The urban ruin with its devastated skyline and blood-red skies is no stranger to Hellboy's mind. Sometimes it's New York, sometimes London or Singapore or any of a hundred other cities all around the world that he's traveled through over the years. Half the time, the reverie in which he sees these visions of What Might Come To Pass happens when he's at least ostensibly awake, albeit usually induced by circumstances that remind him of the destiny he's fought to deny. The one thing unusual about the dream this time, though, is that rather than Anung Un Rama, Great Beast of the Apocalypse, horned and crowned astride the seven-headed dragon Ogdru Jahad, Hellboy is merely himself, looking around cautiously as he wanders the streets.
When the first hellhound appears, green-eyed and on the prowl, it's almost a relief. "Okay, here we go," Hellboy says, mostly to himself. He doesn't know how he ended up in whichever city this is, but it was inevitable that something would come out to start some trouble. The hound's eyes turn red, and Hellboy sets himself and shouts, "Come on!" He doesn't have Excalibur, but his massive stone right hand serves well enough to catch the hound's charge short and send it flying back in a twisted heap of metal.
"BOOM!" He shouts, punctuating the force of his punch with satisfaction for how easily the robotic dog went down. Then three more pad out of the alley, with hints of metal glinting in the shadows suggesting that there are far more.
"...Crap." As tempting as it is to take on all comers, he knows that even he can be overwhelmed with sufficient numbers, and that sometimes it really is better to run. (He can thank Baba Yaga in particular for that hard-won lesson, and for just a moment he thinks he can hear her cackling in the distance.) He's not a terribly fast runner, but he's better than a guy his size might be expected to be, and he occasionally tosses a backfist with his right that sends the hound in the lead sprawling into the ones just behind it, opening up just a little bit more of a lead than he lost in taking the shot.
The chase takes them out into progressively larger streets with each turn, until Hellboy finally finds himself in blasted, wrecked Times Square, and what he sees pulls him up short and makes him think he might've had better luck with the robo-dogs. The square is host to a congregation of large, humanoid frog creatures. A small number in the middle are standing on a mound of human corpses, and holding up offal, skulls, and various other parts torn from the bodies at their feet as sacrifices. Many more surround them on the street, their hands outstretched, and extend long, tentacular tongues into the air. The tongues seem to glow a soft blue as they radiate out a cacophanous drone, while the frogs in the middle begin chanting prayers from a time long forgotten.
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When the first hellhound appears, green-eyed and on the prowl, it's almost a relief. "Okay, here we go," Hellboy says, mostly to himself. He doesn't know how he ended up in whichever city this is, but it was inevitable that something would come out to start some trouble. The hound's eyes turn red, and Hellboy sets himself and shouts, "Come on!" He doesn't have Excalibur, but his massive stone right hand serves well enough to catch the hound's charge short and send it flying back in a twisted heap of metal.
"BOOM!" He shouts, punctuating the force of his punch with satisfaction for how easily the robotic dog went down. Then three more pad out of the alley, with hints of metal glinting in the shadows suggesting that there are far more.
"...Crap." As tempting as it is to take on all comers, he knows that even he can be overwhelmed with sufficient numbers, and that sometimes it really is better to run. (He can thank Baba Yaga in particular for that hard-won lesson, and for just a moment he thinks he can hear her cackling in the distance.) He's not a terribly fast runner, but he's better than a guy his size might be expected to be, and he occasionally tosses a backfist with his right that sends the hound in the lead sprawling into the ones just behind it, opening up just a little bit more of a lead than he lost in taking the shot.
The chase takes them out into progressively larger streets with each turn, until Hellboy finally finds himself in blasted, wrecked Times Square, and what he sees pulls him up short and makes him think he might've had better luck with the robo-dogs. The square is host to a congregation of large, humanoid frog creatures. A small number in the middle are standing on a mound of human corpses, and holding up offal, skulls, and various other parts torn from the bodies at their feet as sacrifices. Many more surround them on the street, their hands outstretched, and extend long, tentacular tongues into the air. The tongues seem to glow a soft blue as they radiate out a cacophanous drone, while the frogs in the middle begin chanting prayers from a time long forgotten.
"Son of a..."