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[CENTER][H2][b][color=red] A  F A T H E R ' S  L O V E [/color][/b][/H2][/CENTER]
[Color=GOLD][INDENT][B][SUP]C H A P T E R  1: T H E  B E G I N I N G  O F  T H E  E N D[SUB][H3][/H3][/SUB][/SUP][/B][/INDENT][hr][INDENT][sup][COLOR=SILVER] November [SUP]12th[/SUP], 1957 - 22:26 | Underground Military Instilation - New Jersey[/COLOR][/sup][/INDENT][/COLOR]
[INDENT]The hurried sound of soldiers moving about their daily duties came through muffled through the solid steel door, random shouts and commands which always did more to irritate the crimson child. He moved to the radio and turned the big band music just a little bit louder so as to drown out the noise outside. Looking around the bunker styled room caused him to let out a deep sigh. He had always wished that he and father could live in a normal house but one look at his right hand reminded him that he could never have. The warm and comforting voice of his father called to him,

[color=gold]"[color=red]Hellboy[/color], it's time to for bed."[/color]

Quickly adhering to his father's command Hellboy jumped up from his lincoln logs and cowboys and ran to his room where the comforting sight of Professor "Broom" sat waiting with a book in hand for bedtime. No matter how he felt about living in a underground bunker as long as he had Father it really didn't matter where they were. Father's warm smile and loving eyes lulled him to a relaxed state as he waited for his favorite story.

[color=red]"Father, can I hear the story about the Golden Army again?"[/color]

[color=gold]"Again?"[/color], he said with his usual warm and loving smile[color=gold]"We've read that every night this week."[/color]

[color=red]"I know, it's my favorite! Come on...please!"[/color]

Broom's warm smile lessened slightly as he moved to the small bookshelf at the far end of the room and pulled an old leather tome from the shelf and held it for a moment.

[color=gold]"No [color=red]Hellboy[/color], I think I will tell you another story tonight. About the [color=green]Ogdru Jahad[/color][/color]
[/INDENT]

[Color=YELLOW][INDENT][B][SUP][SUB][H3] 6 0  Y E A R S  L A T E R [/H3][/SUB][/SUP][/B][/INDENT][hr][INDENT][sup][COLOR=SILVER]November 12[SUP]tH[/SUP],2017 - 18:45 | Underneath the Brooklyn Bridge - New York City, New York[/COLOR][/sup][/INDENT][/COLOR]
[INDENT]He had no idea what made him think of that memory. Father had been dead a little more than ten years now and he thought that he would be over the heart-ache by now. Looking down to the object in his left hand; a worn, tattered bound journal with a language that no one else at the BPRD could understand and addressed to him. 

[color=red]"Tch, so this is tha place huh? Kinda hopin' for somethin' more."[/color][/indent]

He had heard legends of the Troll Market but never thought that it would be somewhere like the Brooklyn Bridge. The journal had made mention of a character by the name of Rasputin in a strange runic language and one other thing a mention of the [color=green]Ogdru Hem[/color]