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hookaroo · 5 years

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Vocivore, Ltd. (38 of 45?)

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Tagging @ouatwinterwhump, @killian-whump, @sancocnutclub, @killianjonesownsmyheart1, @courtorderedcake, @facesiousbutton82 <3

***THE MOST WONDERFUL, HEARTBREAKING, and BEAUTIFULLY WHUMPY COVER ART BY @cocohook38 HERE and HERE!!!!!!!!!*************

***Chapter 12 animation and art that will absolutely astound you!!!!!!!!!**********

***LETHAL Chapter 19 art in all of its BLOODSTAINED GLORY!!!!************

**POOR STABBED KILLIAN falling into the sheriff station! Ch. 7 & 23 art!!**

****KILLIAN AND HIS MASTER IN THE GORGEOUS CATHEDRAL!!!!!!!!!!!! CHAPTER 1 ART THAT KILLS ME EVERY TIME I SEE IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!*********

*CH 34 ART! A DEFEATED KILLIAN, HEAD BOWED BEFORE HIS MASTER!!*

***CH 36 ART! DETECTIVE JONES BOWS BEFORE HIS NEW MASTER!!!!!!***

***AAAAHHHH!!! THANK YOU MY WONDERFUL COCONUT FRIEND!!!!!!***

Present (Friday, continued)...

Emma couldn't hold back her tears as she crouched before the mutilated form of her husband. He'd been stabbed in the chest and through the hand, and his right shoulder hung grotesquely out of place. Blood caked his face and pooled in livid swellings from a recent beating. Red droplets dripped sluggishly off the tip of his nose and splattered, barely visible, onto the rust-tinged burlap on his torso. A haphazard mess of surgical staples did little to contain bone-deep lacerations on either side of his ankle. And a line of slowly oozing punctures trailed their way up both inner thighs until disappearing beneath the sackcloth smock.

She decided to take it as a good sign that everything still seemed to be actively bleeding. Killian did not appear to be moving at all; at first, Emma could not even see any sign of breaths. But as she reached out to seek a carotid pulse, she noticed a slight and labored rise and fall of his chest. Her relief caused a catch in her throat. He was alive... for the moment.

Suddenly overwhelmed with emotion and weighed down by the responsibility of keeping him alive until help arrived, Emma fumbled for the phone concealed in her pocket. If ever there was a time for magical healing… Once again, she strained to feel the tingle of light where her power dwelt, a reflex she’d already indulged several times since the Vocivore’s defeat. As before: nothing.

Well, no use bemoaning something she couldn't change. Her free hand automatically came to rest on Killian's arm, above the ring and stake, over an unraveling bandage. She was both heartened and dismayed when Killian flinched away from her touch with a whine.

"Killian, hey," she soothed. "It's just me." She hit the button to call EMS, then put her phone on speaker. "You're gonna be okay."

She kept a careful watch on her husband while explaining to the dispatcher what was needed: essentially every ambulance and emergency vehicle in the United Realms. As sheriff, she knew they would take her seriously, as well as listen to any special request. So while she did her best to direct them to the scene, she also suggested that they contact David, who knew exactly the route they should take.

In the midst of rattling off her father’s contact info, while also absently holding pressure against as many of the puncture wounds as she could simultaneously reach, Emma felt Killian begin to stir. He shuddered as he tried to drag his eyes open.

“Try and hold still,” urged Emma.

“Swan,” he whispered, wincing.

His recognition of her brought tears to her eyes once more. Another good sign. “I'm here, babe. Just hold on; we’re going to get you all fixed up.”

He shook his head, breathing faster now, trying and failing to reach up and push her away with his stump. “You have to... go…” he groaned. “The monster…”

A flash of extreme pain crossed his face, and the words fizzled out, evaporating into frantic gasps for air.

Emma felt her own breath catch at his obvious distress. “Shhhhh, Killian, shhh... calm down. The monster’s dead; it can't hurt you anymore.”

Every muscle in her husband's body stood taut as he fought for air.

“He's having trouble breathing,” she reported to the person on the other end of the line, as calmly as she could. She listened to the instructions but her attention was riveted on Killian. At long last, he managed to quell the panic and slow the gasping.

“D-dead?” he wheezed, sounding as if he couldn't even define the word.

“Yep.” She used her shirt sleeve to carefully blot some blood that was trickling into one of his eyes.

Killian finally managed to focus on Emma's face for the first time, and though he still had an alarmingly dazed look in his eyes, he immediately fixated on a small cut on her forehead.

“You're hurt.”

He looked as if he were about to raise his left arm despite the blade embedded in his chest. Emma held him down.

“Good to know your keen observational skills are still intact.” She rolled her eyes as he continued staring up at her in concern. “I'm fine. And you're ridiculous.”

He gritted his way through another wave of intense pain and seemed to forget that she was even there. It was then that she noticed how much he was shivering; whether it was from the practically nothing he was wearing, or from shock, she didn't know. How was she supposed to lay him flat and elevate his feet with his hand pinned to the frickin’ altar? More importantly, if he stopped breathing, how would she perform effective CPR in this position?

She pushed aside the thought that, with the paramedics at least 30 minutes away, any efforts at resuscitation would likely be futile.

Emma glanced back at Jones, who was gingerly unwinding the costume bandage from his wrist. He wouldn’t be able to provide much assistance, whatever she decided to do.

She felt Killian squirming under her hands and turned her attention back. He groaned and then, as if reading her thoughts, he hissed,

"Please, love... get me free of this... bloody thing..."

His fingers twitched in feeble emphasis. Emma bit her lip, reluctant. "I don't know, Killian... that may not be such a good idea."

"Please," he said again, eyes screwed shut against the pain. "It'll have to happen... eventually. And I think... it may make it... easier to breathe."

"It will hurt a lot less after you've had some morphine," she pointed out. But if it really did help him to breathe better...

"Please, Emma," Killian grunted. "Just do it."

The dispatcher on the phone asked for an update, and Emma explained the situation while she set squeamishness aside and studied the impaling blade. She had no way of knowing how long it actually was, or how much of it was embedded in the wood. Approximately three inches of sharp steel were sandwiched between the dagger's handle and Killian's palm. The heel of his hand and the underside of his forearm glistened with blood all the way down to the elbow. Pulling the dagger free would be inadvisable if she wanted to keep that trickle of blood from becoming a stream. The dispatcher concurred, advising that they wait, if possible. But Emma didn't know how bad the stab wound to his chest was; he could even have a punctured lung on that side, so relieving the tension on the other side may well be the difference between life and death for him.

As she was agonizing over the decision, she sensed movement behind her, and when she glanced back, it was to see Jones staggering up the steps toward them. He was breathing hard, looked pale and sweaty, but didn't stop until he reached the top. Grimacing, he knelt, landing hard next to his doppelganger, whose eyes snapped open as he cringed away. Expecting an attack. Emma squeezed his wrist in reassurance.

"Ahoy there, mate," said Jones softly. He faked a scowl and added, "You know, I haven't forgotten to be miffed at the pair of you and this insane plot of yours."

Gratified by the hint of a pained smile on Killian's lips, Jones turned to address Emma. "Suppose I should offer my help anyway."

Emma eyed him critically. The Ace bandage was now wrapped haphazardly around his injured shoulder, loosely covering the patch of blood spreading on the sackcloth over the bullet wound. She raised an eyebrow. “Sure you're up to it?"

Jones only gave a small, unconvincing twitch of his lips. Emma took her hands away from her husband's injuries long enough to grip the ends of the Ace bandage, which were merely tucked under one another. She gave a sharp tug to tighten it and tied a more secure knot, hissing,

“What the hell happened back there?”

“Not a clue.” Jones closed his eyes in a brief concession to the momentary increase in pain, then nodded his thanks.

The dispatcher on the phone crackled an update in ETA: 20 minutes, give or take. A long time, in which anything could happen. Most of which would be bad.

Emma gave a sigh of resignation. Then she squared her shoulders.

"Think you can help stabilize his hand?" she murmured, and Jones' gaze flicked to the afflicted limb.

"Yeah, of course."

Emma shuffled around to the other side of her husband's legs, closer to the impaling dagger. With a stifled grunt, Jones made room for her. Killian watched, motionless apart from his short, gasping breaths. Forcing herself to turn away from the pain in his eyes, Emma reached for the dagger's handle. Behind her, the detective gently wrapped his hand around Killian's wrist.

In response to the hissed intake of air to her right, Emma caressed Killian's cheek. "You sure?"

Her husband's eyes betrayed just as much fear and reluctance as anguish, but he managed a shaky nod. Emma tightened her grip on the dagger. "On three, then. One..." She heard Killian gasp a preparatory breath, saw him squeeze his eyes shut. "Two..."

On impulse, ignoring the blood and sweat staining his face, Emma initiated a furious kiss, at the same time yanking with all her strength on the trapped blade. The unexpected touch of intimacy worked as a distraction for approximately half a second, as a dazed Killian attempted to reciprocate. But then he was pulling away, howling his agony against her cheek. Emma cursed and braced her free hand against the altar as leverage; long seconds later, the dagger popped free of the wood, inevitably jerking inside Killian's hand despite efforts to keep it still. Though a smear of crimson revealed where a short length of steel had slid free, enough remained within his flesh to hopefully stem the worst of the bleeding.

"It's done; it's out," Emma breathed, reaching for his head and cradling him against her shoulder. She nodded at Jones and, moving in slow tandem, they lowered the impaled limb to rest awkwardly on the floor beside him, the dagger’s handle mere inches from his hip. And Killian's muffled groans were sweet music, proving his continued existence, his ability to draw enough breath to express his pain.

Even from her strange angle, even through the stained sackcloth, Emma could see the wrong position of his shoulder joint. She cringed and stroked the back of Killian's head. Then she gently pulled away, asking,

"Any better?"

Killian rested his head back against the altar and squinted up at her, nodding once but not wasting the energy to speak.

"Not touching that shoulder. Sorry." She spared a glance at Jones, who had sat back and was now massaging his chest despite the length of metal still burrowed into his arm. He grimaced agreement with her decision; even if either of them had the expertise to pop the joint back into place, it had been long enough for swelling and tightening of the tendons and ligaments to make an attempt not worth it.

"Do you want to lie down?"

At first, it looked as if Killian were considering the suggestion. Theoretically, lying him flat could be advisable for multiple reasons, and might make it easier for him to relax, but Emma wanted to leave the choice up to him. In the end, whether he thought he would find it harder to breathe, wanted to avoid the pain of changing positions, or feared the possibility that once he lay down, he may never get up again, Killian answered with a feeble shake of his head.

Emma peeled her jacket off and rolled it into a tight bundle, which she carefully slid behind Killian's head as a makeshift pillow. Her proximity allowed her a better view of the bulky new collar and its set of screws which, up until now, she'd been hoping weren't actually drilled into his neck. That explained at least some of that morning’s screams. Emma scowled, feeling sick; she'd granted that villain far too easy of a death.

Killian didn't look any more comfortable, but grimaced his gratitude at her before suddenly catching sight of the slumped monster corpse in the distance. He seemed to grow somehow even more pale, warily watching the Vocivore for any sign of movement.

“It's dead?”

Emma rested a reassuring hand on his shin, inadvertently leaving a bloody handprint on a relatively unscathed portion of skin. Killian's eyes were locked on his tormentor, as if his vigilance were the only thing keeping it subdued.

“Shot it myself,” she growled. “So unless the damn thing can regenerate its ugly, pervert brain, we’re finally done with it.”

As she said this, she realized it may not have been the most comforting thing for Killian to hear: they still had a lot to learn about the creature, and the possibility, however slight, of the Vocivore coming back to life gave her a momentary chill. She could only imagine how it made Killian feel.

“Listen,” she said, “Jones and I both have our weapons and will keep an eye on it. But I don't think we need to worry about it.”

“And those slaves over there?” added Jones, his voice only slightly stronger than Killian's had been. “They're lost. Directionless. The first sign of renewed purpose, we’ll know to be on the alert.”

Emma stole a glance in the direction the detective was looking and saw the slaves, some of whom had been holding her captive just moments before, hunched on their knees, faces in hands. One or two lay stretched out flat, silent and still.

"He's right. Leave the guard duty to us; you just focus on hanging in there until the medics come."

Emma did not like the bleak hopelessness with which he reacted to her statement; she knew he was doubting his odds of surviving that long. But he rested his head back and soon had his eyes closed, either deciding to put his trust in her words, or simply too weary to do otherwise.

She tried to remain quiet as she reached across his body for the loose end of the bandage around his left wrist. It appeared to be the same one supplied by Storybrooke General; if its sole purpose was still to cover the wrist ring, it would be of better use staunching some of the oozing injuries on his legs.

“Killian?” she asked, some time later. “How far is Z's and would you be able to tell me how to get there?”

Her husband didn't respond.

“Babe?” A gentle finger on his cheek elicited no response, but he did pull away slightly when she got too near an inflamed abrasion by his eye. His breaths were shallow and quick but regular, and he seemed somehow balanced enough even without much supporting him upright. She was torn between staying to monitor his condition and heading off to see what she could find in the way of first aid supplies.

Watching through half-lidded eyes, Jones reluctantly sat up straighter, rousing himself from a pain-driven daze to offer,

“I'll keep an eye on him, Emma. Go do what you need to do.”

The detective was hardly in a fit state to offer that kind of service; Emma wouldn't have been surprised to watch him be the next one to pass out. But, grunting, Jones got to his knees and made his way to Emma’s side, dutifully nudging her hand away so he could take over the task of applying pressure. With a stubbornness so much like her own Killian, he even went so far as to use the scarred remnants of his left wrist to cover an additional wound, yielding nothing to the anguish that surely wracked his shoulder with the effort. Emma flashed him look of exasperation before clambering to her feet.

“Five minutes,” she promised, then jogged her way out into the desolate afternoon light.

*****

His Master loomed overhead. Large and menacing. A claw was embedded in his shoulder, another in his hand, severing tendons, removing sensation and function from each remaining finger. Killian whimpered, shifting under questing tentacles pressed hard into burning thighs. Emma, the rescue... all a wonderful, horrible hallucination. How much longer would his suffering drag on?

Tentacles dug deeper, and Killian thrashed with all of his remaining strength. He knew his Master demanded obedience, but he couldn't do it. Not again.

A startlingly good impression of his own voice floated down from above. "Hey, easy! Easy there, mate; it's only me."

Nearly hyperventilating now despite unprecedented agony in his chest, Killian continued to struggle; opening his eyes seemed a monumental task and he would only see that hideous face staring down at him anyway. He had no idea what his Master was up to, or how the creature had managed to mimic his voice, but it hardly mattered.

"Killian, mate; I promise I'm not trying to hurt you. I swear. In truth, I intend to wait until you're fully recovered. And then... well, after that, all bets are off. You bloody wanker."

Those words sounded nothing like any his Master had ever said before. Perhaps he was hallucinating this as well? Killian groaned quietly, then peeled his eyes open.

Detective Jones sat beside Killian's knee, holding pressure on some of the punctures to his inner thigh. The man looked utterly spent, had a blood soaked bandage wrapped carelessly around a shoulder, and wore a grim expression, but his eyes were soft. Upon locking gazes with Killian, the detective flashed a wan smile.

"That's it. See? Nothing to fear now."

Killian remained unconvinced that it wasn't a dream. He scanned the desecrated church, feeling dazed and slightly drunk; his eyes would not follow a steady path and he couldn't make sense of everything he was seeing. He winced and tried to relieve some of the strain on his shoulder, to no avail.

"If you're looking for Emma, she's just stepped out for a bit," Jones told him. "In search of bandages and a blanket."

"Emma..." croaked Killian.

"She'll be back soon," soothed the detective, hiding a wince himself as he shifted his weight. "And not much longer until other help arrives as well."

Killian brought his focus back on the face identical to his own, blinking heavy eyelids and fighting massive disorientation. "How...?"

Jones gave a wry grin. "Your Swan confessed. I know everything now. You great bloody git. You know your in-laws are going to murder you as well?"

"Can't murder... a corpse... mate..."

"No, no... you're not getting out of it that easily." Jones checked that his hand was still covering the wound before continuing. "You're obligated to stay alive; otherwise, who will we exact our vengeance upon?"

Killian's eyes fluttered closed against his will. "The Crocodile... it was his gadget... made this possible."

Jones laughed once. "Okay, I'm not averse to that idea... but as I understand it, he’s only one third of the responsible party."

Killian could not keep up the conversation. He was in too much anguish and found his concentration slipping. Jones seemed to sense this and fell silent, but after a moment of quiet, he murmured,

"I understand, mate. I do. And I can't say I would have done anything differently, given the opportunity you had."

Killian made an attempt at a grateful smile. But a sudden stab of pain took his breath away, stifling any chance at a reply. Through the gasping breaths that followed, he thought he heard the scrape of the off-kilter door being dragged open, but it could have been his imagination, as well.

It wasn't. Killian heard footsteps, urgent and self-assured, scuffling along the well-worn paving stones of the sanctuary in a manner very distinct from the ominous clicking he had grown accustomed to fearing. From an impossibly great distance, the garbled voice of his beloved called out,

"How's he doing?"

"Still with us," reported Jones, similarly remote. "I was just telling him how much trouble the pair of you are in."

Killian shuddered at the arrival of another being; it was so deeply ingrained that even the fuzzy outline of Emma's calmly worried face could not overcome the instinct. Her gentle touch on his knee sent a shock of pain and fear sizzling down to his toes. He hissed, then stammered an apology. Emma ignored the reaction. She had in her grip a ragged brown blanket, which she unfurled and gently spread over his lower body.

"Almost," she promised in a whisper. Unrolling other scraps of fabric intended as temporary bandages, she added, "I'm pretty sure I heard sirens out there. This is almost over."

Even in his near-stupor, Killian somehow made sense of the words. He exhaled once, closed his eyes, and began to silently weep.

#ouat fanfiction #killian jones #emma swan #wish realm killian #whump #bleeding #exhaustion #impalement #stabbed #difficulty breathing #passing out #crying #first aid #hurt comfort #Vocivore ltd

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eddycurrents · 5 years

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Strange Places: The Island

Words & Art: Mike Mignola | Colours: Dave Stewart | Letters: Clem Robins

Originally published by Dark Horse in Hellboy: The Island #1 & 2 | June & July 2005

Epilogue - Originally published by Dark Horse in Hellboy - Volume 6: Strange Places | April 2006

Collected in Hellboy - Volume 6: Strange Places | Hellboy Library Edition - Volume 3 | Hellboy Omnibus Volume 2: Strange Places

Plot Summary:

Hellboy emerges from the depths of the ocean to a crag of wrecked ships and navigates an island of ghosts, ruminating on who he is, who he was, and who he’s meant to be.

Reading Notes:

(Note: Pagination does not represent anything within the issue or collections themselves, it is solely in reference to the chapter.)

pg. 1 - The bleakness in these panels from the white skies, white water, the faded colour to the gulls and the ships, this feels like purgatory. In his introduction to this story, Mike Mignola said that he was inspired by William Hope Hodgson’s Sargasso Sea stories, which explains the setting, but this feels so much further removed from the world. That Hellboy has landed himself in a no man’s land.

Also, I think a potential interpretation of “The Third Wish” and “The Island” is to see them as two parts of the death and resurrection of Hellboy. Maybe not literally, maybe so, since everything here seems to be an existential exercise. In the former, you could see Hellboy going to a “hell” in the underworld of the sea and the final panels are vague enough that he could have drowned. Then in “The Island”, his soul is traversing this kind of purgatory, facing his demons and angels, while searching for a way to exist again.

pg. 3 - Absolutely stunning work from Mignola and Dave Stewart. The fading, distant sunset just adding to the feeling that wherever Hellboy is, there’s soon to be no light or warmth.

pg. 4 - This is a nice summary of the last story. The appearance of others is certainly strange.

pg. 5-6 - The sea shanty, what’s actually looking more like flaming mugs than just sloshing ale, and weird orange colour definitely give it a feel that something’s wrong here.

pg. 7 - And there’s the rub. You do wonder, though, if Hellboy’s drinking with ghosts or if his loneliness and drink have him hallucinating happier surroundings.

Also, I just love the presentation here. The layout for the page and bottom tier’s grid is just interesting.

pg. 8 - Hecate’s looking a bit different from her last appearance, but it’s interesting to see her here to lay claim on Hellboy. The moon in the background is a nice little hint to her identity, if anyone was confused at the onset before she’s explicitly named.

Also, like the monkey with a gun panel, this is probably one of the funniest sequences in a Hellboy comic.

pg. 9-11 - Hecate’s reasoning for Hellboy to join her is kind of weird, reiterating a binary choice that Hellboy himself has rejected the notion of before.

That’s also probably one of the creepiest, most terrifying “I want you inside of me” propositions from a woman...or iron maiden. Somebody should probably do a study of the sexual innuendo in Hellboy and how awkward and strange much of it happens to be.

pg. 11 - Hellboy atop the cliff, tossing away the rum bottle, discovery of another skeleton, and then fade to black is probably one of the scenes in this story that most reminds me of The Seventh Seal.

pg. 12 - And then things possibly get stranger. Being unfixed in time and place give you a lack of orientation literally, so the appearance of a castle randomly on this island is even an odder prospect.

pg. 13 - When has Hellboy ever done the “sane” thing?

pg. 14-15 - Like the castle, the appearance of the priest, knights, and the man they’re judging as a heretic is hard to place, unexplained, making you wonder if it’s something currently happening, something that has happened previously and we’re just getting a flashback, or what.

pg. 18 - Sudden monster appearance is sudden.

pg. 19-21 - Impressive battle, though there’s an interesting level of futility that Mignola introduces through referencing Moby Dick. That Hellboy is losing himself in continuing this battle.

pg. 22 - Yeah...grievous impalement probably isn’t good.

pg. 24-25 - I definitely seems more now that the bit with the priest is in the past. With the heretic telling the priest that he’ll rise again some time in the future.

pg. 26-27 - The juxtaposition of the heretic’s words in the past over the events in the present with Hellboy are well done. The art as well is just phenomenal. The darkness, the spot colours of red, the designs for the sculptures and decorations, the resuscitation of the old heart, you kind of just have to stare at these pages a few times to take it all in.

pg. 28 - Aside from just looking cool, there are also possibly some hints as to some of the story elements in what otherwise may just seem like random images.

pg. 30 - Mohlomi’s reappearance is certainly interesting. Especially serving as a kind of psychopomp for Hellboy. It makes you wonder if his role even in “The Third Wish” was merely a passive guide, ferrying Hellboy from one place to another.

pg. 31 - I absolutely love that the heretic has taken Hellboy’s colour scheme, along with his blood. It helps reinforce the idea that this is an assumption of Hellboy’s life and destiny, that he’s basically stolen everything of Hellboy’s existence to spur his own resurrection. And in doing so, Hellboy’s colour has faded and left him grey.

There’s also a visual similarity to the wound pattern and silhouette of Rasputin. From a conceptual standpoint, it sets up Hellboy against not just someone who has taken on his essential life spark to serve as a kind of doppelganger, but also a representation of his opposite.

pg. 32 - The heretic basically explaining it to us, and Hellboy just not having any of it is typical. Absolutely gorgeous art still from Mignola and Stewart.

pg. 34 - The legend of those gold tablets (alternately copper in some tellings, I think, but mostly gold) is real. Again, it’s a testament to how Mignola tells a story, weaving in bits of pre-existing folklore, urban legends, mythology, occult, and magick with his own inventions to tell a bigger story.

pg. 37 - I find it very interesting that as soon as Mignola goes into the creation story for Hellboy, the constrained layouts and grids ends. Suddenly we get a full bleed page, something we’ve not seen often in the series. Visually, it signifies that something bigger is being told here, even if you don’t necessarily comprehend that on a first reading.

pg. 39-40 - And that full-page storytelling continues through with the creation of the Ogdru Jahad and their offspring.

pg. 41 - And just weird happenings regarding the creator race of Watchers and the one who basically constructed their “devil” in Ogdru Jahad, and how his bits and pieces ultimately come down to Hellboy’s conception.

pg. 42 - This conception of the creation of gods and monsters, of mice and men, is interesting. Even if predicated on a faulty understanding from Blavatsky.

pg. 44 - Just stunning use of colour from Stewart.

pg. 46 - And it gets woven back into the narrative that started in Seed of Destruction and is currently running through this narrative movement in BPRD.

pg. 47 - It’s interesting that it always cycles back to the crazy. Delusions of grandeur and an attempt to run the world, to have it accept him as a saviour, anyone who disagrees be damned. It’s an interesting counterpoint to Hellboy, who doesn’t want to be a hero but tends to do the right thing just because it’s “right”.

pg. 50 - I love it when Hellboy provides his own sound effects.

pg. 51 - It always sucks when hurting the villain hurts you yourself. This mirror nature between the heretic and Hellboy is fascinating. It’s also interesting to see what effect Mohlomi’s trinkets are having.

pg. 52 - The heretic’s assumption of Hellboy’s “true” form, even as this nascent Anung Um Rama demon--though looking a wee bit more like Astaroth--is interesting. It’s a sign of a path not taken.

pg. 53 - Creepy worm is back.

pg. 54 - The heretic suffering as the worm creature thing dies is an interesting touch. Gorgeous artwork.

pg. 56 - After all that...

pg. 57 - Ominous hint of things to come.

pg. 60 - Love the use of the fairies and night creatures and whatnot again as a kind of Greek chorus for the epilogue.

Also a hint for what comes next in the main narrative, “Even now he is bound for England.” which I think picks up in Darkness Calls.

pg. 61 - I find it interesting that Hecate has apparently fallen silent, likely living by Hellboy’s wish for her to leave him alone (at least for the time being).

pg. 62-63 - Nice reiteration and reinterpretation of who Hellboy is.

pg. 63 - It’s also interesting as to just how much of Hellboy’s eventual fate is shaped just because this little hobgoblin, Gruagach, couldn’t handle his smackdown from being a jerk back in “The Corpse”.

pg. 65 - Just let it go, pig dude.

Final Thoughts:

So...if “The Third Wish” was a fairy tale, Mike Mignola’s tragic take on Hans Christian Andersen’s The Little Mermaid, this is something else entirely as a follow-up, somewhere between The Seventh Seal and Black Narcissus. It’s bleak, distant, esoteric, and absolutely lush when it comes to its use of colour to set mood and atmosphere.

While it is a resumption of the origin cycle for Hellboy that has played out before in the narrative a few times now since Seed of Destruction, it’s also a bit of transference and confrontation of Hellboy’s destiny that plays out here. Where previous iterations may have been an emotional response and rejection, here we get a more measured physical and intellectual rejection.

This also feels kind of like a dry run for the storytelling approach that we’re going to eventually be seeing in parts of Hellboy in Hell. This story definitely takes us to some strange places.

d. emerson eddy is just a broken machine, with all the layers of dust some things have started to fail. Some things. Some.

#Give 'em Hellboy #Hellboy #Strange Places #Mike Mignola #RaisingHellboy #47

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dieverdediger · 7 years

Text

Why Would God Ask Abraham to Sacrifice His Son?

In his book, Is God a Moral Monster, Paul Copan deals with a range of difficult Old Testament passages. One of these concern God asking Abraham to sacrifice his only son, Isaac.

For brevity’s sake I quote multiple passages for which I only add a bit of context. If possible, read the relevant passage for yourself as I had difficulty to decide which parts are the most important to quote here. It concerns chapter 5, Child Abuse and Bullying? As I am only using Paul Copan’s book for this post (and quoting it extensively), all due credit goes to him. This is a long post in which I’ve tried to summarise the chapter. You can find a summary of his book in this seminar he did.

To avoid double quotations, the italic parts are passages quoted from his book. Where he uses italics, I bold the section. “...” indicate gaps in my quotations.

First off, it is always wise to understand the broader context concerning Abraham. There is a connection between the first time God calls Abraham “to go” and this time where he tells him “to go” to the mountain.

The first time God told Abraham to “go” [literally, “going go” [lek-leka]) was when he left his home in Ur of the Chaldeans (Babylonians to go “to the land [’el-’erets] which I will show you” (Gen. 12:1) ... “But in Genesis 22:2, God commanded Abraham once again to “go”, using the same construction (literally, going go [lek-leka]) followed by the familiar-sounding to “one of the mountains of which I will tell you.” Indeed, he is to go to the land (’el-ha’arets: “region”) of Moriah. This time Isaac, the covenant of the promise, is involved. Abraham couldn’t have missed the connection being made ... God is clearly reminding him of his promise of blessing in Genesis 12 even while he’s being commanded to do what seems to be utterly opposed to that promise.

Copan continues by looking at Abraham’s situation with Hagar and Ishmael. Because they mocked Isaac and Sarah, Sarah asked for them to be sent away. Abraham cared for Hagar and Ishmael and as such was not eager to sent them away, possibly to their deaths.

But God allayed Abraham’’s fears, reassuring him that Ishmael wouldn’t die (21:12-13). In fact, Yahweh had already told him, “I will make him a great nation” (17:20) ... So Abraham could confidently send Ishmael away and entrust them to God’s care ... So Abraham “rose early in the morning” (21:14) - just as he would do with Isaac (22:3) - and sent them both away. ... Ishmael had been a preliminary test; Isaac would bring an even greater test.

After dealing with the context, one has to look at the smaller details within the text concerning the offering of Isaac (Genesis 22). There are four things about God’s character that emerges in this chapter.

First, we’re immediately tipped off to the fact that God is testing Abraham (v. 1). God doesn’t intend for Isaac to be sacrificed. No, Abraham isn’t yet aware of what the reader knows - namely, that this is only a test.

Second, even the hard command to Abraham is cushioned by God’s tenderness. God’s directive is unusual: “Please take your son” - or as another scholar translates it, “Take, I beg of you, your only son.” God is remarkably gentle as he gives a difficult order. This type of divine command (as a plea) is rare. Old Testament commentator Gorden Wenham sees here a “hint that the LORD appreciates the costliness of what he is asking.” In fact, one commentator states that God is not demanding here; thus, if Abraham couldn’t see God’s broader purpose and couldn’t bring himself to do this, he wouldn’t “incur any guilt” in declining God’s pleas.”

A third indication of God’s good character highlights his faithfulness. God reminded Abraham of “your son, your only son, whom you love, Isaac” (v. 2) ... While this is the most fearful and dreadful thing Abraham would ever have to do, he is trying to come to terms with just how God would fulfill his promise through Isaac.

A fourth reminder of God’s faithful character is that God is sending Abraham to a mountain in the region of Moriah - derived from the Hebrew word ra’ah, “provide, see, show.” As we noted earler, the place “which I will tell you” is linked to God’s initial call to Abram to “go” to “the land which I will show you” (12:1, emphasis added) ... Hagar said (using the same Hebrew word ra-ah), “You are a God who sees” (16:13). So in the very word Morah (”provision”) we have a hint of salvation and deliverance.

Regarding Abraham’s trust in God fulfilling his promise of making him a great nation, Copan says:

Not only is it “impossible for God to lie” (Heb. 6:18; cf. Titus 1:2), but after promising to make Abraham into a great nation and to bring his descendants into the Promised Land, God himself “passed between the pieces” of animals in a dramatic display of pyrotechnics (Gen 15:17 NIV). According to some scholars, this puzzling gesture of “cutting” a covenant indicates a self-curse: May I be like this cut-up animal if I don’t fulfill my promise (see Jer. 34:18). Whatever a divine self-curse might mean, it shows how supremely dedicated God was to keeping his covenant (e.g., Jer. 33:19-26).

Copan pauses here to reflect on whether or not taking an innocent life could ever be morally permitted, as Abraham planned to due. In the case of an ectopic pregnancy, ending the life of the baby might be justified in self defense: if this is not done, both the baby and the mother will die. The same with 9/11 where the president ordered the shooting down of hijacked planes which would have done much more harm had he not done so. In these cases taking innocent lives might be justified.

He further reflects on what the case would be if the world of humans turned out to be different from the way it is.

The philosopher John Hare provides this thought experiment. What if God rearranged the world so that it had different features and thus different ways to apply moral principles? Say that God willed that at the age of eighteen, humans should kill each other but that God would immediately bring them back to life and in robust health. In that case, killing people at this age wouldn’t be a big deal - or that big a deal. Yes, in this world, dead people stay dead (we’re setting aside supernatural intervention, of course!). That is one of the reasons that killing people in the actual world is wrong.

Let’s shift to the unique historical setting of Genesis 22. We’ve seen that the narrative context of Genesis reveals repeated divine assurances and confirmations that Isaac was the child of promise and instrument of blessings to the nations. Abraham knew that Isaac would live to adulthood and have offspring in fulfillment of God’s promise; so, if necessary, God would bring Isaac back from the dead: “we will return,” Abraham promised his servants. So if Abraham knew God would fulfull his covenant promise, then Abraham’s taking innocent human life in this case - according to God’s command - was morally permissible.

Keep in mind that our ethical understanding is partly shaped by certain facts about the world. If we lived in a world in which hitting people in the head helped improve their health rather than causing harm and pain, then such actions would be encouraged. Yes, in the actual world, hitting people in the head usually causes harm. However, this illustration shows that the command “Don’t hit people in the head” depends on certain givens in the world. If certain facts about the world were different, then the command wouldn’t be binding on us.

So what if the facts about the world include a good God who specifically reveals himself and may issue extraordinary commands in specific, unique contexts and with morally sufficient reasons? ... The critic’s task, then, is to show why Abraham, given what he knew, shouldn’t obey God’s command. After all, Abraham knew the outcome: taking Isaac’s life would only mean that god would resuscitate him so that God’s covenant promise would be fulfilled. Yes, without God’s command, which assumes covenant promises, Abraham would have been murdering his son, but that’s not what we have here.

Copan ends this by talking a bit on the New Testament perspective on this event and its parallels with the crucifixion. This part is particularly interesting:

Abraham’s unquestioning yet difficult obedience to the covenant God not only helped shape and confirm Israel’s identity in Abraham but also provided a context for understanding God’s immense self-giving love in the gift of his Son. When Abraham’s dedication to God’s command was confirmed, God said, “Now I know that you fear God, since you have not withheld your son, your only son, from Me” (Gen. 22:12). Harking back to Abraham’s sacrifice of Isaac, Paul uses this story to remind believers of God’s supreme dedication to them: “He who did not spare His own Son, but delivered Him over for us all, how will He not also with Him freely give us all things?” (Rom. 8:32). Abraham’s sacrifice of Isaac anticipated God’s self-sacrifice in Christ. Abraham demonstrated his faithfulness to God, and god’s sacrifice demonstrated his faithfulness to us. The kind of demand God made of Abraham was the Triune God was willing to carry out himself. So deep is God’s love for us (Rom. 8:31-32) that the late Scottish theologian Thomas Torrance was willing to go so far as to say that “God loves us more than he loves himself.”

#apologetics #evil #Old Testament #sacrifice #Christianity #Bible #abuse #ethics #Israel #Judaism

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