bring it into the church anyway.
As they walked, John kept looking in Hellboy's direction. Everywhere he went, he got stared at, so he was used to it… well, almost used to it. It still irritated him. The boy didn't really seem to stare at the things that everyone else stared at. His gaze wasn't stuck to his stone hand, or the tail that swung lazily out of the slit in the back of his trench coat, or to the remnants of his horns that he filed. John seemed content to study his face. Hellboy suspected that he was looking at his eyes. They were solid yellow, with no pupil or iris to break them up. Very few people could look him in the eye without fidgeting.
With a deep sigh, Hellboy said, "Let's get this over with. What do you want to ask about?"
John completely surprised him with his question, "Where did you learn how to guard your thoughts like that? I don't get much of anything from you."
Hellboy's gait stuttered a little as he turned to the boy. He suspected John was trying to cover up the fact that he was gawking, but his question and expression were too genuine. Finally, Hellboy said, "You work with as many psychics as I do and you'll learn how to keep things private."
"Would you teach me?"
"Yeah," Hellboy answered even as he wondered what kind of secrets the kid had to keep.
They left the cobblestone street and cut across the vast lawn that surrounded the church. The stone cathedral rose in front of them, hundreds of statues watching their arrival from alcoves carved into the front of the building. Their weather worn faces seemed to disapprove of Hellboy's presence. He wasn't welcome at many churches, by the local clergy or the faithful, but this was one of the first churches where it felt like the building was scowling at him.
He didn't have enough fingers and toes to count how many times he'd been screamed out of a church by a priest or minister. Though his experience with Christian paranormal events was unmatched, the BPRD would often have to send out a replacement agent for jobs like this. Hellboy was confident that this case would be different, since the bishop had asked for him personally.
The moment they stepped inside, John got rigid. Hellboy cast his gaze around the lofty sanctuary, past the white scissor arches and the empty choir bays. Nothing moved. It was too early for the tourists and too late for the faithful that prayed before they had to start their day. The church was empty.
Hellboy carefully watched the boy's face for signs of possession, which happened to their psychics far too frequently for his liking, but John's expression was just tense. The boy's brows furrowed sharply, putting more of a shadow over his normally dark eyes, and his lips pressed into a thin, white line.
"You've got to talk to me. Tell me what you're getting," Hellboy said as he moved out into the isle between the pews. He settled his flesh hand over a pouch of salt in his pocket just in case the spirit was more violent than the bureau realized. That happened a lot.
John followed him closely, close enough that Hellboy considered calling the boy his shadow. "It's focus is directed on me."
"Is it pissed off?"
"No," John shook his head. "It's… no, his attention is not wrathful. I feel an overwhelming desperation. He needs something."
Some of the tension left Hellboy's shoulders and he withdrew his hand from the salt. Kate really did pick out a good case for them. A ghost that needed something was just restless; it wasn't going to hurt anyone. They could still be frightening to the average person, just not dangerous.
"Alright. Walk around and check things out, I'm going to find the bishop."
Fear flickered through John's features, "Shouldn't I stay with you?"
"Nah. The spirit you just described wouldn't attack the mice in the walls. I'll be back in a minute."
He wanted to be more reassuring since the kid still looked a little freaked, but he couldn't hold his hand through every part of an investigation. If John didn't learn to stand on his own, the bureau would chew him up and spit him out. The burnout rate of agents was extremely high in paranormal work, especially in psychics. They get exposed to so much supernatural hate and rage and fear, channeling it through their open minds to feed to the field agent they're with, that more than eighty percent have a break down within the first year.
Hellboy walked down one of the halls that branched off of the main chapel, looking for someone who could take him to the bishop. The first person to see him was a young altar boy that was sorting a pile of hymnals and putting them on a shelf. Hellboy cringed internally, expecting the child to scream and run, but a giant smile lit up his face instead.
"Oi! You're Hellboy!"
Hellboy nodded, "Yeah, Bishop Dunn called me."
"This way, sir," the child chirped, hopping off his stool.
He darted down the hall, his freckled face casting glances back every few seconds. His grin never faded. When they reached the bishop's offices, the child stayed in the entryway, but motioned Hellboy inside. The room was small, but comfortable and all of the furniture looked like it had been there since the church was built. Though they were very worn, all of the simple wooden pieces were carefully oiled and polished.
The man behind the desk rose as Hellboy entered. He was probably in his late sixties. Much like his furniture, he was old but maintained. His thin hair was meticulously combed and his floor-length robes were neatly pressed.
"I am so grateful you're here," Bishop Dunn gushed warmly and came around his desk. "We've exhausted all of the traditional means to get this lost soul to rest. We didn't know what else to do besides call your bureau."
The bishop paused, taking in the proportions of Hellboy's right hand and then held out his left for a handshake. Hellboy took his hand with a smirk, saying, "It's not a problem, bishop. I'm glad we could get out this way."
Leaning around Hellboy's bulky frame, Bishop Dunn gave the altar boy a hard stare, "Have you finished with the hymnals?"
Startled, the boy shook his awed expression and sheepishly muttered, "No, bishop."
"Then perhaps you'd best get back to it. Your ma expects you home by lunch." As the child scurried out of sight, the bishop's sternness melted into a smile that reminded Hellboy of his father. "You'll have to forgive him. Christopher has been going on about your arrival all week. You're quite a hero in his eyes."
"Cute kid," Hellboy grunted, not sure what else to say.
Kids never had the same reaction to Hellboy's presence that their parents did. They always wanted to climb on him, or ask him questions about his tail and horns, or they just grinned up at him knowingly. Inevitably, some concerned adult would come scoop them up and hurry away with them, casting fearful glances over their shoulder. Hellboy would never understand it.
Hellboy cleared his throat and turned back to the bishop, "Tell me about your ghost."
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John shuddered involuntarily. The church was completely silent except for his footsteps, which echoed loudly in the open space, but he knew he wasn't alone. He could feel the spirit in the back of his mind, the cold pressure of it working its way down his spine. The ghost's desperation was his own. He knew something was missing, that it had been stolen. It had to be found. He NEEDED to find it.
His feet moved on their own, taking him to the front of the chapel. He stepped around the altar and into the small room beyond it. To the left, there were stairs leading up to the choir bays and the organ bench, but to the right was a set of stairs leading down. There was a red satin rope tied across the entrance with a sign that read 'No Tourists' in five different languages.
Part of John screamed that he should wait for Hellboy to come back with the bishop, but the need to go on was too strong. He ducked beneath the rope and descended the narrow stairs. The natural light from the chapel faded into a shuddering, yellow glow that was provided by a strand of bulbs tacked to one wall. Cold seeped through his coat as he went deeper into the church's lower levels. John opened his mouth to exhale, watching as his breath misted.
He reached a small room lined with shelves and countless books and documents. Walking around the large table that dominated the center of the room, he went to another staircase. Blackness stared up at him. John reached for a switch that dangled freely against the wall. He flicked it on with trembling fingers and a series of bulbs identical to the ones in the first stairwell blinked to life.
The presence in his mind swelled. Whispering filled his ears. It was in a language he couldn't understand, but he still knew what it wanted. He needed what the dead needed. John stepped forward to continue his descent. A hand like ice gripped the back of his neck, driving him on. Shudders ripped through his body as he reached the crypts. Instinctually, he knew the catacombs were vast. He could feel every soul that rested in them. They pressed against his mind and against his chest, suffocating him. He couldn't feel his legs as he moved on, couldn't feel his feet hitting the ground. His breathing was labored and uneven. Each gasp was a chore.
Rows of carefully arranged skeletons stretched out in every direction. There were niches carved into the solid stone walls, one right on top of another, each one with a body, some with two. The open graves went from floor to ceiling. Some of the skeletons still had rags clinging to them, but most were bare.
John kept his eyes straight ahead, his hands clutched into tight fists as he made his way between the rows of dead. Despite the cold, sweat had broken out across his brow. He could feel it soaking into his clothes. The whispers were growing louder, more adamant. They were practically screams when he reached a round room with one sarcophagus in the middle. It was carved of a single, massive piece of marble.
As John got closer, he could see symbols carved deeply into the sides and top of the lid. The carvings had been filled with some kind of metal that had rusted away over the ages, leaving behind long, dark stains on the white marble. The symbols reminded him of the runes found on Druid relics, but he didn't know enough about the subject to be certain.
Before he could even consider what he was doing, John reached to push at the heavy lid. It didn't move. He dug his toes against the ground, putting his weight into it. When it still didn't budge, he shoved his shoulder against it, his feet scrabbling desperately for purchase. A frightened whimper slipped from his lips as the marble budged. The sound of stone grinding against stone filled the crypt, all but drowning out the screaming in John's head. The lid finally fell to the side of the coffin with a massive thud.
A faint voice drifted through the quiet that followed. For a second, John thought it was the spirit again, but then he heard his name being called. He wanted to answer, but he was trapped by the blank stare of a skull. The skeleton inside the sarcophagus turned its head and blue fire ignited in the empty orbits where its eyes once were.
Movement near the corpse's chest drew John's attention away from the horrid gaze. Clutched tightly in the bone hands was a box made of metal. It was a cube that was approximately sixteen inches deep. Every bit of the metal had a rune-like carving on it, even the interior, but there was nothing else inside it.
John looked up at Hellboy as he came running into the room. The spirit moved in and through him, using his mouth to say, "The court of shades turns beneath the earth. Return the bones or turn to ash with their rise."
The moment the spirit left him, John collapsed.
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TBC…
I probably have more of the movie-verse in there than I want, but old habits die hard… I might have to reread the comics to catch the vibe.
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Living Stone	By : AceMaxwell Category: G through L > Hellboy Views: 4868 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Hellboy and I make no money off this fiction.

Living Stone