Author's Notes: Ladies and Gentlemen! I give you my First Fanfic. Granted, I did post it before, but I thought it needed a revamp. Anyway, I'd like to make those shoutouts again. I thank all of these people I have been blessed to know in my life: Elise, Nick, Casey, Drew, Trisha, Rae, Megan, Tom, AJ, Mike A, Mike D, Mike G, Josh, Joe, Bryant, Lori, Lindsay, Jeremy, Chelle, Steven, Pastor Chris, and everyone who knows me. So, ON WITH THE FIC!

Disclaimer: The majority of the characters mentioned in this story (Abe, Liz, and Hellboy) are owned and created by Mike Mignola. Some of the characters mentioned are of my own creation. I am in no way, shape or form making any money off of this fic. Revolution Studios and Guillermo Del Toro also own the rights to Hellboy, and have made one hell of an awesome movie. Those who haven't seen it should. It has reaffirmed my faith in comic book movies. (Well X2 did that first, but Hellboy was just an awesome depiction of the comic.) The story is not a part of any actual mythology to the extent of my knowledge.

The Order of the Malraj

Prologue

The horror began 100 years ago, when the United States was still growing. People were discovering new joys of the world. However, new evils were prompt to follow. It was a time of confusion, a time of evil. People began disobeying church law. There were some that believed that the people needed to be cleansed. The cleansing didn't necessarily mean that the guilty survived their 'holy' punishment.

A fanatical priest wanted the blasphemy to end. He found the means to 'counter-act' this evil after 'hearing' the voice of God in his dreams. However, he failed to mention that he heard the 'voice' in his nightmares. His faith blinded him from reason and he founded an organization in secret. It became known as the Order of the Malraj. Ancient mythology told the story of the Malraj. The Malraj were holy warriors, chosen by God, with the powerful task of vanquishing the wicked and destroying the forces of darkness.

The priest needed a symbol that would strike fear into the hearts of the wicked. He found inspiration in his dreams, mostly in his nightmares. He imagined a form depicted as evil destroying evil.

However, the priest had gone mad with his 'task.' He was driven by that madness to create an army worthy of God's justice. His army consisted mainly of the easily persuaded: Farmers, religious followers, and several others were more than generous in their efforts.

A man, beaten, shackled, and subdued by those he had known his whole life, was thrown to the dirt ground in front of the church from his childhood. Dark-robed druids, their faces obscured by hoods, surrounded him. The prisoner recognized the voices of his neighbors as they all chanted an ominous hymn. The light from their torches revealed the nervous sweat glistening on his face.

Across the yard knelt their leader before an altar, praying. On the elder's back was the symbol of the Malraj: A large skull with a circled pentagram within its maw, as if evil was eating evil. The prisoner then realized his fate. Still kneeling before the altar, the elder monk lifted his left hand. His sleeve revealed a withered, pale hand pointing towards a pyre. The druids closest to the pyre immediately tossed in their torches, setting ablaze the prisoner's 'punishment.' The light from the flames accentuated the prisoner's nervous features.

The elder finished his prayer and turned to face the prisoner. The dark intent behind the elder's eyes frightened the prisoner much more than his punishment. The prisoner's crime was glancing towards another woman while he was in wedlock. His fate was sealed with the three final words he heard the elder command: "Cast him in."

The druids closest to him responded in earnest, yanking his quivering form forcibly from the ground. The prisoner began pleading as he was dragged towards his death. "No, Please. No. No!" The searing flames and horrible chanting drowned out his tortured screams.

The elder found a twisted sense of peace upon hearing the dying screams. He had vanquished another unclean soul from Earth. He walked inside his church, to inform the Messenger of the progress of the cleansing. He kneeled before another robed figure. This one was taller than the elder was, and his robes were darker and more eloquent.

"Holy Messenger," he rasped. "His will be done." The Messenger did not seem impressed by the elder's act of obedience. The Messenger knew of the vile acts committed by the man kneeling before him.

"Answer me, Mortal." A deep, foreign voice sounded from beneath the cloak of the Messenger, "This man you have slain in God's name. What was his crime?"

"Adultery." The elder spat without missing a beat. The Messenger started towards the elder.

"How can a man be punished without committing a crime?" Asked the Messenger. The elder looked up in surprise and confusion.

"What do you mean, Holy One? He was seen glancing towards another woman while in wedlock." The elder explained. The Messenger stalked towards the elder, smiling behind his cloak as he saw the fear in the elder's eyes. The elder rose and began to back away.

He didn't get far. He slipped on his own robes and hit the floor hard. The elder wasn't a doctor but he realized that he had broken his right arm. The Messenger towered over him, a curved dagger grasped in his hand. The elder began to struggle, trying to rise from the floor. Something invisible held him in place.

"Wh-why?" The elder gasped as the Messenger inched towards his face.

"No foul deed is committed without action." The Messenger explained. "What action is there in glancing? For all you know, the woman may have been an old acquaintance of your 'prisoner.' The only crime I see is the cold-blooded murder of an innocent man committed by a senile priest."

The Messenger plunged the dagger into the elder's aged heart. The elder howled in surprise, blood spilling from the wound with each heartbeat. He took one last look at the Messenger he had so blindly followed.

"May God have mercy upon me…" he prayed as blood filled in his lungs. The Messenger laughed.

"God shall not forgive you for your crimes. As your punishment, you will be banished to the one place where even He does not exist!" The Messenger took his leave of the crime scene as the elder gasped his last few breaths on Earth. The corpse suddenly erupted into flame, burning away all traces of the murder.

End Prologue

Chapter 1

Providence, Rhode Island.

June 15, 1995.

It was a small, simple neighborhood. The moon shined brightly through the thick clouds; it was one of those special nights. The air felt alive, almost electric, particularly around a renovated two-story Victorian-styled house. The layout of the house was simple: bedrooms and bathrooms on top, the first floor held the essentials (living room, dining room, etc.) and the basement held the laundry room. The hired contractors took a long time to renovate the place, what with all the cobwebs, creaky floorboards, decaying paint and faulty wiring as far as the eye could see. The place was a real fixer-upper, but that hard work paid off. The house looked majestic, like it had just been newly built. But in many cases, appearances were deceiving.

Laughter could be heard around this house, especially at night. However, it was never laughter of children, or the laughter of joy. It was one of madness and ferocity. It was the free maniacal laughter heard in asylums or psych wards. That laughter was followed by screams of fear and terror. The owners of the house, a married couple by the name of Richards, filed several reports to the police. However, many of the emergency-line operators simply passed their messages off as prank calls. An elderly neighbor, who lived across the street, came to their house to complain about the noise one day. The drained look in their eyes told him all he needed to now about the situation. He understood the trouble caused by the supernatural, and offered the couple a phone number to a Bureau that handled situations similar to their problem. The wife made the call, but didn't expect much. The organization, based on what was explained to her, should not have existed without common knowledge to the public. She and her husband couldn't bear waiting for the two agents of the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense, or BPRD, inside their home, so they camped out in their front lawn. Their well-informed neighbor remained with them as well.

The headlights of a black, unmarked SUV were a brilliant contrast to the darkened surroundings as it turned in the driveway. The BPRD had sent two of its top field agents: the amphibious Abraham "Abe" Sapien, who drove the vehicle, and the crimson-skinned Hellboy, who was itching to get out and stretch his legs. As Hellboy exited the parked vehicle, the shock absorbers bounced with relief.

The paranormal investigator began stretching his 6-foot-five frame, his tail included. His elbows and knees popped and cracked stiffly. His most noticeable features were the two horn stumps that protruded from his forehead. He kept them filed down so he could "fit in." He turned to face his "bearded" partner, who had exited from the driver's side. Hellboy leaned his left arm on the top of the car as he spoke to his partner. "Classic spook house, right Abe? No unholy ground or 'Dawn of the Dead' stuff?" His partner nodded.

An itchy, fake beard, a fedora, and dark-tinted glasses obscured Abraham Sapien's pale-blue face and large blue eyes. A trench coat hid the fins protruding from his arms and the gills at his neck. His disguise gave many people the impression that he was a professor, or a scientist. It was better to have one of them appear human in these situations, and frankly, Abe could pull it off a lot better than Hellboy.

"You're sure we don't need Liz for this case?" Abe questioned. "She is rather helpful in these situations."

Abe's large partner shot him a look. "Abe, it's just a haunted house. How bad can a couple' a spooks be? Besides, she needed a break after that exorcism a few days ago." Hellboy grinned, "Hey, let's make this interesting. Last one to find, catch and/or exorcize said ghost, or ghosts, buys drinks for the gang."

"And the loser also writes the report?" Abe inquired. He hated having to write up the reports every time just because the big ape couldn't write anything to save his life. Before answering, the demon brought his left hand to his chin in contemplation. Hellboy may have been the physical superior to Abe, but typing up the reports, or trying to write anything in Hellboy's case, was a pain in the ass.

"All right, loser buys drinks and finishes the paperwork." Hellboy replied. Abe nodded in agreement to the terms, and they started out towards the house in question. The strange thing, Hellboy noted, was that the couple didn't seem unnerved by his appearance. He began to wonder what kind of stuff they'd been put through. He shook his head slightly. Best not to think of that right now, he thought to himself. He greeted them with a smirk, "The Cavalry's here."

Abe shot him a look, obscured by the beard, and turned back to the couple in question. "Mr. and Mrs. Richards, I am Abraham Sapien, and this is my colleague, Hellboy. You notified the authorities about certain problems concerning the supernatural?" Abe, with or without his disguise, was always better with the PR stuff than Hellboy.

The woman, Karen (the most rational of the couple to speak at the moment), opened her mouth to speak when the neighbor cut her off. "It's about time you two got here. Whatever's in there is getting worse. It's had time to manifest. The neighbors are starting to call in complaints about the noise, and we're running out of excuses. Get this house cleared out, ASAP." The man ordered.

Hellboy narrowed his eyes towards the older man. His look clearly said, don't tell me how to do my job. He then broke out in a smirk, "Hey Jones. Long time, no see."

The former police officer, Frank Jones, didn't return the smile. "Where the hell have you been? You get word about a severe haunting situation and it takes you this long to get out here? They called the Bureau hours ago." Ex-Officer Jones was a homicide detective who had seen way too much in his career. He had seen more than his fair share of spooks, goblins, and weirdoes when the BPRD became involved with cases. He originally joined the force about 10 years after Hellboy first arrived on Earth. He was forced into retirement about three years ago.

Hellboy shrugged, "Traffic sucks." He left it at that. Tollbooths could be a real pain in the ass for Hellboy.

Karen finally found her voice. "Excuse me, how long is this...thing going to st-st-stay in our home? W-we just m-moved in a f-f-few weeks ago and, all of a sudden, the w-walls st-start bleeding, the silverware starts f-f-flying around, t-trying to k-kill us. B-but, the laughter…the l-laughter was j-j-just...horrible…evil, almost. It just w-wouldn't stop...Wouldn't stop." She couldn't continue. She turned around and began to sob. Her husband, Bruce, looked up and around feverishly as he was reminded of the events. He started rocking his heels and sobbing in his crouched position. He appeared as though he hadn't been able to sleep, or see anything "normal," in days.

"Ma'am, the BPRD takes situations of this nature very seriously." Abe tried to assure them.

"Typical Haunted House Scenario. Probably just the usual murder victim wanting revenge, or it's an Indian burial ground." Hellboy hypothesized. "Just let the professionals handle this, Lady. You'll be suckin' tea by the fire in no time." Hellboy's tact wasn't very reassuring.

The two agents started towards the house as Karen came up and grabbed Hellboy's right arm. She gasped as she finally noticed the large, crimson, stone hand protruding from the trench coat's right sleeve.

"Yeah, I get that a lot." he tried to snap her out of her stunned gaze. She appeared as though she had finally realized that Hellboy was real. She must have just thought that he was also part of her haunting-induced imagination during their initial conversation. Severe cases seemed to have that effect on people.

After gathering her thoughts, she looked him in the eye. "P-please, be c-c-careful of the China in the d-d-dining room. Th-they belonged to my m-mother." she quietly pleaded. Hellboy sighed internally as he grunted affirmatively. Abe began to reassure the woman that any damages would be well reimbursed by the Bureau. Hellboy hated these types of scenarios. What were a few broken plates compared to a home under the control of an ecto-plasmic, revenge-driven monster?

The distraught woman began walking back cautiously to her husband, handing a Bureau walkie-talkie, given by Abe, to Jones. The two agents put their earpiece walkie-talkies in place and started towards the porch.

Abe placed his hand on the door gently, revealing his webbed fingers, trying to sense the dark presence within. In addition to Abe's appearance, he had a unique ability. He was a psychic of sorts. His webbed hands were the keys to unlocking the past, present, or undetermined future of anything they came in contact with. He gasped and pulled his hand from the door as if he had been burned. "Watch yourself. It feels particularly nastier than the usual spectral vengeance-seeker."

Hellboy then revealed his 'ingenious' plan, "Okay, I'll take the front, you go through the back." A good plan was always kept simple.

"Wait a minute, I always cover the back entrance." Abe argued. "The monsters are always in the front. You're not going to cheat me out of a bet."

"Look, do you want the attention of a pissed off, matter-possessing specter focused on you, the Little Blue Fish, or me, the Big Red Monkey?" Hellboy quickly reasoned. Abe narrowed his blue eyes behind his dark glasses then turned towards the back entrance, throwing his hands up in defeat. Abe began muttering explicatives under his breath.

"You're welcome," Hellboy called. He received a webbed middle finger in response. Whatever's in there's just gonna pound the living snot out of me, Hellboy thought to himself, Abe's the lucky one here.

Hellboy's earpiece crackled to life, "In position, Kong." Abe sounded pissed off, but he couldn't afford to think about that right now.

"All right," he responded, "Time to crash Casper's housewarming party."

End of first chapter

A/N: I'd like to hear your input on this story. What did you like? What didn't you like? Be honest, I can take criticism. If you see certain changes that could be made that will make this story better, I'd like to hear your ideas.