Chapter 23: Through Hell and Back
Disclaimer: You know the drill: Hellboy characters do not belong to me. However, Erica Schwarz and the plot that is not from the movie are mine.
Author's Notes: I am back after another long hiatus to serve up the climactic chapter before I head back to the city for my final semester of college. Hold onto your seats and prepare for some heart-pounding action!
"What, do you tremble? Are you all afraid? Alas, I blame you not; for you are mortal, and mortal eyes cannot endure the Devil."—Shakespeare's Richard III
The Catacombs
Night
Ilsa breathed in a deep, shuddering breath of the icy air. It thrummed and crackled with unusual energy as it poured down her throat into her lungs. She shivered with delight. The fabric of the world, it seemed, was just itching to split at the seams and spill out the writhing, tentacled Gods of Chaos like some enormous cosmic birth sack.
And split it would—everything had gone according to Rasputin's plan. Hunched over in unconsciousness and weighed down by the massive wooden yoke imprisoning him, Anung-un-Rama slept on, oblivious to the impending power and glory awaiting him as the Prince of Hell.
For thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory, forever and ever. Ilsa's lips quirked in a crooked smile. Though bastardized and certainly well beyond blasphemy the last lines of the Lord's Prayer put in the service of Anung-un-Rama and the Ogdru Jahad seemed so appropriate for this moment. Earth shall be God's kingdom no longer.
That was something she could say a hearty amen to.
The sound of something clanking drew her attention. It came from the end of the large church-like space, past the funeral niches and the statues holding swords. It was not, however, the huge mechanical gears turning in the walls between the columns: the huge solar system model that upstaged the altar was slowly starting to shift into movement. Ilsa watched excitedly as the entire model began to revolve, matching the dance of unseen heavenly bodies. She glanced upwards. Above her the cold impassive face of the full moon glowed brightly in the night sky like a luminous blind eye veined with grey.
"It is nearly time."
Grigory's voice spoke her thoughts aloud. He stepped from the shadows to her right; the darkness melted reluctantly from his body and drew back to the corners of the room. Though made of glass Rasputin's blue eyes were alight with unholy fire as they scanned the room, settling first on Anung-un-Rama, then on the raven-haired woman laid out on the altar. The pyrokinetic's clothing had burned off in her uncontrolled fiery tempest that had reduced the Sammaels to charred bones and their eggs to ashes; a sheet of elaborately embroidered black fabric that matched Grigory's ceremonial robes covered her nakedness.
Rasputin's eyes settled last, and with cruel intent, on the young male BPRD agent chained to the wall. He was awake; his wide, scared eyes stared out from a face encrusted with congealing blood. Ilsa's fingers twitched slightly, longing to wrap around the sturdy handle of her sledgehammer. She hoped Rasputin would let her kill the boy before the ceremony started. Even though she knew she would have her fill of it and more after tonight, she was eager to see blood spilled.
Speaking of which… her eyes were drawn to the black stone block standing vertically on end to the right of the altar. Its newly replaced shackles hung empty and gleaming, awaiting tonight's sacrificial victim. Ilsa pursed her lips. He had better not be late. Where—?
The rhythmic tapping of jackboot heels smartly hitting the flagstones announced the timely arrival of the last person.
The last two people, actually, Ilsa thought.
Kroenen stepped gracefully from the dim corridor and out into the pale moonlight pouring into the space through the broken dome ceiling. Cradled in his arms was Erica Schwarz. She was out cold, and her shirt and coat were thick with dried blood.
There's a lot more where that came from, Ilsa thought, her gaze lingering on the stained fabric, and we will cut every last bit out of her veins. Her heartbeat sped up at the prospect. Ilsa turned her attention back to the clockwork assassin. Though she was pleased Kroenen had arrived on time and with Erica in tow, she couldn't help but harass him a little.
"What kept you? Did your beloved little traitor give you some trouble?" she asked mockingly.
She was hoping to get a rise out of him, but Kroenen did not take the bait. He simply nodded and made a self-deprecating little bow in acknowledgement of his shortcomings before crossing the space, the long leather coat of his SS uniform swishing softly in the silence. He stopped before the black slab and dropped Erica's feet to the ground, rearranging her so she was bent over his shoulder. Erica seemed to be coming around; she twitched a little but seemed too dazed to do any more. With her limp body hanging on him, Kroenen efficiently snapped the manacles onto her wrists and then stepped away. Arms chained by her sides, Erica swayed unsteadily and her legs buckled.
Kroenen tilted his masked head critically to one side, considering—and then he backhanded her across the face.
Or rather, mask. Ilsa frowned at it, even as the sharp blow brought Erica into full wakefulness and she managed to stand properly. Erica was wearing a cold weather mask that covered her entire head; with its darkly tinted plastic face shield it was similar to the one Ilsa had worn in the mountains of Moldavia. Why hadn't Kroenen removed it? Didn't he crave every last pained expression, every drop of liquid crimson that would trickle from that traitor's mouth? Ilsa started to move forward, her lips parting to speak, but then thought better of it. Grigory had said Erica's face had been one of the reasons the clockwork man had not killed her at the first sign of her betrayal. If Kroenen did not want to see her face, then so be it.
After all—and Ilsa turned malicious eyes on the male BPRD agent—she had her own victim. She would leave Kroenen's alone.
The soft rustle of fabric came from behind them and Kroenen turned and bowed his head to his master. Rasputin spared his servant the smallest smile of approval before directing his piercing gaze to the assassin's captive.
"Acire," he said, drawing out the syllables of Erica's true name into a sibilant hiss. "Tell me…did you enjoy the surprise I had Kroenen leave for you in the Professor's library?"
Snarling, Erica lunged and got all of three inches before tugging her short chains to their limits. Her body shook with fury. Grigory laughed, cold and depraved. Abruptly he stopped and roughly seized her chin with strong fingers. Fire blazed in the pin point specks of light reflected back from the twin pits of his eyes as he forced her to look at him.
"And here I have you, just as I said," he growled, his face contorted into a grotesque display of hatred and self-satisfaction. "How fitting that the reign of the Ogdru Jahad will begin with the death of the traitor that interfered with their release!"
He leaned in closer so his lips were beside the mask where it covered her ear, and his voice lowered to a grating murmur far more terrifying than his shouting had been. "I am going to watch you fall, Acire. I am going to watch you die. And when Kroenen has finished bathing his hands in your blood, the Ogdru Jahad shall…at last…have you. You can be most assured that they await your soul with open maws. I am sure the sight will freeze your heart like no nightmare you have ever witnessed."
Grigory slowly drew back from her. Erica remained silent, her gloved fists clenched. Curling his lip at her, Rasputin placed one hand against her chest and forcefully pushed her back against the polished stone. With a last glare at her he swept over to the altar. Kroenen smoothly took his place, pushing back the folds of his coat and arranging himself in the straight-backed commanding pose befitting a Nazi Lieutenant Colonel and the Head of the Thule Occult Society.
Myers had only half-watched their exchange. Whatever devil's deal Erica had struck to save her life, clearly neither Kroenen nor the others had any intention of honoring it. Panting, Myers tried once more to slip his hands out of the shackles. The ice cold metal bit into the thin skin on his knuckles, and gasping in pain he immediately stopped pulling. The hot liquid trickling over his bare fingers confirmed the damage he had done. Puffing and blowing he tried to crane his neck around enough to see—
Metal clanked close by and Myers looked up into Ilsa's deceptively beautiful face. Lips red with perfectly applied lipstick split into a wicked smile. A large square-headed hammer rested easily on her shoulder, and her scarlet-nailed fingers were wrapped tightly around its thick shaft like bloody talons. Myers's stomach clenched with dread.
She hefted her weapon and he flinched, his body tensing in anticipation of the blow, but instead, smirking, Ilsa dropped her gaze to where the last grenade belt lay on the snow-dusted stone floor just feet from the agent's boots. Swiftly she crouched beside it and set about destroying the timer.
BANG! CLANG! BANG!
The metal gave way almost at once, pieces of the mechanism scattering as the housing was smashed. Though the first few hits had more than done their job Ilsa persisted, every now and then deliberately turning to grin unpleasantly at him just as her hammer descended on the wreck of metal. Myers shuddered as each blow fell, knowing the Aryan woman had every intention of doing the same to him.
CLANG! BANG!
Hellboy stirred and lifted his head—
Ouch. Headache.
—He tried again, slower this time, and automatically reached for the back of his head where it was throbbing like that subway train had run over his skull all over again. His hand didn't make it. Confused, the demon forced his eyes open. It was an effort; his eyelids felt like they had been sealed shut by something that was now cracking and falling away. Mud came to mind for some reason. He reached up to rub at his eyes, but again his hand stopped short. What the hell was going on? The last thing he remembered Liz—
—Liz!
Hellboy jerked his head up, squinting through the aching and the bang, bang, bang of his pulse inside his skull. His fuzzy, blurred vision informed him that he wasn't actually sitting, as he had thought, but kneeling. He was also chained to the floor by an enormous wooden yoke reinforced by thick bands of metal. He tested his strength against it, expecting to crack the wood with a simple shrug of his shoulders. Unbelievably it held firm; not even one splinter. Anger building rapidly, he tried again, thrashing and bellowing with exertion and rage. The yoke creaked and the thick chains rattled cacophonously but held fast; he wasn't going anywhere. Chest heaving, the demon sank back on his haunches. Alright, brute strength was out for now. So what were his other options? And damn it, it would sure help if his head would give it a rest!
CLANG!
Blinking, Hellboy turned slightly to the left and discovered that the pounding wasn't just in his head. Ilsa was putting the finishing touches on a grenade belt timer with that hammer of hers. So pyrotechnics are out too, Hellboy thought. His searching eyes found Myers next, secured to the wall and bloody but relatively unhurt. Geez, these guys have a thing for bondage don't they?
But where was Liz?
Myers answered his unspoken question with a jerk of his head towards the end of the room. Hellboy followed the motion, and there she was lying on the altar. Grigory Rasputin stood over Liz with his back to Hellboy, but the demon could still see that the mad monk's entire attention was focused on reading the ancient book in his hands. The altar was flanked by two huge polished stones, one white and one black. In the demon's experience slabs were never a good thing.
And then there was the last person Hellboy had expected to see.
Kroenen stood to the right of the altar in full SS black, his hands clasped neatly behind his back. Hellboy bared his teeth and snarled, the angry sound rumbling deep within him. Damn it! Moves like a cockroach and just as fuckin' hard to squish!
How had that Nazi wind-up toy gotten out from under that cog and down here?
The demon's eyes fell on the figure chained to the black stone slab behind the assassin and he had his answer: Erica.
That son of a bitch. Hellboy could see it all playing out in his head; how Erica must have freed the clockwork man, helped him repair himself—and then the assassin had turned on her and beaten Erica at her own game. What the hell had Erica thought she was playing at? Why was she working with him in the first place? To save her life? It didn't look like it had been very effective.
He peered at her, trying to discern if she was awake, and noticed that for some reason she was wearing her full-head cold weather mask. He had little time to wonder at it though, as Grigory's booming voice suddenly rang out like a priest reciting vile scripture to an infernal congregation.
"And I looked and beheld an Angel, and in his right hand the key to the bottomless pit."
Rasputin turned from the statue of the angel Abbadon and for the first time Hellboy was finally face to face with his enemy. The demon did not like what he saw; there was something rotten about him, down to the bluish pallor of his skin. There was far more of the abyss about him than human.
"These were the words I heard as a peasant boy in Tobolsk. And now the door," Rasputin announced, snapping the book shut and gesturing grandly with it, his arm out flung and indicating the white marble stone, "sent by the Ogdru Jahad so that they might at long last enter our world."
"You are the key!" Ilsa said excitedly. "The right hand of doom! Your stone hand, what did you think it was made for?"
It took Hellboy a minute, as he stared from his hand to the two dark openings in the marble block, the two openings that he now realized were handprints that precisely matched the shape of his huge stone arm. No… Could it really be that this was what this part of his body had been created for?
"Open the locks!" Ilsa encouraged.
And though Hellboy knew he shouldn't even be thinking it, there was a nagging, incessant curiosity so deep it seemed rooted in his very soul, in the depths of each and every one of his cells, and he started to wonder…what would happen if he did?
"Don't do it! Don't do it, Red!" Myers yelled frantically.
Without any hesitation Ilsa swung her hammer and hit him right in the face. Myers crumpled, blood running freely from his nose and a new gash over his cheekbone. He stayed down, moaning into the snow.
"Silence." Ilsa spoke the order as though Myers were nothing but a dog annoying her with his barking. The blond woman rounded on Hellboy again, shifting to a new tactic designed to hit closer to his heart. She nodded at Liz. "Imagine it…an Eden, for you and her—"
The demon shook his head. "No."
Erica shuddered, watching helplessly as Grigory in a disturbingly calm, utterly reasonable voice bargained Liz's life for the opening of a door. She wanted to protect her, but there was nothing she could do; as much as she cared for the pyrokinetic Erica would not risk the world for her.
And neither, it seemed, would Hellboy.
The demon howled in torment while Grigory swallowed Liz's soul.
Erica turned her masked face away; she could not bear to watch. She had known these things—some of them, anyway—would come to pass, but the reality was far more horrible than she had ever imagined.
Preceded by a tickle at the base of Erica's skull, Kroenen's presence grazed her thoughts. So now that we are here, what was the rest of your brilliant plan, pray tell? His tone was vaguely scathing.
Better than yours, she thought back, and despite the desperateness of the situation she felt a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. It faded quickly.
Somewhat, the assassin grudgingly conceded. But though I too like a bit of spontaneity, if this lack of specific, well laid-plans is customary for how the BPRD conducts its operations, in addition to its extraordinarily high rate of general failure during the course of this incident, you can be sure I will be retraining you. Assuming we survive.
She answered him somewhat crossly, Well it would help just the teeniest bit if you could tell me exactly what is supposed to happen here.
I cannot. Rasputin—
—Would know. I know. So I am anxiously—emphasis on anxiously—waiting for your signal. Don't be late.
Kroenen chuckled dryly. Believe me; I will do my utmost.
Hellboy was sobbing now. "No, no, no…"
Rasputin glided over to the demon. "Her soul awaits on the other side. If you want her back…" he said softly, laying a hand on Hellboy's bowed head, "open the door and claim her."
Mistake. At the first touch of Rasputin's skin on his own Hellboy lashed out, heaving at his chains and roaring. Grigory withdrew his arm just in time and then grasped the bottom of the yoke below the demon's face.
"Your true name is inscribed around the locks that hold you," he growled. "You cannot break them, no matter how strong you are!"
They glared at each other, testing the other's will. Who would crumble first?
Ilsa's cool voice interrupted, "The eclipse has begun."
Erica's gaze darted skyward. Lighting flickered among the roiling, black clouds, but the storm was giving the moon a wide berth. And rapidly edging over the curved rim of the glowing sphere was a shadow the ugly color of old clotted blood.
Time was running out. Hellboy had to make a choice.
"Your true name…SAY IT!" Grigory demanded.
Hellboy stared at him, bewildered and struggling. He did not know his true name, to say it or not.
Rasputin's mouth twitched as his eyes fell on Professor Broom's rosary wrapped around Hellboy's wrist. Sneering, he ripped it away. Rosary beads bounced and rolled in all directions.
"Become the key."
Grigory flung the remains of the rosary to the side. It landed silently in the snow near Myers.
With a heavy sigh the demon hunched over, defeated. His voice was a hoarse whisper. "For her."
Behind her mask, Erica's eyes widened. Oh SHIT.
Glad you did not place a bet on him now, Angel? Kroenen asked.
He hasn't done anything yet—he could be bluffing—
Sorry to disappoint you, but that is not a poker face.
The assassin was right, and she knew it with a heart as heavy as lead. Hellboy was grieving, broken. Unfortunately it seemed her words had been accursedly prophetic when she had turned traitor to defend Kroenen and told Hellboy that he would do the same for Liz.
No no no…come on HB…don't do this! This isn't just Liz! This is everything!
Crazed eyes blacker than pitch bored into the beaten demon; like twin black holes no light escaped from their bottomless, all-consuming depths. "Anung-un-Rama," Rasputin whispered. "Repeat it."
No one breathed. There was absolute silence, as though all of existence was holding perfectly still and listening, waiting with trepidation for the demon's decision. Hellboy's voice trembled as he uttered the syllables that would free him and doom the world. "Anung-un-Rama…"
And then the end began.
The yoke's bolts popped out and the wood split in half; it hit the floor with an almighty crash of chains. The eclipse overtook the moon's face, covering the room in dirty crimson hued shadows; Hellboy's entire appearance darkened as they swarmed over him. Fire blazed into life along the ancient symbols carved into his right hand, racing around it and turning the heavy stone the glowing red of superheated metal.
Mein Gott. Fear twisted wrenching at Erica's stomach and she subtly but urgently nudged the clockwork assassin with her foot. Um, Kroenen…? Don't you think we…?
Patience, he thought back.
Patience? If it were not for the combination of awe and fascinated horror that rooted her to the spot she would not have been able to stand still. Erica ached to do something, even if she did not know what she could do. Though she had known there was a chance she honestly had not been prepared for the possibility that Hellboy would do as Grigory commanded. But he had, and that made the situation so much infinitely worse than Rasputin's first attempt to unleash the Ogdru Jahad—and she had just barely by the grace of God averted the catastrophe then.
Sixty years ago she had been facing people, powerful people, but still humans with all their frailties and mortality.
Now she faced the Prince of Hell.
There was no mistaking that was what Hellboy was becoming. The tired battle-weary body was gone; his muscular frame suddenly rippled with unnatural strength. He stood and he went up and just seemed to keep going, rapidly increasing in height. Huge horns burst from the stumps on his forehead, glowing like embers as they grew, curving back and then forward again and darkening to black at their pointed tips. Hellish flames flared between his horns, suspended there like a molten burning crown. Smoke and heat boiled out of his nose and open mouth. The air stank of sulfur.
Reveling, intoxicated with power and consumed by arrogance, he looked down on all of them and grinned. He was unstoppable and he knew it.
With heavy footsteps that thundered like destruction he strode towards the white marble slab, his eyes locked on Liz's dead body.
Kroenen…?
Not yet.
Rasputin followed the demon at a distance, matching him step for step. Hellboy stopped before the marble block and jammed his stone hand into the first opening. Grimacing, he braced himself and turned it like the enormous key it was, letting out a roar that was loud enough to shake the walls.
Fire surged along the cracks covering the marble and a crimson beam of light as thick as a tree trunk exploded from its top into the sky. Strong enough to be seen from all over Moscow, the beam blazed as it hit the eclipsed moon; it spread out to cover its surface in a blasting conflagration and then ripped through it. The tear across the moon's face spread outwards until it was a circle, a perfect nightmarish gash through the universe. And on the other side was a vast ocean of unfamiliar stars swimming in infinite blackness.
But the stars were not alone. Out of sight and impossibly far away but nonetheless still sensed, something inconceivably immense began to stir. The Ogdru Jahad, the Seven Gods of Chaos, were shattering their crystal prisons. For a moment Erica's gaze was dragged involuntarily inward, and with her mind's eye she was a horrified witness to colossal gelatinous tentacles uncurling and reaching—
She tore herself free of the forced vision.
Kroenen, if we wait much longer there's not going to BE a 'yet!'
Lighting crashed in the storm clouds, illuminating clusters of gargantuan copper colored tentacles stretching into the earthly plane. They spiraled around the ruby beam of light, following the beacon down.
Grigory was laughing, enraptured with triumph. But there was still one thing to be done to make the moment flawlessly poetic. Reluctantly he pulled his gaze from the scene in the heavens and his hypnotic eyes, smoldering with vengeance, locked on Erica. His face worked with passion. "Kroenen—send that traitor where her soul belongs! Kill her."
That was what Kroenen had been waiting for. Erica, NOW!
With pleasure, she answered.
Myers heard Rasputin's order; another horror was on the verge of being added to the evening's already extensive list. The agent watched, heart hammering, as the assassin mockingly executed a deep, sweeping bow to his victim and drew a long wicked looking knife. Erica might be a traitor to both sides, but Myers still did not want her to die, and certainly not like this.
Like an insect trapped in a spider's web, Erica tensed in her chains as Kroenen approached, but there would be no escape for her. The clockwork man grabbed her by the neck and pinned her against the slab. Kroenen raised the knife high, preparing to plunge it into Erica's chest. Myers waited for the lethal flash of the descending blade. He could not stomach the thought of watching the death blow and was planning to squeeze his eyes shut, even if he could do nothing to deafen himself to her agonized screams.
The knife stabbed down!
SCREEEEEEEEEEEE!
The ear-splitting shriek was not Erica's—it was the sound of metal on metal. Myers dared to open his eyes just as the chains fell from Erica's wrists, the metal links twisted and glowing red hot where Kroenen's knife had bit into them.
For the briefest second everyone stared, startled by this bizarre development.
Kroenen gave no time for them to recover. He dropped the knife, spun on his heel and in one fluid movement pulled a handgun from his belt. Ilsa's eyes widened in shock as the gun barrel swiveled to lock on her; it was not the Luger Kroenen carried: on its side gleaming in gunmetal grey was the BPRD logo.
BAM!
The gun's sharp report shattered the silence; once, twice, three times. Blood burst from Ilsa's shoulder and upper right arm and she staggered back and fell with a cry. The hammer's handle slipped from her now useless fingers.
The gun turned on Rasputin—and he vanished abruptly. The two bullets intended for his head buried themselves instead in the marble slab, detonating in miniature blasts of stone fragments and dust. Distracted by the noise the Prince of Hell flinched and paused, his burning eyes raking over the twin impact craters.
Light flashed across the lenses of Kroenen's mask as he scanned the room, searching for the mad monk. Erica came up beside him fumbling with her cold weather mask, and then pulled it off and threw it to the side. Myers gaped in confusion. Beneath it was another of Kroenen's metal masks! Then who was….?
"Scheiße!" The Kroenen in the SS uniform swore vehemently in German, but despite the harsh accent the voice was definitely Erica Schwarz's.
Lurking unseen in the shadow of the black stone slab Grigory picked up the knife Erica had dropped after freeing Kroenen. His hand curled slowly, tightly around the hilt. So another of his servants had dared betray him? HIM? There was only one reason Kroenen would engage in such deception: Erica. Rasputin narrowed his eyes at her back with a loathing and poison so deep that it burned like acid eating away at his core. The girl had caused him a ludicrous amount of trouble at every turn. But no more. He would rid himself of her and Kroenen in one blow of his knife. Despair would be a living death for the clockwork man: with Erica dead Kroenen would surrender to grief. The assassin would be no further threat, and when the Ogdru Jahad reigned over this world and scoured it with fire, only then by their mercy would the undead man perish.
Still dressed in Erica's clothes Kroenen drew his baton swords and—very jerkily—stalked past her. He was limping slightly and definitely favoring his left leg. Erica winced at the sight, but there were more pressing matters literally hanging over their heads with grasping tentacles. "Where did Rasputin—?"
A powerful punch to her arm and the gun was knocked spinning from her hand. She whirled and abruptly backpedaled as Rasputin stabbed violently at her chest with a blade. The knife whistled coldly, missing her left breast by a hair. His surprise attack thwarted Grigory wasted no time; he seized her coat's lapel and twisted his hand in it, dragging her close and stabbing at her again. Erica threw out her arm, skillfully blocking with the wrist blade sheath strapped to her forearm. Rasputin's knife caught in the slashed leather of her sleeve and snarling, his face dark with rage and his eyes wild, Grigory wrenched the blade free.
Erica braced herself to fend off another attack—instead Rasputin yanked powerfully at her coat. She stumbled and with the strength of a beast Grigory threw her. Pain exploded across her ribs as she smashed into a stone sarcophagus and rolled across its domed lid, the world spinning around her in a dizzying blur of grey stone, white snow, and scorching fire. She clutched desperately at the lid but it was polished and smooth; a kick from Grigory dislodged her gloved fingers and she slipped. The bottom dropped out of her stomach as she tumbled over the edge and fell.
She landed in the narrow gap between two ornately carved sarcophagi, her body wedged between them. Her spine crawling as she sensed Grigory and his knife closing in above her, Erica ignored the protests of her bruised body and frantically struggled to free her arms, wriggling desperately in the gap.
Kroenen had turned at the first sounds of battle and limped towards the two combatants, cursing his wounded body's slowness. The fight was over so fast that he had only gotten halfway there when instead of going in for the kill Rasputin suddenly straightened up.
"Open the final lock!" he commanded Hellboy. "OPEN IT!"
The demon's face split into a wide diabolical grin and he pulled his right hand from the depths of the slab's first opening.
Kroenen hesitated, torn between defending Erica and attacking Anung-un-Rama. Out of the corner of his eye he detected movement; Myers, his hands slick with blood and plasma, had slipped one arm free from his shackles. The agent stretched and scooped up the tattered remains of the rosary, leaving bloody tracks in the snow. Transfixed by the gods emerging in the sky and clutching at her ruined arm, Ilsa was unaware of her captive's actions and imminent escape.
"Kroenen!" Grigory shouted. "You might not bleed. But she will!"
The words were enough to still even his steady clockwork heart.
Trapped between the sarcophagi Erica felt true unbridled panic set in as an ominous shadow fell over her. Silhouetted except for his gleaming blade, Rasputin towered over her with his black ceremonial robes billowing. The flesh of his arms and shoulders surged with movement, displaced by tentacles writhing under his skin in sadistic excitement as he came at her with the knife.
Screw this! Erica thought.
She tugged her arm free, grating a good bit of her skin off against stone in the process, and extending the blade on her wrist she lunged.
The wrist blade sliced into Rasputin's hand, severing the top joint of his thumb and his entire forefinger. Howling, he staggered away. His knife, stained crimson and dripping with his blood, hit the floor. Kroenen rushed at him and the next moment Rasputin was on the ground. The assassin claimed the fallen blade before the monk could grab it again.
Panting and struggling to draw air through the grate of Kroenen's mask, Erica faced the demon on the verge of sending everything to hell. Flexing his huge stone fingers Hellboy stepped towards the last lock. Mask to mask, as one the two assassins rushed at him.
A sudden shout stopped them in their tracks. "Remember who you are!"
The new Prince of Hell hesitated and withdrew his stone hand, fingers twitching with indecision. Myers triumphantly held the rosary aloft, and then with all his strength he hurled it at Hellboy. The demon instinctively caught the rosary with his free hand. Smoke poured from his clenched fist and he reflexively dropped the offending object. Hellboy inspected his injured palm and for a long, strange second stared at the burning imprint of the cross glowing like fire against his red flesh. With a hiss the sparks died out, leaving a charred mark surrounded by wisps of smoke.
Fueled by anger and adrenaline Ilsa grabbed her hammer with her uninjured arm and dove at Myers, her avenging weapon swinging down—the sitting agent kicked out, hooking his foot around her legs and jerking them out from under her. No sooner was she on the ground then he kicked her hard in the face, his heel smashing into her head. Stunned by the blow, she stayed down. Myers snatched the keys from her belt and freed his other hand.
That was when Erica realized Grigory was not where she and Kroenen had left him. She touched Kroenen's elbow to alert him—the monk appeared suddenly at Hellboy's side, one hand wrapped in a section of his robes. Erica noticed the fabric was already soaked with blood and felt a surge of smug satisfaction.
"Believe me—I've lived long enough to know not a tear will be shed for this world!" Grigory ranted, desperately trying to sway the demon's decision. One of his eyes kept flicking back to Erica and Kroenen as they drew nearer, blades at the ready and more than willing to put them to use. Hellboy gave no sign that he had heard Rasputin at all; his golden eyes were still glued to the burned print on his palm. His fingers were trembling.
Myers approached, carrying the remains of the last grenade belt. "You have a choice; your father gave you that."
"No you don't! Open it! DO IT!"
With a blood-curdling bellow Hellboy reached up and savagely snapped off his horns. The stumps smoldered like the end of a cigarette, the fire within them quickly dying; the crown of flames winked out. The demon tilted his head back and sighed deeply, exhaling a cloud of smoke and forcing the last bits of the name Anung-un-Rama from his body and soul.
Sputtering, the scarlet beam of light fought to maintain the connection with the moon and then failed altogether. Infuriated roars came from above; the Ogdru Jahad's tentacles writhed amongst the clouds, graying out and dissolving into ash until even the echoes of their monstrous voices were gone. The tear in the universe faded, revealing the ivory face of the moon; the eclipse had ended.
"What have you done?" Grigory yelled.
Spinning around with one of his horns still clenched in his hand, Hellboy thrust it deep into Rasputin's guts. The monk let out a strangled cry.
"I chose," Hellboy growled, twisting his horn in the wound with a nauseating squish. The demon wrenched the gore covered horn out and dropped it.
Grigory crumpled to his knees, moaning in agony and holding his stomach. The demon turned and walked away, ignoring everyone else in the room and stepping over to gently gather Liz into his arms.
"You will never fulfill your destiny," Grigory said, his strained voice breaking with pain. "You will never understand the power inside you!"
"I'll just have to find a way to live with that."
Standing over Rasputin, Erica removed Kroenen's mask from her face and dispassionately watched her adversary and former master bleed out at her feet. The front of his ceremonial robes was drenched and his remaining fingers were heavily coated in gooey crimson. Their expected positions had been reversed and Grigory hated her for it and so much more. He bared his teeth at her; the rows of gnashing white coupled with his bony features made his face look like a death's head. Erica smiled grimly and stepped back from the spreading pool of dark blood steaming in the frigid air. She may not have been the one to kill him but as long as the bastard died she frankly did not care; her appetite for revenge was certainly sated.
"A life for a life," she murmured. "You took Professor Broom's, and now we have taken yours."
At her side Kroenen leaned against her shoulder. His breathing was harsh in her ear, rasping louder than usual. Erica instinctively knew he was hurting; in his wounded state it must have taken immense strength of will for him to move at all, one of the reasons she had suggested they switch places. The best plans truly were the simplest.
It is over, Kroenen's voice sighed in her head. The assassin's arm curled around her waist, as much a gesture of affection as a means to steady himself.
"Not quite yet," she replied, eyeing the demon descending the stairs with Myers silently following him.
Hellboy was cradling Liz's lifeless body and broken-heartedly nuzzling her hair. Subtly, Erica moved so she was shielding Kroenen; she was not sure what Hellboy's reaction would be to Broom's murderer, even now after he had helped defeat Rasputin.
The sound of something small rolling past reached her ears. It reminded her of a marble, but she saw nothing.
Crunch.
Hellboy looked down and picked up his boot. Beneath the shoe's thick sole were the shattered remains of a blue glass eye. Seeing it there staring at them caused Erica's stomach to sink with dread.
"Child…"
The whisper came from behind them. And there was Grigory Rasputin kneeling and just barely clinging to life, his mouth stretched wide in a disturbing, knowing grin. His one eye gazed blankly; the empty socket beside it was far too black, like an impossible tunnel boring into his skull and beyond.
"Look what you've done," he said softly, speaking with difficulty. Languid tendrils squirmed beneath the skin of Rasputin's forehead and several long and fleshy somethings spilled from his empty eye socket and onto his cheek wriggling like maggots. "You've killed me, an insignificant man…but you have brought forth a god!"
Gurgling and choking Grigory arched backwards and spread his bloodstained hands wide, unveiling the deep stab wound in his belly. It had expanded into a gaping cavern and a tangle of dark blue mottled appendages tumbled from it, thrashing as more poured from Rasputin's abdomen like a putrid mess of diseased entrails.
"Behold!" he gasped, blood bubbling from the corners of his mouth. "My Master, Behemoth! Guardian of Thresholds, Destroyer of Worlds!"
A slimy six foot long creature wreathed in countless tentacles erupted from his torso and landed on the stone floor, twisting as it pulled the last of its length from his body like a parasite casting off the husk of its dying host. Rasputin finally fell back against the base of the marble block, his body twitching with its final convulsions.
Hellboy grimaced. "Myers, let's go."
They retreated, running for the entrance to a passageway. The two assassins hesitated and then followed as quickly as they could; Erica threw her arm around Kroenen's shoulders to support him.
Ilsa darted suddenly from the shadows, a black bruise marring her porcelain cheek. Kroenen tensed, expecting trouble, but she barely glanced at him and Erica. Dashing around the infernal monster Ilsa dropped to her knees beside her dying lover and embraced him tenderly. She kissed him, heedless of the blood that caked his lips.
Though he was by no means a clairvoyant like his beloved Angel of Death, Kroenen sensed instinctively that Ilsa would not survive the night. He felt a pang, but it was very distant. They had been colleagues and even lovers, yes, but it had been due more to convenience and circumstance than true fondness. She was no Erica; he would not miss her.
They left Ilsa to her fate. Behind them Behemoth grew exponentially, doubling in size with every second.
Hellboy and Myers had halted at what they judged to be a safe distance along the curved passage. Erica and Kroenen arrived just as the demon carefully set Liz down and propped her up against the wall.
"Keep her safe, will ya? Whatever happens don't leave her alone."
Myers nodded. "I won't."
"I'll deal with whatever's back there." Shooting a glance along the hallway, Hellboy's red-flecked golden eyes spied Erica and Kroenen. Instantly the air was thick with tension.
The pair froze in place and Erica hastily let go of the clockwork man and stepped protectively in front of him.
Hellboy's caustic gaze raked over them. With her face bloodied and the thick black line of sutures snaking across her throat Erica was an absolute mess. Kroenen, the demon was pleased to see, was in even worse shape. The ticking of broken clockwork and the harsh crunch of damaged gears grinding on each other echoed in the hall, and the assassin was having difficulty standing. All in all, they looked like they had been dragged through hell and back, and the figure of speech was not that far from the truth.
Erica licked nervously at her torn bottom lip and Hellboy realized she was waiting for his reaction. His back twinged painfully where she had stabbed him, a reminder of her short-lived betrayal. Hellboy couldn't make heads or tails of her bizarre behavior and even weirder alliance with that murdering Nazi wind-up-toy, but whatever was going on both of them were clearly fighting on his team and not Rasputin's. So crushing the clockwork man was probably off limits. Hellboy rumbled angrily under his breath, then noticed Erica's desperate expression and Kroenen's gloved fingers curled gently around her shoulder. There was something…incredibly intimate about that simple gesture.
Then it clicked. Hellboy frowned deeply. So there really was something behind the 'kiss' that freak had given her back there.
"Damn it, Erica!" he yelled. Then he stopped. He had an enormous octopus of doom to fry in the next room; he could deal with the rest of this later. Hellboy shook his head and continued gruffly, "You know what…Never mind. I've got this. Get outta here before I change my mind and clobber the pair of ya."
Visibly sighing in relief, Erica gave him a small smile of thanks.
"Oh no," Myers said, eyes round. Apparently he was just catching on. "Please don't tell me you have a thing for the guy who tried to kill you."
Erica covered Kroenen's hand with her own. "We are even," she said quietly. "On all accounts."
"Of course! Why not!" Still muttering to himself Myers tossed the last grenade belt to Hellboy.
The demon grinned. Pyrotechnics were an option after all.
"Myers, I hope you like calamari because it's goin' back on the menu."
All too happy to get out of there, Erica threw an arm over Kroenen's shoulders and the assassin did the same, gripping her hand with his free one. And together they stumbled towards the exit.
XXXXX
Sebastian Plackba #16
Mausoleum Section
Night
After winding their way through a maze of underground tunnels, rooms, and innumerable staircases, Kroenen directing her the whole way, they finally emerged from the ground and stepped out into the night.
It was snowing gently. Erica inhaled deeply, loving the feel of the chilly, clean air pouring into her lungs after the suffocating atmosphere underground. Being out in the open was an incredible relief, and even more so to have come out alive when she had gone down into the earth where death was waiting for her at the end of a knife.
They stopped by a mausoleum to rest. Breathing heavily, Erica let go of Kroenen and pressed her back against the monument behind her; despite the multiple layers of Kroenen's uniform the cold still leeched through where she touched the stone. But for the moment she did not care. She gazed out at the cemetery, eyes lingering on the moonlit patches of snow scattered among the shadows cast by the sea of limestone grave markers. It was so still and peaceful she could almost forget the horrors of the past few hours. She sighed and watched the white fog of her breath slowly dissipate.
Kroenen shifted beside her and Erica felt the cool, smooth surface of his gloved hand slide caressingly along her cheek as he gently turned her face towards his.
"You are safe," he said, as if he could not quite believe it.
Her lips quirked up into a teasing smile as she feigned offense. "Safe? Me? Kroenen's Angel of Death? I have been described as many things, but never safe."
He laughed softly and moved a little closer. The clockwork assassin was only a few inches away now and she could feel his breath on her face. "I see tonight has not robbed you of your wicked sense of humor; you know what I meant."
Kroenen's gaze traveled over her body, admiring the way the fabric and leather of his uniform made her look. Your clothes against her skin—ALL of it, said his inner voice. Your mask, it purred triumphantly. You!
In fact, when she had worn his mask had it not been for the slight difference in height and in the way she moved, he would have thought he was seeing his reflection in a mirror.
Erica blushed under the intensity of his gaze. Kroenen grinned lasciviously, resolving to be the cause of those cheeks blushing more often in the future.
Trying to think of something to say, Erica's eyes fell on her clothes. "So…what about these?" she asked, gesturing to his SS uniform and the mask hanging from her hand by its leather straps. "Do you want to switch back?"
The assassin reached over and adjusted the SS cap on her head, playfully tilting it down and to the side at a jaunty angle. He contemplated the effect approvingly. "Keep them. I have others. And you may find you can make use of them. Besides," he said huskily, his voice taking on a dark and hungry tone as he leaned in closer and ran the back of his index finger down her cheek, "I intend to take them off of you later. Piece…by…piece."
His gentle whisper sent shivers down her back that had nothing to do with the cold. Erica suddenly felt short of breath. Her mind dwelled on the mental images his words had stirred up for a second too long; her body flooded with heat and she felt her cheeks flush what was surely an astoundingly vibrant shade of red.
Kroenen chuckled appreciatively. "Hmmm, I see you like that idea… which is good, because I am a man of my word. I will keep it."
In this wintry landscape Erica had thought it was impossible for her to feel overheated. Kroenen had just proved her wrong. She was certain that had she not been wearing boots, her body heat would have melted the snow clear through to the bare earth.
"Speaking of later…What is to become of us?" Kroenen asked, taking on a more serious tone.
"What indeed…"
Erica gazed blindly out at the landscape, pensively chewing at her bottom lip. The torn flesh stung and she grimaced.
One option was completely out: Kroenen absolutely could not return with her to the BPRD. Though Hellboy had spared the assassin tonight because he had helped them the demon would not tolerate the presence of his father's murderer in the building he called home.
And Erica had no desire to be parted from Kroenen again. So that meant…a huge weight she had not known she was carrying lifted from her shoulders and was replaced by a wild, fierce sense of freedom. Yes, that was it. When she thought about it, what did she have to lose?
The cold wind blew through her chestnut hair and she unconsciously huddled closer to the little shelter Kroenen's body offered. His arms embraced her, encircling her tightly.
"Kroenen…when we were underground, in the subway tunnels, you asked me if I would return—if I would come away with you when all of this was done…"
The assassin waited, hardly daring to hope.
"And my answer is yes."
The next second Kroenen was grabbing her by her waist and hoisting her into the air, spinning around with her until his injured leg gave out and they fell laughing into a snow bank. Elated and breathless Kroenen kneeled over her, snaking his fingers through her long silky hair where it cascaded over her shoulders and spilled onto the sparkling snow. Her lovely grey eyes were unusually bright.
"Ich liebe mein Engel," he whispered passionately.
"I love you too," she murmured.
He leaned his forehead against hers; the smooth ebony metal of his mask was pleasantly cool against her skin. They stayed like that for a long wonderful eternity, their breath mingling. Enveloped by the feel of his clothes and his scent of dust and leather, and most of all by the clockwork assassin himself, Erica was incredibly content. It felt so right.
Eventually though, her back began to go numb with cold and she was forced to stir from their embrace. Sitting up, she absentmindedly brushed the snow from her clothes. From somewhere in the distance of the graveyard there came the boom of an explosion. Kroenen's masked face snapped towards it. Erica winced, remembering the grenade belt Myers had given Hellboy.
"Guess that means the mission is over," she said.
Kroenen gracefully extended a hand to her and helped her to her feet. "If we are going to leave, we should do it now."
Erica nodded in agreement. She had no desire for long awkward goodbyes; she had already said hers to Abe. Though she had not consciously realized it at the time, looking back on it she knew that was what had passed between them. Abe had known she would not return even before she had.
Now her mind calmly traced a course of action she could not believe she was really contemplating, let alone about to carry out. "The truck and vans we came in are parked by the cemetery gate. I could hotwire one of them, but we would have to abandon it eventually because it has a tracking device in it."
"An excellent idea, Erica, but I have a better one."
He beckoned and, curious, she followed him around the mausoleum they had taken shelter under. On the other side was an old decommissioned military truck.
"Oh," she said, blinking.
"It was used to transport the stone blocks. Needless to say, in their current state its previous owners have no further use for it," he said, a wicked edge to his voice. "The keys are in the ignition."
Erica hazarded a guess that the men had not met a pleasant fate. She surveyed the assassin, swaying unsteadily where he stood. "I'm driving." Kroenen gave her no argument.
Swiftly brushing the snow from the windshield Erica opened the driver's side door and climbed in. Kroenen was already in the passenger seat. "We should drive though Moscow so they lose our tracks in the city. And then…" she trailed off, looking to him for direction.
"Norway. One of our safe places from WWII is still there: a castle. Ilsa and I fled there after the battle at Trodham Abbey and lived there while researching ways to resurrect Rasputin. We do not have to stay long if it makes you uncomfortable."
Erica shrugged. As long as they were together, it didn't matter to her where. She turned the key in the ignition and the cold engine roared to life.
Kroenen chuckled. "I may be arriving in much the same ruined state as sixty years ago, but this homecoming promises to be far more delightful because of your company."
She smiled at that. Carefully she steered the truck onto a narrow access path that meandered through the cemetery. They passed through the gate and then drove off into the snow, the engine purring and the windshield wipers squeaking and swishing the snow from the glass.
So many things had kept her and Kroenen apart—propriety, work, war, distance, hatred, fear. But at long last they could have what they had always desired: each other.
Perhaps one day she would return to the BPRD. Perhaps… but it would not be soon.
Her locator belt quietly started blinking, the light casting a blue glow over the inside of the truck with every rhythmic flash.
And with a flick of her fingers, Erica turned it off.
Author's Notes: I was going to end it here, but I decided I wanted some more Erica and Kroenen goodness, so instead the next chapter will be the conclusion of Though Heaven Bar the Way. Please review; I value all comments and suggestions.