Keep running! Keep running! Keep running! Keep running!

Those were the words that kept pounding through Wallace Muldoon's mind as he bolted madly through the dense forest, not daring to stop for an instant. He knew that if he stopped, It would get him, just like It had gotten his buddies. There had been four of them, and now there was just him, running alone. There had to be someone else nearby who could help him. Maybe he could reach the road and hail a passing car….

And then what?, a voice said inside his head as he splashed through a shallow stream to the opposite bank and pushed through the bushes. You stop, and you die. That thing will blow open your head, or your chest, or slash your throat with those knives. You think a passerby in a car's gonna save you? Best thing you can do is keep on running, and hope It loses interest.

Dirty, bruised, and bleeding from scratches from branches and thorns, Wallace found himself scrambling up a hillside. The ground had levelled out again when he fought his way through the foliage…and he gave a whimper of despair as he saw the ground terminate at a cliff overlooking a sheer drop of some thirty feet into the small valley below. No handholds were visible. He was trapped. "Fuck…" he gasped, stumbling backwards.

That was when he heard it: A sound like a rapid clicking and snarling, from behind him. He spun round, just as the blue-white fire exploded in front of him with a sound like lightning, and shot past an inch from his head, burning a chunk of flesh from his shoulder. The impact flung Wallace backward onto the ground, mere inches from the ledge. He screamed in agony from where the energy bolt struck him, and a second later almost wished he'd gone over the precipice, as he saw his pursuer.

The air before him shimmered and crackled with writhing electric-blue sparks, solidifying into a seven-foot tall, bipedal figure with mottled, almost reptilian skin, wearing a kind of black mesh, with serrated blades protruding from one of its wrist gauntlets. What looked like a small cannon perched on its shoulder; its face was obscured by a grey, metallic facemask.

Wallace felt like he would vomit from sheer terror as the monster strode up to him, still making the sinister clicking noise. Then it loomed over him where he sprawled in the dirt, and gave what sounded to Wallace like a triumphant growl. "Sweet fucking Jesus," Wallace sobbed as he looked into its impassive mask, at its blades, still stained with blood, glinting in the late afternoon sunlight. The chase was over; now it was time for the kill.

And then a voice said "Excuse me, pal?" , and Wallace saw what appeared to be a bright red hand tapping the monster's shoulder from behind. The hunter turned around sharply with a snarl, in time for a large hunk of crimson granite to bulldoze with terrific force into its face, denting its mask. It dropped to its knees with a grunt, and Wallace saw his saviour: Hulking, with red skin, two stubby protuberances on its head that might once have been horns, and wearing a trenchcoat. The rock-hard block was actually its right hand.

A demon had rescued Wallace from another demon.

The red demon backhanded the hunter across the face with his right fist, and followed up with an uppercut, prompting Wallace to dive quickly out of the way as the hunter crashed down where he had been lying. The red demon produced a formidable-looking gun from a holster on his waist and aimed it directly at the fallen hunter. "Okay, bozo, how 'bout you just stay right there?" he growled in a deep voice.

The hunter tried to raise its head, but the effort proved too taxing, and it fell back on the ground. The demon watched it for a moment, and satisfied that it was unconscious, lowered his gun and faced Wallace. "Lucky for you I was passing, huh?" he said.

Getting shakily to his feet, clutching his injured shoulder, Wallace could only stare and gape stupidly. Finally, he found his voice. "Hey, you…I know you…You're that Hellboy guy!" he said.

"And you're Wallace Muldoon," Hellboy replied, his yellow eyes boring into Wallace's. "Been looking for you, pal."

As slowly as he could, Wallace took a step back, his mind racing. "Who?" he said, swallowing a lump in his throat. "Listen, you got the wrong guy. I never even heard that name before…"

"You and your buddies are wanted for murder, Wallace," Hellboy continued, stepping nearer on his cloven hooves. "Two weeks ago, your gang held up a restaurant. During the robbery, some innocent bystanders and a cop were killed. One of those people who died because of you was a vacationing B.P.R.D. agent, a rookie…and a friend of mine." Wallace shivered as Hellboy towered over him. "Wasn't easy tracking you down, I can tell you. Had to break a good number of limbs to find out where you guys were headed. When I found what was left of your friends, I knew you couldn't be far away. So, what happens now? You gonna come quietly, or do I beat the crap out of you? Heck, I might just do that anyway. God knows I've been wanting to."

He gave a choked cry of surprise and alarm then, as a black-taloned hand seized him by the throat from behind, and with a vicious, unearthly howl, the hunter tossed Hellboy to the ground, causing him to skid to just a few inches from the cliff edge. Hellboy barely managed to roll out of the way as the blast from its shoulder cannon burned a small crater in the earth where, only seconds before, he'd been flung. Then he was pulling the trigger of his gun, sending five bullets smashing in quick succession into his foe's chest. Yellowish-green blood spurted from the wounds; the hunter swayed and staggered, and collapsed on its face.

Hellboy walked over and kicked it onto its back with his hoof, keeping his gun trained on it the whole time. The impact of his stone fist earlier had dislodged its mask slightly. Hellboy prised it carefully off, and saw the hunter's face: Bestial, hideous, with fang-tipped mandibles growing around its gaping maw, flecked with green blood.

Its eyes opened.

Hellboy's gun fired straight between them.

OOOOOOOOOOOO

Wallace Muldoon ran downhill as fast as he could. With any luck, those two freaks would kill one another, and then all he had to worry about were the cops. He'd stayed ahead of them long enough; he still could. His shoulder hurt like hell though. He'd have to get it fixed soon. He was just a few feet from level ground when a familiar voice called out: "Oh, Wallace?" He jerked to a stop, and looked behind him, trembling with fear.

"This hunt's over," Hellboy said with grim satisfaction.