Adult-FanFiction.org : Movies

Lines of Shadow: Sequel to Somewhere Between	By : AceMaxwell Category: G through L > Hellboy Views: 4117 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Hellboy or any related character and make no money off this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Prophecies
- 2-Reunion
- 3-Artifact
- 4-Inferno
- 5-Flightless
- 6-Valhalla
- 7-Fate
- 8-Broken
- 9-Seduction
- 10-Unleashed
- 11-Traitor
- 12-Overrun
- 13-Vows
- 14-Escape
- 15-War
- 16-Humanity
- 17-Ragnarok
- 18-Judgment
- 12
- 13
- 14
As always, I'm too impatient to let a beta have my work, so I'll update it as I find things to edit. Point out any errors you find.

- HB

The platoon of angels busts into the room with swords blazing, literally. Their weapons are dripping white flames. I shift my body, putting myself between them and John. The demons all focus on the newcomers, giving us a chance to breathe. I still have to hack down the stragglers so nobody else sinks a mouthful of razors into me.

Anubis is panting, his hands dripping black blood from the fight. It only lasted a minute or so, but he's exhausted. 'Scout's not much better, but I think that's more do to the wound he got just an hour ago. I was convinced he was going to die, so I have no idea how he even managed to waltz in here to bring me back to my right mind. Now, his head is rolling on my shoulder like he can't even pick it up anymore.

The demon's finally clear away from us as the angels slam down onto the floor. What follows is so fucking coordinated it's like these angels have one mind. They take the demons apart without a word shared between them or their commander. The twelve angels in armor create a tight circle with their backs to the center, but the one with the scythe is a fore all on his own. Blood falls around him like rain as he splits demons into pieces with the giant blade.

"I thought they wanted to let Hell out. Did somebody change their mind?" I shoot at Anubis. I mean, seriously, did I miss something while I was gone?

Anubis just shakes his long head from side to side, "I have no answer for that, but that," he points at the dark-haired angel, "is Azriel. He's the angel of death."

"Yeah, I figured," I grumble, casting my gaze around for an exit. I'm thinkin' that once they're done taking the armies of Hell down a notch or two, they're going to come make us into hamburger meat. "Maybe we should get the fuck outta dodge."

"Isn't it 'get the hell out-"

"Whatever, let's go."

I glance down at 'Scout, but he's got his eyes closed. I think he's out. Adjusting my grip, I hoist him up a little higher and make my way around the throne. There's still a few hundred of the little fuckers left for the angels to kill, and they're still flooding in from outside, so I'd bet we've got a minute or two to get out.

Anubis follows me, but his attention is focused on the fight. Donno whether he's watching our backs or just watching the carnage. We don't' get five steps when several of the angels break away from the group and go to the doors. They clear the openings with blasts of light similar to what 'Scout used, and yank the heavy metal doors shut. Sticking their burning swords into the handles to hold off the rest of the hoard.

Banging fills the room, accompanied by a sound like nails on a chalkboard as the demons throw themselves at the doors from the outside. It won't hold them too long. I'd bet they'll come through that broken window pretty soon and they'll wish they hadn't locked themselves in.

I duck behind the throne and start cussing up a fucking storm when I realize that the demons blocked off the way back into the courthouse when they were redecorating. The entrance is full of massive chunks of concrete and stone with whole skeletons strung across them like a really morbid party banner. If I had twenty or thirty minutes, I could clear it out, but they'll be on us a lot sooner than that.

Anubis bounds up on the stack of rocks, looking for a way through. His frustrated growl rises over the sound of the demons at the doors. I spin Lucifer's sword in my hand, tying to figure out where else we can go. Let's face it, I've only seen this place in the movies, I have no idea where the exits are.

Boyscout groans, waking up and shifting his arms up around my neck. "Did I pass out?" he mumbles.

"Yeah, babe."

"Shit," 'Scout breathes. If he wasn't so close to my ear, I never would've heard him.

I turn on my heel and Azriel is right fuckin' there, right next to me. I fall back a step just because I wasn't expecting him, not like he startled me or anything, 'cause he didn't. His eyes are white like a corpse's that's been dead a while, like the color leached out of them. I know he can see, 'cause they're fixed right on me, but he doesn't have any pupils. The armor-clad angels fill in the space behind him. They're all blonde and blue-eyed, reminding me of Michael, but they're all a little bigger than he was in the shoulders and chests. It's a Nazi's fuckin' wet dream, the perfect coalition of blonde super soldiers.

I know I'll need both hands to fight these guys, but I don't dare put 'Scout down. If even one of them goes for him, he won't have the energy to fight them off. There's blood seeping through the wound on his chest onto the side of my ribcage and pec, enough of it that I'm afraid if we don't get him to a doctor soon that I'm really going to lose him.

Anubis drops to the floor next to me, approaching Azriel slowly with his hands extended, "Azriel, you know this is not your purpose. We are meant to shuttle lives to the afterlife, not force them there early. Think about this."

In a voice laced with the whispers of thousands, the angel of death says, "I'm not here to kill."

Behind him, the angels all get down on one knee, bowing their heads and crossing one fist over their chest in a sign that is clearly and vow of allegiance. Together, they state, "We serve the will of Michael. We serve the armor of Elohim."

John unlaces his legs from around my waist and I regretfully set him on the ground. I doubt these boys can lie, I mean, they're angels. He takes a wobbly step forward and I brace my flesh hand against his hip to make sure he doesn't just drop to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

"You came to help us?" 'Scout asks, way too trustingly for my taste.

The really creepy scythe disappears as Azriel releases it. He pushes back the thick, hooded cloak he's wearing so we can see his straight, white hair. It falls across his face, hanging almost to his belly button. "I have come to bring Gabriel's atrocities to light. My silence has weighed heavy on my heart for centuries and I am afraid I have waited too long to make things right."

"Do any of you speak modern language?" I know I'm really off subject, but seriously? What's wrong with 'I'm here to rat out Gabriel'?

Another window shatters and the hissing of demons fills the room. The battle angels stand and look to Azriel, weapons at the ready.

"We must go, now. Carry them to the encampment on the far side of the river," Azriel orders and flares out his wings.

They do the same. One grabs Anubis around the waist, which he really, REALLY doesn't like, if his snarl is anything to go by. Another gingerly picks up John, placing his arms behind his knees and back to hoist him, and two others come to grab my arms. I'm surprised when they actually manage to lift me.

Let's get something straight, flying doesn't bother me. I can go by plane, by helicopter, by a tiny prop puddle hopper, but daggling in the air with something other than an engine keeping me aloft, that's not so okay. Mostly, I'm just nervous that one of them is going to drop me.

We duck out of the busted window past the swarms of demons rushing in. They grab for us, but the angels not carrying someone cut them back. Fingers and arms fly off in every direction. When we get out into the city, my stomach drops into my feet. New York is destroyed. I knew it was. I vaguely remember it happening, but seeing my handiwork from the air is a whole new ballgame. The city is burning and nothing's moving on the ground that didn't crawl out of the bowels of Hell.

"My god…" I whisper.

The angel holding my right bicep says, "He's not listening, so praying to him won't do any good."

My anger flares at that. It wasn't what I'd meant, but he's still being a fucking ass. Part of me argues that I shouldn't piss off the guy holding me hundreds of feet off the ground, but I don't usually bother paying much attention to my rational side.

"You mean he's not listening to me because I'm one of them," I growl the statement.

The other angel shakes his head, "No, Jehovah is dead. Lucifer killed him before Michael cast him out of Heaven. The archangels have been running the overworld since the beginning of time."

That's… unexpected. My heart tightens at the idea. I've never been very religious, but dad… dad prayed every day. To know that his hopes and needs fell on deaf ears makes me sad. Thinking of him, I stare down at the destruction I've caused. I became exactly what he feared I would. I let him down.

There was a hoodoo priest in the forties who told my father that he should've killed me when he found me. I was six at the time, running around on a top-secret base in New Mexico playing ball. What were his exact words? Something like 'when the devil lands on your doorstep weak, bares his throat, you should cut it'. He was right. Bruttenholm was a fool… I was a fool to think that I can be anything other than what fate said I would be.

'Scout rolls his head back so he can look at me. With a weak smile that I think is meant to be reassuring, he reaches one hand out for me. I'm not close enough to touch him, but I give him a smirk for the effort. I don't understand how he can forgive everything I've done, everything I am. I know he does though. That look alone says, 'I'm tired and I need you'. Usually, when his gaze gets like that, we curl up on the chair or the bed and I pull him tight into the curve of my body, holding him until he drifts off.

We glide over the river and to the other bank. On a roof, several gods and goddesses come out of a tent that looks like its only big enough to fit two people comfortably. When they keep coming, I start to wonder if this is some kind of clown car trick. I open my mouth to make a joke when someone I actually recognize steps out of the tent.

"Holy shit, Torque!" I shout with a laugh.

The giant rhino runs over as we land, picking me up in a hug tight enough that I have a hard time breathing. Lazarus comes out of the tent next, grinning from ear to ear. Thankfully, he just shakes my left hand as Torque returns my feet to the ground.

"Good to see you, ol' boy."

"You too, man, you too." I crane my neck to watch Torque as he goes to Boyscout, warning him, "He's hurt, so you'd better not squeeze him like a tube of toothpaste, got it?"

Torque slows things down, going from an excited rush to an extremely gently half hug that John accepts with a smile. "What happened?" I hear Torque ask as he pulls away.

"Nothing that won't heal," John sighs.

Lazarus slaps a hand down on my shoulder and starts leading me towards the ridiculously tiny tent, "Glad you're feeling a bit more like yourself. We were getting concerned that you'd… well, glad you're feeling like yourself."

"Yeah… me too."

I have to duck to get through the entrance, but instead of a miniscule canvas room, we walk into a fuckin' palace. The vaulted ceiling is two, maybe three stories high, made of white marble that's veined with gold. The chandelier hanging from the ceiling is the size of my SUV. I look around in awe, marveling at how massive this room is. Dozens of life-sized marble statues line the edges of the room, each of them a different man or woman dressed in robes.

"Holy shit…" John says just behind me.

Took the words right out of my mouth.

"It's a wormhole of some sort that somebody attached to the tent. We're actually in Zeus's palace on Olympus," Lazarus explains with sweeping gestures at the elaborate entryway.

Athena's voice cuts through the room, "My father's taste has never been subtle."

She comes through an archway on the far wall. I don't really recognize the gods that come out with her, but judging by the bloodstained armor and looks of the man on her left, I'd say he's Aires. He's got his attention fixed on me, his glare promising a good fight. Not sure whether he wants to attack me because I look like I'd be a challenge, or if I'm a threat. I bet I'll figure it out soon enough.

Before it can go either way, Azriel moves through our group and bows to Athena, "I come as an ambassador of peace."

Aries snorts with laughter, "If the angels wanted us to believe that, they wouldn't have sent a death god." He turns to Athena, growling, "They're mocking us. We should declare war."

She shushes him with a wave of her hand, "You always want to declare war. I don't need your opinion in this matter. Rise Azriel, and explain to me why the angelic council would send an archangel to discuss terms with us."

He straightens up, "The council is not aware of my presence here. I come of my own free will to warn you of Gabriel's plans and misdeeds."

Athena's eyes flick towards us, but I think she's looking past us, at the troop of angels Azriel brought with him. They're lining the back of the room, the hands clasped in front of them. Most messengers don't bring a group of Navy SEAL equivalents along for the ride, so I get why she's a little nervous.

"So why do you bring Michael's battle angels with you?" she finally asks. "That is hardly a gesture of peace."

"They are loyal only to Michael. After Gabriel's betrayal, they became restless in Heaven. I knew their skills could be of use to you and your army."

After studying Azriel for several moments, Athena nods and walks back through the archway, "The war council is in progress. You may join us if you have something to add."

"She's a tough bird, isn't she?" Lazarus whistles as he trails behind the crowd.

"Gotta' be, considering," I answer.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see John stumble. He's breathing a lot harder than he was a few minutes ago. I slip an arm around his waist to hold him up and he puts his hand on my shoulder to steady himself.

Anubis comes up beside us, examining Boyscout's wound, "He needs to see a healer."

"I'm okay," 'Scout blows him off in a way I'm very familiar with. Whenever he says 'I'm okay', he's about to fall over.

"He's right, 'Scout."

"I'll be fine until the meeting is over. We need to tell them what I know, what you know. We have to report in."

Stubborn little… "John," I try to sound angry, but it comes out more worried than anything else. "You can fill them in after you've been to-"

John cuts into my words, "But they may have made a plan of action by then, it's not a good idea to leave them in the dark."

His fucking FBI training comes out at the worst times. I'm not going to be able to argue with him, so scoop him up and carry him towards the war council. He starts complaining instantly, going on about dignity and walking on his own, yada, yada. I've heard it all before.

I shut him up real easily, "You're going to fall on your face on your own, so I either carry you or we go find a healer. Those are the only choices you've got."

He closes his mouth, his eyes narrowing slightly. I can tell he's running it through his head, trying to figure out how to talk me into getting his way. He must not come up with anything good, 'cause he sighs and nods, sliding his arms around my neck.

We walk into the crammed room. Even though this hall is bigger than most people can imagine, there's only standing room left. The long table dominating the center of the room is surrounded by a colorful array of gods and goddesses. My eye sticks for a second on a woman with ink-black skin and a crap-load of arms. I know her from Indian carvings about death and retribution; the Hindu people call her Durga the demon fighter. Beside her is a man with blue skin and a cobra curled around his neck that I think might be Shiva.

I nod to Odin when he spots us, my gaze going to the blonde man next to him that I assume is his son, Thor. The hammer perched on the table in front of him is my only real clue. Next to them is another Norse god I don't recognize (or at least I assume he's Norse since he's decked out in the same kind of furs and leathers). He's got a stone hand like mine.

I recognize a few of the Egyptian and Grecian gods, but as my gaze strays around the table to the North and South American gods, I run out of names. There are giant birds and jaguars and bears and coyotes and all kinds of weirdness. Honestly, I don't deal much in American religion or monsters; they aren't nearly as active as their Eurasian cousins.

Before we all came in, there was a quiet hum of conversation, but now I can taste the tension making the air sour. Some direct their anger at Azriel, others at me. Azriel and Anubis slide towards the table while I linger in the back with Boyscout. I'm getting enough glares as it is, so I really don't want to be in the middle of this crowd. Anubis takes an empty chair next to a bronze man with a hawk's head. They exchange a few words as Azriel takes the head of the table near Athena.

Silence hangs over the room in a blanket. The animosity is so tangible it sets my teeth on edge. It's the powder keg effect. I feel like any second this crowd is going to erupt and kill whatever they can get their hands on. Michael's battle angels stayed outside, but I'm beginning to think that was a bad move on Azriel's part. He may need them very soon.

"I come to you, not as an emissary from Heaven, but as a rogue angel," Azriel starts. He doesn't need to command the attention of the room, 'cause he's already got it, but definitely not in a good way. "I come to tell you of Gabriel's betrayal against mankind, against Michael, and against God. Our Apocalypse, or end times, was never foretold by the Seers until after Jehovah was dead."

A hushed mummer moves through the room. My guess is that nobody else knew God was dead either. Even John tenses in my arms, a soft "What?" slipping out of his mouth.

"Gabriel made a pact with Lucifer, agreeing to let him out of Hell if, in return, Lucifer would destroy mankind. He's made the others believe that a final judgment of the humans tempered by fire and blood was the way our father wanted things to end."

"Ragnarok cannot be avoided. It will come no matter what actions we take," Odin shouts, slamming his fist on the table.

"So you want us to let Lucifer march his armies across the earth?" a massive grizzly bear asks.

Anubis stands up, "Kaiti is right. We can't let our creations be destroyed so needlessly."

"But no one can stop Ragnarok. It is fate, the will of the Norns!"

"Your Norns are not the only things weaving fate, you old fool," Athena snaps at Odin.

With a roar, Thor slaps his hands down on the table and starts shouting at Athena, which causes Aires to join the argument. In seconds, they're all screaming at each other. That's the powder keg thing I was talkin' about. If somebody doesn't reign in this meeting, there'll be blood on the very nice table.

"But Lucifer is dead," John raises his voice, but nobody hears him. "Hey! Lucifer is dead!" He gives me a distressed expression because he doesn't know what else to do.

I shoulder my way through the crowd and slam my stone fist into the table. A jagged crack splits the wood from one end to the other, following the grain. Me shouting at the top of my lungs is a little different than 'Scout, "SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

Everyone gets quiet, dozens of eyes turning to me. Good.

"I killed Lucifer while I was in Hell. I cut off his head. Are his armies still going to be an issue without a leader?"

Azriel is the one to answer me, "The serpent has many heads. Are you certain you killed him?"

I open my mouth, but 'Scout speaks before I get a chance to.

"No."

Wait, what? I look down at him with furrowed brows, "What'dya mean 'no'? You were there, you saw me do it."

"When I went to get the armor back, his skin was… it was empty," he says with a tremor of fear in his voice. "I couldn't tell you because I'd already lost you to Anung un Rama."

"Then we should prepare for war," Athena simply states.

I was so damn certain. How is he not dead? You cut off something's head, and it dies. Crap… So I fucked over all of New York, left my lover alone to deal with the hoards of Hell, and I didn't even kill Lucifer the way I was supposed to. Great. Could I be any more of a screw up? I grit my teeth, a vein jumping out on my temple.

My side feels wet. I glance down at John's pale face then down farther to his chest. The wound has opened up. He's bleeding massively. He makes a tiny sound in the back of his throat and tightens his grip on my arm as his eyes roll back in his head.

"Oh god, John!"

Anubis is on his feet in a blink, leaping onto the table and running to us. "I told him that the patch wouldn't hold!" he growls as he jumps down beside me.

I hear Lazarus frantically asking what's going on. He can't get to us from where he's trapped behind an elephant god I think might be Ganesh. Torque has a much easier time shoving his way to us.

Persephone practically appears at my side and takes my elbow to lead me off. I follow her, pressing my flesh hand to John's wound so he won't bleed to death before someone can help him. He's getting paler by the second. Persephone brings us into a room that smells like a hospital. The sterile scent frays my nerves. I hate hospitals.

I lay Boyscout on a cot with a thin white sheet on it that turns deep red almost instantly. Rolling up her sleeves, Persephone slaps my hand away and replaces it with her tiny palm. Her hand doesn't even cover the wound all the way. Blood pulses around the edges of her hand, spilling down John's sides. A memory flashes into my head of the werewolf attack and John laid out under the fluorescent lights of the garbage truck.

I take both of his hands into one of mine, pressing my lips against his knuckles. Something hard makes me tear my eyes away from Persephone's work. For a second, I swear I stop breathing. John is wearing the ring I bought for him. Several emotions fight for dominance in the pit of my stomach. On one hand, I'm thrilled that he's wearing it, on the other, I'm ashamed that he found them in the pocket of my coat instead of me proposing the way I should've.

Stuck in the tacky blood on his chest is my ring. I half-noticed it earlier, but I didn't realize exactly what it was. I very gingerly lift the necklace from around his neck, snapping the thick black cord he's got it hanging on and dropping the ring onto my palm. Wasn't so sure when I ordered it that it was going to fit, but it slides snugly onto my ring finger.

"You should've given it to me," John says, surprising me.

My grin is contagious and I watch as it spreads to 'Scout's face too. "Well you shouldn't have been digging in my pockets. I had a speech prepared and everything, but it's all ruined now," I tease him lightly.

"I'd like to hear it anyway."

My smile fades a little. "It's cheesy."

"I don't care," he insists. "I want to hear it."

"Seriously, it's too sappy to-"

"Hellboy," 'Scout chides me and I realize I'm not getting out of this. Never should've told him I had a speech.

I glance at Persephone and clear my throat, "Are you about done?"

She turns an annoyed look on me that reminds me of Liz, withdrawing her hands from John's chest. "I'm quite done. I'll leave you alone to recite your cheesy proposal," she says flatly. She'd be a good deadpan comedian if she ever decided to stop living in Hell.

She dips her hands in a basin of water to rinse off the blood and grabs a towel, drying as she walks. Our friends are standing at the door, but they shuffle off too once John sits up. I hope none of 'em gets the bright idea to listen at the door. There's no way I'm going to put up with the mockery I'm sure they'd come up with for what I'm about to say.

"The room is empty, you're manhood is safe now," Boyscout jokes with a prod to my shoulder.

If I'm going to do this, I'm going to do it right damn it. I heave an over exaggerated sigh for 'Scout's benefit and take his left hand. Much to his surprise, I maneuver his ring off and get down on one knee.

"I know this is really late coming, but I want to seal our commitment with these rings… that really don't look as good as they did when I bought them," I gripe when I notice all the scratches they've acquired in the pocket of my coat. I knew they were getting a little banged up in there, but they're supposed to be platinum.

"Red…"

I refocus, running the spiel through my head before I start again. "John, I want to stand with you in good days and bad, in sickness and health, no matter what. I hope you'll accept this ring with my vow that I will never leave you alone again." Yeah, I added that last bit. I slip the ring back onto his finger and risk looking up at him, pleased to find him smiling. When he doesn't say anything, I awkwardly add, "And that's all I've got. I didn't say it was a long speech. So… what'dya say? I don't think they'll let me in a church, so it's kinda' just a formali-"

My floundering dies as 'Scout slides off the table and crashes his mouth into mine. I pull him tight, pressing my tongue to his lips and groaning as he opens for me. After a very long game of tonsil hockey, 'Scout pulls back with a stupid grin that I'd bet good money I'm wearing too.

"Of course," he whispers against my mouth. "I'll marry, commit, whatever you want to call it."

I chuckle and suck on his lower lip, "We don't live in Iowa or Connecticut or any of those good states, so I guess we'll have to settle with commitment. Or we could move."

He slides his legs on either side of my waist and I sit down to accommodate him. My hands trail lazily over his back as we resume kissing. The door's not locked and this place is full to the gills with people, so I doubt I'll be able to talk him into anything dirty, but right now, it's nice just to hold him. The blood hasn't even dried on his skin yet, so the close call is still literally fresh in my mind, and on my hands, and dripped down my side. I make a mental note to thank Persephone later.

Within a few minutes, 'Scout's enthusiasm is waning. He stops halfway through a trail of kisses that was moving down my neck and drops his head onto my shoulder. He's exhausted. I get to my feet, hoisting him into the hold I've been using all day to carry him around.

"Let's get you in bed," I croon against his ear, petting his hair with my flesh hand.

His whine is adorable, "But we just…" a yawn breaks through whatever he was going to say and it takes him a moment to remember to finish his sentence. "But we just got engaged. There should be sex."

"Babe, I don't think you've got enough blood left to get an erection."

"But," he mumbles.

"We'll have sex tomorrow if the world is still standing. Deal?"

John doesn't even answer me 'cause he's already dropped off. Poor guy. I step outside and start looking for someone who can help us find a bed that doesn't smell like sanitizer, my charge held tight enough against me that I can feel his heartbeat. The gentle throb eases me. I press my lips against John's forehead and carry him through the halls of Olympus.

- TBC

So I've yet again run into the problem that I overestimate chapters. This one needed to be split in two just like the last one and I'd bet that it'll probably happen again. So there could be more than four chapters coming…

I tried not to be too romantic, touchy-feely with the proposal; I hope I found a good balance. The rest of this story is pretty much dominated by the war for earth, so be prepared for lots of blood, gore, and death. That is what follows fluffy moments when I write them… Yay, gore. Actually, I'm pretty sure this is one of the goriest and creepiest stories I've ever written, but I guess that's hell for ya.

Shouldn't be too long before the next update, I hope.
- 12
- 13
- 14
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Lines of Shadow: Sequel to Somewhere Between