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Lines of Shadow: Sequel to Somewhere Between	By : AceMaxwell Category: G through L > Hellboy Views: 4118 -:- 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
- 17
- 18
Thanks again to Mary Kroll for her beta work. Wish I'd let you beta them sooner!

- HB

'Scout's soft declaration is in perfect line with my own thoughts, "By all things holy… is that the Horsemen?"

"Yeah," I answer, still squinting up at the bright streamers of light breaking through the clouds. The light is spreading and sweeping the shadow off of Manhattan. It should be comforting, but I'm certain that it means things are about to get a lot worse.

Behind the horsemen come something else, a moving, twisting, living shape that looks a like the biggest flock of birds ever to move across the earth. Only, they're not birds, they're angels. As the formation of angels comes closer, they block out the sun. Guess no matter which side we're fighting, we're gonna be in the dark.

The mass of angels don't come straight for us. They make a wide arc in the air and come down on Manhattan, sweeping through every street and alley. There's so many of them that their gleaming armor is like mercury running through Manhattan's veins. Their attack makes the entire city shine, which is really damn weird.

"Why go to all the trouble to release the forces of Hell only to kill them off?" John asks without tearing his gaze from the city.

I don't have any real facts, just guesses, but I give him what I've got, "Because we were beating them. What good are they in wiping out mankind if they can't get past the National Guard?"

"And every god and goddess from the far corners of the world," he corrects me.

"Them too."

Speakin' of all those people, they seem to be the only ones left standing after the horsemen's power ripped through the human army. Those that are left come out into the open, weapons at the ready. The last handful of Michael's battle angels swoop down from the rooftops and land nearby, their faces turned up to the four figures hovering high above the river. Three more specs break away from Heaven's army and join the horsemen. My intuition says that it's Gabriel, Uriel, and Raphael.

The bloody, tired collection of gods and goddesses move towards the shore to greet the angels. I can see their exhaustion in the way they move, but their will to fight is strong. This has gone beyond Anubis's guilt trip. They've become bound to the fate of the humans now that they've fought beside them. I know that feeling. I've known it all my life.

When you watch human men struggle with all their might against things that are stronger, darker, faster than they are, you begin to admire them. And then your only choice is to help them, to protect them. There was an ancient king in Greece that burned the phrase 'No sacrifice, no victory' into the minds of his troops. I've always thought it was an excellent code to live by.

Even though I want John to stay behind where he's safe, I don't even open my mouth. It would be a useless gesture at this point. Boyscout is pretty much glued to my side for better or worse and would be even if I hadn't proposed to him. Funny that he was that way long before we ever got together.

'Scout's armor crawls across his chest and head, forming a new helmet and breastplate that don't have a hint of damage on them. The blades slide into place in his hands as we come to a stop at the rocky retaining wall at the edge of the East River.

"Look," 'Scout's voice is muffled by the helm, but reinforced by the finger he's pointing out at the river.

I follow the line with my eyes, trying to figure out what he's wanting me to see. When my gaze crosses it, there's no doubt about what he's pointing at. The river is turning red. As if somebody dumped a shitload of dye into the water, this deep crimson color spreads through the body of water from the North. It moves much faster than the flow of the river, overtaking the natural tide. Wherever the color spreads, the river slows. It sweeps past us and the sharp metallic smell of blood fills my nose.

I know this Bible verse…

Azriel lands on the grass beside us, "And so the fate of mankind will be decided."

I don't really know whether or not we're supposed to say anything to that, but he doesn't seem to be waiting on an answer. He throws his heavy black cloak back to reveal some slick armor with long, soulful faces carved in a row down the center of the breastplate. As he moves one arm back to form his scythe, I see other faces reflected in the armor, hundreds of them, maybe more. The polished metal doesn't reflect the river, or the road, or the gods gathering around us, just death masks. I find myself wondering who they are.

The group in the sky descends towards us. The horses aren't held up by wings or anything else I can see, they just seem to be galloping through the air the same way they would across a regular surface. I suppose if they can wipe out entire armies without lifting a finger, making their horses fly is no problem.

The archangels dive ahead of the horsemen, swooping down to land on the surface of the river. They tuck their wings without sinking. Neat trick, sarcasm intended of course. Gabriel tosses his dark hair over his shoulder as he approaches the bank. He's holding a long, thin horn in one hand. I think I remember something about that horn, but I don't know exactly what it is that makes it unique.

Gabriel wisely stays out of range, stopping when he's still a few dozen feet from the shore. He lifts both arms into the air, smiling wickedly as he cries, "Brothers! Sisters! Why do you stand in the way of the inevitable? The time of man is at an end. Now is the hour to put aside these petty mortals, to cleanse the Earth of their existence. Judgment has come."

I glance back to watch the gods' reactions and realize that there are a lot fewer of them than I thought. We're down to maybe thirty from the hundreds that showed up to defend humanity. Some might've turned tail and run, but I think most of them have fallen under the hoards of Hell. Athena and Anubis are still with us. Thor is on his feet, but looks very unsteady. Durga stands alone, I don't see her blue husband anywhere.

When nobody moves or even responds, Gabriel's smile vanishes, "The final judgment will happen whether or not you agree to it. If wish to stand with this pitiful, sin-ridden race then you will be judged with them. This is your last chance to break your ties with the humans. Think of it as an opportunity to begin anew."

Azriel steps out onto the river, his voice rising into many voices in the same way Michael spoke in Eden when he came for Demegov. It's as though a hundred people are all speaking in such perfect unison that you can't separate out a single voice. "Is this a decision of the entire council, Gabriel, or just one of your own making?"

"I do not answer to you, turncoat," Gabriel hisses. "Your voice holds no sway over the council."

Uriel and Raphael shift restlessly behind their leader. They definitely don't agree with him about Azriel. Very quietly, Raphael says, "Azriel, stand down now and we will keep it in consideration when you are judged."

"No," the angel of death shouts. "I will not be silent any longer. Too long have I kept his secrets."

Gabriel lunges for him before he can start spilling anything too incriminating. A curved blade flashes from a holder at Gabriel's hip, sinking deep into Azriel's shoulder. It cuts right through the armor and flesh and bone, stopping at the middle of his torso. Thing is, it doesn't do squat to Azriel. The angel keeps talking and Gabriel's eyes get about as big around as saucers.

"Did you tell them what God said to you as he died? Did you tell them about the pact you made with Lucifer over your Father's cooling corpse?" Azriel flares his wings out and grabs the handle of Gabriel's weapon, pulling it deeper into himself and bringing Gabriel closer in the same move. "Did you tell them that someone had to take the blame and Lucifer agreed to take it if in return you let him destroy God's favorite creation?"

As his voice rises, it fractures so that the individual tones and tenors become clear. Some of the voices he speaks with are not saying the same words as the others, some are wailing. It makes a shudder rip down my spine and leaves me very unsettled. I want to beg him to stop talking, to silence all of these hundreds of people that are screaming through his mouth.

Gabriel seems as disturbed by Azriel as I am. When he tries to let go of the weapon and step away, Azriel grabs his gauntlet and yanks him back. Azriel's voice drops into a hiss, "Did you tell them that the Apocalypse was not planned by our Father, but by you?"

Gabriel's fear is replaced by rage. His eyes narrow, the line of his mouth tightening and then curling up at one edge. He rips the blade out of Azriel's body as his rage fades too. This icy calm comes over him and he smirks briefly before turning back to the other archangels.

"Hypocrisy. He stands with us against Michael, but now turns against me," Gabriel states with so much confidence that he's gone way beyond smug. "What makes you question our Father's grand design? The humans must be judged before they can enter the final paradise, even our fledglings know that."

"I found the scrolls, Gabriel," Azriel tells him in one, quiet voice. He reaches beneath his cloak to a pouch or pocket I can't see and produces a document that looks like it belongs in Alexander's Library. The parchment is old, but not damaged, so yellow-brown that it couldn't have ever been white. The metal caps on either end are encrusted with giant-ass gemstones in colors I've never seen in natural rock. A crimson wax seal is pressed to the very front of the paper, but it's broken.

"I stood against Michael because we all thought he was turning his back on Father's wishes for the final days of man, but then I found this in his rooms. He'd hidden it all these years, waiting for the right moment to bring forward your betrayal. You believed it to be destroyed, didn't you?"

All three archangels look at that scroll with a kind of awe and reverence I can't quite put into words. The significance of the ancient roll of paper is lost on me, but I can tell that they know exactly what it is. I'm hoping that Azriel will fill the rest of us in.

Uriel steps forward, shoving past Gabriel and holding out his hands for the scroll. Considering he makes fire with his hands, I would NOT give it to him, but Azriel does. "But this is still in the archives, I looked upon it myself a few days ago," Uriel mutters as he unrolls the delicate paper. His eyes roam over it quickly, anger creeping into his features with every line he takes in. Finally, he rolls up the document and hands it over to Raphael. There's a fire burning in his eyes. He turns on Gabriel. "Deceiver," Uriel snarls. "That is written in our Father's hand. You were not his scribe; you rewrote his great plan after he was gone! Unworthy! Inglorious! You turned us against our own brother!"

Gabriel doesn't seem to have anything to say in his own defense, but I guess there's no arguing when the others are so sure. The rest of us scarcely breathe as the scene plays out. This fight seem like it might've been a long time coming. And I mean a long time, as in since this dirt ball was first populated. Sad that mankind's destruction has been planned from the beginning by one angry, jealous angel. Well, two. I guess Lucifer and Gabriel have been working together on the idea for a while.

Raphael, Azriel, and Uriel circle around their betrayer, their eyes glowing white. Words I can't even begin to understand or translate start spilling out of their mouths. It sounds like a chant of some kind. Beside me, John mutters with them. I glance over to find the slit of his helm glowing with the same brilliance as the archangel's eyes. I furrow my brow.

"John?"

His words flip into English, maybe consciously, maybe not, "Gone shall be the inglorious, and gone shall be his influence over the great Heavens. We cast you out of the presence of the Holy Ones for you are no longer magnanimous."

"No!" Gabriel screams. "You cannot fall me! I am the head of this council in Michael's absence! I am your Lord!"

They keep chanting and John keeps translating, "Never again shall you walk the shining paths of the Holy City for the footprints you leave mar her beauty. Fire and shadow and death will be your companions now. We cast you into the unholy darkness. We cast you into the waiting maw of Hell. Unworthy! Inglorious! Unworthy! Inglorious!"

The last two words get repeated again and again as the feathers slough off of Gabriel's wings. He screams and clasps his hands over his ears, still holding his blade and the horn. His feet sink into the river of blood. He continues to sink, the blood rising past his knees, then his waist, then his chest, until he's disappeared beneath it. When he's gone, the chant finally stops.

Uriel looks over his shoulder at the rest of us, then back at Raphael. They don't talk, (probably don't have to), the only course of action is obvious. The three remaining archangels take to the air, flying past the hovering horsemen and out towards Manhattan. As they approach the city, the gleaming army rises out of the streets and starts its ascension. Hopefully they took care of all the demons over there because that'll save us a whole lot of trouble.

A weak cheer rises out of the remaining gods and goddesses. The tension that I've been gripped with for days slowly leaks out of my muscles. I manage a grin as I watch the others celebrate. War hardened and bloody, they still jump and hug and howl with their excitement. I look over at Boyscout and my grin fades.

'Scout has moved closer to the river of blood and is staring at the place where Gabriel disappeared. His armor is still intact and I can hear the rasp of metal on leather as he tightens his grip on his swords. His good wing is held high, trembling slightly. Something's wrong, really wrong. I focus on the spot in the river, but can't see anything but feathers drifting lazily in the tide. There's nothing there.

"Boyscout?" I ask as I move towards him. Very lightly because I don't want to startle him, I lay my flesh hand on his shoulder. "What's up, babe?"

"The horsemen aren't leaving."

I glance up. He's right, they aren't moving. The horses are throwing their heads and pawing the air anxiously, but their riders are completely stoic. They're just watching us. "First ones in, last ones out maybe?" I offer with a forced chuckle. It doesn't do anything to ease 'Scout, so I try for something a little more serious, "They'll leave. They're probably just ticked that they didn't get to do their jobs."

"Gabriel is the one that controls them," 'Scout says in a voice so deadly serious that I don't doubt him.

I ask anyway, "How can you be so sure?"

"Revelation. 'And the angel Gabriel sounded his trumpet and the four angels who had been kept ready for this very hour were released to kill a third of mankind'." 'Scout turns to look at me, but I can't see his eyes through the dark slit of the helmet. "They're waiting for his order."

"Crap."

The river starts to boil the moment the word leaves my mouth. His wings rise first, flinging red droplets as they open. All of the feathers are gone, replaced by thick, leathery skin and spines that follow the underlying bone. When his head comes to the surface, his hair is clinging to his face and shoulders, weighed down by the blood. His solid black eyes fix on me, and then John. There are no irises, no pupils, no whites, just the same liquidy blackness all the way through.

Gabriel walks out of the river, blood dripping from his armor and weapons. As he emerges, the celebration dies and the silence that follows is so thick that it makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. John and I step away from the bank. My eyes go to the horn Gabriel's got clutched in his left hand. If we can take it from him before he uses it, maybe we can keep the fight between thirty some odd gods and him.

"You think you have had a victory here? Do you really believe you have saved these pathetic, worthless creatures?" Gabriel shouts, the muscles in his throat standing out with the force of his anger.

As he lifts the horn, I lunge. My stone fingers stretch out for the instrument, but Gabriel jerks back, pulling it out of my reach. His blade comes forward and slashes across my torso from my left shoulder all the way down to my right hip. The power behind the attack makes me spin sideways as I fall to my knees. I shout and grit my teeth, grappling with the burning pain.

Quicker than I can react, Gabriel brings his blade in at the level of my neck. Metal clangs sharply against metal and John's in front of me, blocking the killing blow. As the other gods rush forward to help, Gabriel launches into the air. He pulls the horn up and lets out a deafening blast.

That sound is the trigger. The horsemen barrel towards us like it's a fuckin' race, pulling out their swords and scythes. Gabriel just gets out of the way. He lands at the far end of the street, grinning like a maniac. The horsemen are a real threat, but he's the puppet master. We're going to be wasting our time trying to fight these things. But, it's really hard to ignore tons of horseflesh when it's in your way.

War lands first, his horse's hooves sparking against the cement as he comes down hard. With a katana in one hand and AK-47 in the other, he goes to town on the gods that come after him. His animal is nuts, almost worse than him. Its nose flares and it head-butts Ares in the chest with the metal armor it's wearing. The horse bites and kicks while the rider slashes and shoots. Bullets don't do much to the gods, but it hurts 'em enough to slow them down.

'Scout and I dart out of the way as the other three come down where we were standing. Demegov looks pointedly at us, his horse spewing green, noxious fumes out of its mouth and nose. I'm expecting some hard feelings to come our way. Then again, he got what he wanted, didn't he? Demegov said that he wanted his war to begin and now it has.

Either way, he's still an enemy. I wind up my stone hand and slam it hard into the side of the horse's head. It reels back with a whinny that spews more of that green shit. The horse stumbles back into Famine and she hisses at Demegov with annoyance. They both dive into the fight, Famine going after Athena and getting a spear tip to the stomach.

Demegov's horse leaps over 'Scout, the back hooves clearing his head by just a few inches. John tries to shoves his swords into the animal's belly as it goes by, but it's just a bit too far away. I snag the disk on 'Scout's back and yank him to me just as the horse tries to throw a quick kick at him.

"We have to kill Gabriel," I yell against the side of his helmet, hoping he can hear me over all this chaos. "Let them handle the horsemen."

John nods in acknowledgment and darts down the street dodging the gods in his way. I'm right behind him, but not nearly as fast. The wound Gabriel causes is deep and bleeding heavily. I feel a little lightheaded, but I push it back. Don't have time for that now. I've just gotta make it until we can finish this.

I see Death coming out of the corner of my eye and shout at John, "At your three-o-clock!"

He skids to a stop as the pale horse charges into his path. It rears up, a scream that is nothing like a horse ripping from its open mouth. The skeleton that is Death regards us with the same grin that all skulls wear, but his seems more menacing. When the horse returns to all fours, Death reaches down for 'Scout. I dash forward and grab the bony arm before he can touch my lover. All of the strength drains out of my arm. My grip weakens. My arm goes numb and cold, the sensation spreading up to my shoulder and across my chest. I grunt and try to let go, but it's like holding onto something that's electrified. I can't open my hand.

"Red!" John shouts and shoves me backwards.

My hold on Death is so loose that I break away easily. I stumble back, rubbing at my shoulder to try and return the feeling to it. 'Scout comes with me and puts some distance between himself and Death. The skeleton straightens up on his mount, his smile looking decidedly more sinister.

Lazarus steps between the horseman and us, tossing over his shoulder, "Let me handle this."

Lazarus is the worst fighter I've ever met, but Death verses the man who can't die should be an even fight. Actually, it seems more like a pointless fight. Neither of them can win. Tossing his remaining sword in a quick circle, Lazarus approaches the pale horse with caution. Death's head tilts slightly to one side and the horse follows his action to the exact same angle. Maybe Lazarus confuses him. Hopefully it'll give him an edge.

I roll my stone hand around and get the worst case of pins and needles I've ever experienced. It's as bad as though I'd been lying on that arm for weeks. It's uncomfortable, but it's not as sharp a feeling as the wound on my chest. I can ignore it.

'Scout and I duck behind Lazarus's fight with Death. I tap 'Scout's arm and motion at an alley just to our right. We slip into it. If we want to catch Gabriel off guard, we're going to need to come at him from a different angle. Charging head on is not the best move. We take a left at the next street and run to the end of the block. Even with the buildings between the fight and us, I can still hear the sharp retort of War's gun.

We get to the last building in the row and 'Scout slows down to press his back against the brick. Edging his head around carefully, he takes a good look and leans back. The helm snaps off of his face and folds neatly away in the disk.

"Okay," John says with his exhale, making it more air than word. "We're far enough down the block that we'll come out behind Gabriel."

"That's good, 'cause we don't have any more block," I grunt and motion at the river.

We're up in an elbow of the waterline. The building we're hiding behind is the only one down this far, set on a bit of a peninsula. The road we're about to turn onto is the same road we were fighting the horsemen on. It just sorta bends around this building and continues to follow the river.

'Scout leans around the side of the building again, his voice dropping into a whisper, "So we're just going to go at him with everything we've got?"

I crouch down next to him and gently grab John's jaw, tilting his head back to me so I can look him in the eye, "I'll be the distraction again. You come in after I've got his attention on me and get him as fast as you can with those swords."

"Alright," he says after a long pause.

I take a second to just look at him, at the boyish features I know so well, at his deep, trusting gaze. He shifts his weight forward and I meet him in a kiss. Slowly, I ease my tongue along the inside of his mouth, pressing against his tongue in a deliberately tender dance. John's fingers brush against the side of my face and I almost smile when I realize that he took the time to take his gauntlets off.

When I know we've wasted too much time, I close my mouth and press my lips to his in a way that feels like we're saying goodbye. Against his mouth, I whisper, "Be safe."

'Scout shivers, his wings twitching with the action, and he turns his bright blue eyes to mine. He seems torn between calm and terror, standing on a line somewhere between. "You too."

I lunge to my feet and charge around the building. Gabriel turns, but I'm almost on him before he sees me. My stone hand crashes into his side, throwing him to the cement with enough force to crack it and his armor. I don't even get a breath in before he's up. I circle him and he follows the motion, his back turning to where John will come around the corner.

"You are the most miserable excuse of a demon I have ever come across," Gabriel spits at me. "You couldn't just lead the armies, no, you had to find a conscious."

I chuckle, "I'm fucking elated to disappoint you."

Growling, Gabriel dives at me with his curved blade. He's really fast, but I manage to block most of his attacks with my stone hand. When I get a chance, I lash out with it. I land a hit on his jaw that should've broken it, but doesn't, and then another in his ribs.

Out of nowhere, he smacks me with Michael's arm. I didn't even realize he'd managed to get it untied from his belt. I stagger from the hit, my gaze swimming a little. When I look up, there's two of him. I shake my head, but there's still two. I lunge in anyway. My first swing goes wide and misses both of them. One dodges to the left and the other goes right. I stick with the one that heads right since he seems more solid when I focus on him.

Gabriel's not even attacking me anymore; he just ducks out of the way of my punches and cackles. It's getting really damn annoying. Behind Gabriel, I spot John easing out into the open, his swords held at the ready.

Instead of attacking Gabriel, he freezes and shouts, "Red, look out!"

The Gabriel in front of me vanishes. Confused, I whip around to find a different Gabriel bringing his sickle down into my shoulder. The metal bites deep and I'm nearly blinded by the pain. I reach up to grab his arm, but I can't seem to find it. I fumble wildly as he shoves the blade in deeper.

The one thing I can see clearly is his grin. It nearly cuts his face in half when he states, "Demons are such fools for illusions."

- John

I came out into the open to find Red facing me, Gabriel standing behind him with a curved blade raised over his head. My heart flew into my throat as I screamed, "Red, look out!"

I run towards them as Red turns, but Gabriel's blade slams down into Red's shoulder. Blood sprays around the weapon, splashing onto Gabriel's face. Red falls to his knees and Gabriel says something to him that I can't hear.

Calm rushes over my panic. By the time I reach Gabriel, I feel no fear. I swing both of my swords at him and he has to release the weapon in Red's shoulder so he can move Michael's arm to defend himself. The metal clashes against the smooth stone, sending a few small chips of marble flying off onto the street. Gabriel uses the arm to shove me back. I regain my footing quickly, but he has enough time to grab a sword out of a sheath on his back.

Deep in me, I feel my power growing and pulsing, not unlike how it used to when I was a wolf. It spreads up through my chest, warm and comforting. I regard Gabriel coolly, calculating how slow he's going to be using Michael's stone hand as a shield.

Angry and limping slightly from the damage Red inflicted on him, Gabriel screams at me, "You were every bit the thorn in my side that Michael intended for you to be. And that damned armor!" His anger ebbs enough that he gets himself under control. When he speaks again, it's quiet but seething, "I will peel that armor from your bones and cast it into the pit of fire."

My muscles twitch as I wait for him to strike. The moment he moves for me, I dart forward. Our swords clash with a shower of sparks. Gabriel flings the stone hand around, but it's every bit as slow as I anticipated. I leap away, arching my back so the hand passes by my stomach without touching it. Using the position, I let myself settle into a crouch and push off with both feet. My shoulder bangs heavily into his chest.

Furious, Gabriel brings his sword in over my head with a scream, trying to shove the blade into my back. I tuck my wings and roll out of the way, dragging both of my swords against his side as I spin.

I sense more than see Red get to his feet. I don't know what he's doing and I can't risk looking over to find out. Gabriel drops Michael's arm and takes his sword with two hands, gaining speed I'd hoped he wouldn't. His attacks come faster and harder. One slash comes right through a seam in the armor, gashing my side. My cry of pain makes Gabriel smile.

With a roar, Hellboy grabs Gabriel from behind, hooking his arms up underneath Gabriel's. The fallen archangel doesn't stay prone long enough for me to attack. He lets a wave of darkness out of his skin that engulfs both of us. It hits me like a sledgehammer, knocking the air out of my lungs. I fall flat, unable to breathe, unable to see. My scream doesn't even reach my own ears.

My power rushes through every limb and blasts outward with light that eradicates the shadow. Only once it's gone can I draw air into my lungs. Instead of draining me like the last time I used that attack, it makes me feel stronger. I jump to my feet, my attention focused solely on Gabriel. Hellboy has fallen back, or was knocked back by the shadows. When he moves to grab Gabriel again, I shake my head. He furrows his brow, his lips parting with the question he's dying ask.

"It is time, brother, to finish what you began," I say to Gabriel, my mouth moving without any instruction from my mind. The words come from somewhere I can't fathom. The only thing I'm certain of is that they're not mine.

My power pulses and grows. My helm is filled with the light from my eyes. Another being is in my head, driving my actions, but it's not frightening. His presence is familiar. I walk forward, driven by the other's will.

Gabriel's expression fades from smug, to shocked, to frightened. His liquid, black eyes going as wide as they're capable of. His wings flare and tremble as he backs away from me. "No, no, you couldn't have survived. I killed you."

"You killed a shell," I, or I guess, he answers. "I had already broken my power into two parts and spread them in places where I knew they would be reunited."

"The armor and the boy," Gabriel sputters.

"Yes, brother."

Having backed all the way to the blood river, Gabriel drops his sword and falls to his knees in front of me, "Mercy, Michael. I beg of you, mercy."

"There will be no mercy for the slayer of innocents."

Michael knows his brother better than to believe that he'd give up so easily and his knowledge is my knowledge. I'm expecting it when Gabriel produces a small blade and leaps at me. My swords are ready for him. I bring both forward simultaneously, catching his neck between them. I step aside as his head departs from his shoulders, letting it roll into the street. The body lands gracelessly. His wings spasm for several moments after he's dead.

"John?" Hellboy asks, worry lacing his voice.

For the moment, I don't answer. I pick up the horn from Gabriel's belt and call the horsemen to me. They break away from their battles and trot over, making a line a few feet from me. In the only language they know, I give them their final instructions and release them. Even before the horsemen return to their otherworld plane, the humans littering the streets begin to recover.

A faint line begins to shimmer in the air beside them. It opens as War steps forward, becoming a portal into a very dark world. They step through it one at a time, Demegov casting a hateful look over his shoulder as he leaves. The last one to go is Death. His horse paws the ground a moment as Death stares out at the battlefield. There's no guessing what he's thinking about. When he steps through the seam in the air, it closes quietly behind him.

Michael's voice turns inward and I know he's speaking directly into my mind, "Using you was a betrayal of Anung un Rama's trust. I'm aware that he will never forgive me, but tell him that I am sorry anyway."

"I will," I whisper out loud.

The armor peels away from my back and steps forward of its own volition. It reshapes to cover the void I've left on the inside. I watch, mesmerized, as the plating in the back folds over on itself again and again, growing outward. The plates continue to multiply and spread out into two large triangular shapes that flank the disk. Once they're complete, the solid metal wings start flapping and the armor lifts into the air.

Light gleams brilliantly through the crevices as it rises. When the helm folds away, Michael's golden hair spills out of it. He turns and nods to us, then continues his long ascension into the Heavens. I feel strangely empty in his absence.

"Son of a bitch," Red mutters, not so much angry as awestruck.

I turn to him and smile, "He did what he had to do. Gabriel had to be exposed to the others before he could kill him."

Very gingerly, Red sits down on the cement, his flesh hand gripping his shoulder wound tightly. Suddenly, he falls back unconscious. My heart leaps into my throat as I run to him. I lift his head and put my legs underneath him so I prop him up a little.

"I need a healer!" I shout in the direction of the other gods and then look back down at Red.

I carefully lift his hand away from the wound so I get a better look at it. It's deep, but it stops at his clavicle. It didn't even enter his ribcage. I furrow my brow, knowing Red should've been able to take a lot more damage than that. Even the gash running across his chest is just a scratch next to some of the other damage he's taken. A faint smile turns up the corners of his mouth and I have to resist the urge to hit him.

"Red, you scared the living hell out of me!"

He laughs heartily and opens his eyes, saying, "You do it to me all the time."

"I do NOT!" I hiss defensively.

Red continues to chuckle and curls his flesh hand around my arm, stroking absently.

My anger start fading, but I still manage an irritated, "You suck."

"Only on our anniversary."

That throws me for a second. I have to wrack my brain to try and remember any occasion when HB has given me head. Nothing comes to mind. "Since when? I don't remember that."

He smiles lazily, "30th."

I groan and smack his good shoulder with the back of my hand, grumbling, "That's it? You're counting one anniversary?"

We both sit there and watch the soldiers getting to their feet. The emptiness I felt when Michael departed is leaving me. It's replaced by contentment as I close my eyes and enjoy Red's touch running gently up and down my arm. I slide my fingers across his chest so I can feel the steady beat of his heart.

Red's voice breaks into our shared silence, "I could really use a vacation."

I don't open my eyes when I answer, I just smile, "Yeah… me too."

xxxxxxxxxxx Epilogue xxxxxxxxxx

- John

Once the media was done mourning the loss of New York and her people, a new celebrity sensation began to rise: benign supernatural beings. The government finally had to admit to the existence of the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense and the unnatural agents that run it. For the first time in his life, Hellboy was acknowledged for his work by the general public.

While we can go out in the open now, we practically get mobbed by people wanting pictures and autographs. As nice as it is to have dinner out or go to a movie (not that HB fits in the stadium chairs at your average theatre), Red gets too uncomfortable with all the attention. Mostly, we stay home.

Every once in a while, he talks about going somewhere warm and sunny for our belated honeymoon. Though he means it, he acts as if it's an unachievable dream because traveling is a pain in the ass for him, and no matter where we go, we're recognized.

He doesn't know that I've got reservations for a condo that has its own private stretch of beach on one of the smaller Hawaiian Islands I can't pronounce. I've got it booked for a month. It cost me a small fortune, but we're making a lot of money as private contractors, destroying all the stray demons that turn up. It's MUCH better than ghost hunting.

We've got an interview set up at the house and I can't stop fiddling. Red chased me out of the bathroom after I was in there over half an hour trying to get my hair to lay just right. It's just a magazine interview, but I have no idea whether or not they're going to want to take pictures. I'd rather be prepared than get surprised with a cowlick and an upturned collar.

I hear Red come up behind me as I straighten the decorative crap on the kitchen table one more time. I only bought these stupid 'homey touches' like decorative candles and bowls full of fake fruit because we have company coming and I will not hire a decorator. HB and I usually like things a bit more simple. Most of our house is adorned with warm, brown leather furniture and matte-steel and glass surfaces.

Red's wide palm stretches across my stomach, his fingers working between the buttons of my shirt. Lips touch the back of my neck and I have to groan pleasantly at the contact.

"Red, don't," I half-heartedly try to stop him even as I lean against the wall of his body. I tilt my head back so his mouth has better access and he latches instantly on the taut muscle of my throat and starts sucking. "That Times magazine guy is going to be here at two."

"It's only one-thirty," he growls enticingly in my ear, his flesh hand making quick work of the front of my shirt. His calluses scrape against the skin of my chest, making me quiver.

My argument is more moan than anything as his thumb brushes firmly against a nipple, "You know that's not enough time for you."

"It's enough for you."

I grip the edge of the table to steady myself when he yanks my slacks down to my feet. Then his tongue is gliding over the backs of my thighs. He licks up one leg slowly, taking his time to drag his teeth down the sensitive flesh along the inside. I exhale a series of stuttered breaths, trying to remember what I was saying to him.

"You know you won't be able to-" I pause while he spins me around and lifts me just enough to push my ass onto the table so I'm seated.

"I won't be able to what?" Red asks and kneels in front of me, a very evil grin on his face.

"You won't be able to leave it at- Oh GOD!"

The argument dies in my head and in my mouth as Red takes my erection down his throat in one move. My spine curves almost involuntarily. I reach back to brace myself up, knocking the expensive candles to the floor. Right now, I couldn't care less. It's been a VERY long time since Red did this for me and I forgot how fucking phenomenal it is.

I try to keep my eyes open to watch my pale length disappear into his hot mouth, but they keep fluttering shut. My orgasm is already ridiculously close, which is embarrassing. Normally I last a lot longer, but Red can do some amazing things with his tongue. He swirls it around my dick, creating enough suction that I swear he's trying to suck my insides through my penis like a straw.

Wrapping his fingers around my hips hard enough to bruise, he bobs his head and grabs my gaze with his. His eyes are almost feral with lust, his pupils blown wide. That look drags me to the edge. My legs are shaking. My toes curl. I don't even realize that the gasping, broken moans filling the room are coming from me until he pulls off with a smirk and comments on them.

"Can't say I've heard you make that sound before."

I'm not capable of forming any kind of response. I try to push myself upright and seize the back of his head to encourage a little less talk, but he gets to his feet and tugs roughly at his belt. As much as I like getting a blowjob, I'm just fine with this school of thought as well. I grab his pants and yank him closer so I can get the button and fly undone. The moment his cock is free, I latch onto his mouth and press my tongue against his. It takes me a half a second to recognize the salty taste as me. I haven't gone off yet, but he's probably swallowed a good bit of pre-come.

Red lifts me off the table and I wrap my legs around him, grinding down against his dick so it's sliding through my cleft. He stumbles a bit, probably not sure where he's going to put me for this. We could do it standing, he's plenty strong enough to hold me up, but he can get a lot more leverage against a surface.

My back comes to rest against something cold enough that I yelp in surprise. I glance over my shoulder to find that he's pressed me to our stainless-steel fridge. There are going to be so many smudges to clean off later. Red's tail wriggles into me and I'd laugh if I wasn't so busy groaning. He pre-lubed it.

"What were y…you planning on doing with that if I'd said no?" I manage to stutter as he rubs the tip of his tail against my prostate.

His confidence is not all that surprising, "You weren't gonna say no."

I let out a sharp cry and bury my face in his shoulder, pleasure wracking through me. "I… I might… have."

"That's the beauty of it, baby," Red croons with a self-assured smile. "I always know whether or not you're going to be up for it."

He pushes his tail in farther, deeper, making it writhe like a snake on a hot plate. I'm literally falling apart in his hands and he hasn't even gotten to the best part yet. My shouts of ecstasy make his dick pulse against my stomach. Every scream he wrings out of me goes straight to his groin. Red gets off on getting me off. I suppose it's a sign of a good relationship. I've nearly come watching his eyes roll back in his head as I've jerked him off before, so it goes both ways.

Red kisses me, but it's not the passionate, lust-fueled tongue fuck that we were indulging in just moments ago; it's tender and sweet. I swear he only kisses me like that when there's something going on. My orgasm swims out of reach and my eyes snap open as confusion takes over my mind.

Red opens his eyes more slowly and then he pulls away with a surprised, "What? Why're you lookin' at me like that?"

"What's going on?"

His tail unwinds from my body as he tilts my hips up a bit. "Nothin', baby," he says nonchalantly just before he plunges into me.

He's stretched me enough with his tail that the pain is minimal, but being filled that quickly still causes a hell of a lot of sensation. I bang my head on the fridge when I throw it back, my mouth falling open as I keep gasping in more air without letting any out. My lungs full to capacity, I release a long moan and fist HB's shirt in my hands while I get adjusted.

His first thrust is shallow, just an experiment to see if I'm ready. The second I push down onto and by the third, he's started a fast pace that won't last too long. I don't mind though. We don't really have time for anything other than a quickie.

Red's goatee brushes against my jaw when he leans in to talk quietly in my ear, "Found some paperwork while I was goin' through your desk, says something about Lana'i and a private condo."

"You-" I have to stop and gasp as he scrapes hard against my prostate on an inward stroke. "You were snooping through me desk?"

He shrugs and bites on my ear, "I was lookin' for a pencil."

"Liar. That was supposed to be a surprise."

Red sits back and gives me a wide, semi-innocent grin that he isn't pulling off. "I'm surprised, can't you tell?"

Rolling my eyes at his antics, I grab his neck to haul him down to me so I can keep kissing him. I'm used to this kind of behavior by now. Trying to keep a secret from Red is like trying to keep gossip from spreading at a senior center bridge game. It's impossible. I'm just glad he wants to go. I was a little worried about the whole 'being surrounded by water' thing. He won't swim at the beach, but that's not going to stop us from lying out in the sand… probably naked. Good thing the beach is private.

Red picks up his pace and bites down on my shoulder, just hard enough to sting, but not enough to do any real damage. The pain shoots through me to mingle with the intense pleasure coming up my body in waves. They play well together, making my balls tighten and bringing me that much closer.

I'm muttering nonsense, trying to warn Red that I'm close, when the doorbell rings. Red doesn't stop, doesn't even pause, though I know he heard it. I hold my wrist above Hellboy's head so I can see my watch.

"Fuck, they're early," I pant.

The doorbell rings again, but this time Hellboy yells toward the entryway, "Hold your damn horses, I'll be there in a minute!" His voice is annoyed, almost angry. Heaven forbid anything gets in the way of Red getting off, especially Times reporters.

He goes back at it with renewed vigor, adjusting my hips so he can sink in a little deeper on each thrust. The new position sends sparks flying behind my eyelids. My head hits the fridge again as I shout at the ceiling. My yells get louder with every thrust. Some part of me knows they can hear me on the other side of the door, but I just can't seem to care, not when Red's got his teeth gritted together and his brow furrowed in such dedicated concentration. He's getting very close.

I reach down between us and my fingers brush against his on the way to my cock. I start to pull my hand back and let him have the reigns, but he grabs my fingers and wraps both our hands around the base. His left hand is so much bigger than mine is, completely enveloping it as he guides my hand up and down my own shaft.

A few jerks are really all it takes before I'm spurting over my chest and our hands. My drawn out scream probably sends the reporters running. Red thrusts a few more times and then I can feel his release, hot and thick, filling me. His pleased growl is much more subdued than my shouting.

Red draws his half-hard cock out of me and his semen starts crawling down the inside of my legs. I cringe as I realize I shouldn't have let him talk me into this, I'm going to have to shower before I can present myself to anyone. I don't really regret it, since it was amazing, but I definitely need to bath.

Before I can say anything, Red starts licking the come off my chest. By the time he's gotten every drop off my skin, I'm already getting hard again. I try to will it away, knowing our interviewer is still standing outside. At least, I think he's still standing outside. We could've chased him off very easily.

Red sets me on the floor and kneels to lap at the come between my legs. That makes me blush. "HB, just get a washcloth," I groan, partially because he's doesn't do this often, and partially because it's making me even harder.

"Rather clean you myself," he growls and grips my ass with both hands, spreading my cheeks.

I let out a stuttered sigh that's meant to be exasperated but comes out with a lot more of my arousal than I'd intended. HB shifts his weight onto his heels so he can grin up at me.

"You ready for more?"

I am. I am SO ready for more, but we can't. Regrettably, I shake my head, "He hasn't rung the bell for a while, but I bet he's still out there."

Red doesn't hide his disappointment. He nuzzles my bare stomach and gives my skin a parting kiss before helping me back into my pants. It's a few minutes before I can get my appearance together to my liking and get to the entryway. I yank open the heavy, walnut door with an apology ready on my tongue. I don't get a chance to use it.

The young blonde man on the porch gives me a million-dollar smile I'm sure he practices every day and says, "Geez, I wish my boyfriend could make me scream like that."

My face flushes and I'm stunned into silence for a moment. He breaks it by sticking out his hand, which I take automatically.

"I'm Geoffrey Winston, I'm going to be writing the article on the two of you," he introduces himself and shoots me another winning smile.

I step out of the door and motion for him to come in. Leading him into the living room, I follow the pleasantries, "I'm John Myers. We're happy to have you. Would you like a drink? We've got soda, beer, water…"

He politely declines me and surveys our home, picking up a photo of the BPRD team we have sitting on the mantel. It's a photo from when Liz was still alive, one of Red's favorites. The reporter talks loosely as he walks around, "You know, it's funny how little of you I can find in the media. Most of the stories focus on Hellboy, but in the clips I've seen, you're always right at his elbow. Guess he kind of overshadows you."

"Protects me is more like it. HB has had the Bureau be very discreet with how much information they let the media have. I wanted to remain a bit anonymous in all this." I point at the couch I bought last weekend just for this visit. "Please, sit down."

He does and I perch on the armrest of HB's favorite chair. "Why do you want to be anonymous? You played a big part in the battle for New York. There's some awesome footage of you in that armor."

"You know about the armor?" I ask, genuinely surprised.

Geoffrey leans forward, fishing a small notepad and a pen out of his back pocket, "I'm a reporter, Mr. Myers, I know a lot of stuff…" His wandering gaze catches on my left hand. "You two married?"

"Not officially or anything. The state doesn't really know how to even classify us since we're not human, let alone getting through the whole same-sex thing." I sigh and smile, rotating the silver band on my finger. "But we hardly need a slip of paper from the government telling us that we're committed."

"No, of course not," he nods.

HB comes in wearing a fresh shirt but the same pants. I spot a very small fleck of white near the fly and have to bite my lip to keep from smirking. The reporter stands as HB enters, his eyes traveling up to his horns almost instantly. He only lingers on them a second, but his gaze goes to HB's tail next, and then to his hand. The things that have always made him stick out still throw people for a loop when they see him in person.

The reporter gets past it without too much trouble, holding out his hand, "I'm Geoffrey."

Red holds up his right hand, palm facing the man, "You probably don't want to do that."

His smile deflates a touch and his hand drops a fraction of an inch. He regains his composure quickly, the smile snapping back into place. "No problem," Geoffrey answers smoothly. The kid could have a future in politics, he's very good at bluffing when he's freaked out. I don't know how bothered he actually is by any of this, which is probably part of the point. Reporters usually like to keep people relaxed so they'll answer questions more candidly.

Red falls into the chair next to me, spreading out and making himself comfortable. I draw his left hand into my lap and slide my thumb over his ring. Our rings are much smoother since I took them to get polished.

"So, where do you want to start?" I ask once Geoffrey is settled with the pad of paper open on his leg.

He taps the pen on his jaw, studying some notes in the journal, "Well, let's start at the beginning."

HB snorts and we trade glances, "That's a helluva long story, kid."

- End

When I pulled out a journal at a red light a few years ago because a line popped into my head from Hellboy's mouth, I had no idea what it was going to become. For those of you who have been following this story from the very beginning (if there are any of you left), you've been reading this endeavor for a little over three years.

I'd like to thank the many betas and readers I've had, and I'd especially like to thank the handful of people that stopped by to leave me reviews time and again. Your comments were both inspiring as well as constructive.

For those of you interested in the length of this story, the stats fall as so:

Somewhere Between comes in a little over 82,000 words, that's approximately 235 pages in a book.

Between the Lines comes in just above 53,500, just about 155 pages in a book.

And Lines of Shadow comes in at a whopping 104,200, making it about 300 pages in a book.

That means that the entire series almost as long as the Order of the Phoenix in the Harry Potter series (Just to use a reference that we've all probably hefted in our hands at one point or another).

I'm not positive whether or not this will be a farewell of sorts for me. I do want to pursue some of my original work, so I will definitely be taking a hiatus from fan fiction. More than likely, some unforgiving plot bunny will bite me in the ass sooner or later, so I doubt I'll be gone forever. I might try to go back to some of the unfinished stories I have floating around in my archive, but I can't make any promises. Some of them just don't hold any interest for me anymore, but I WILL try.

So again, thanks to all of you who decided to click on the link and get sucked into my mad world. I hope you enjoyed everything I had to offer.
- 17
- 18
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Lines of Shadow: Sequel to Somewhere Between