Hellboy: The God Machine by Thomas E. Sniegoski Page A

sense of purpose as he began to understand the ways in which he would bring the world that much closer to Heaven.
    "For these wonders to occur, I must be more than just a voice speaking from the beyond," Qemu'el continued from within its withered conduit. "My divinity must be made corporeal--I must be born into the world that I will deliver unto greatness."
    Absolom nodded furiously. "We will do this, oh god. With the knowledge you have given me, I and these others shall bring you from the beyond so that you may heal this ailing world."
    "Yes," the god hissed. The old man's skin had withered away, leaving behind the blanched remains of a skeleton in a threadbare suit--but that too was starting to disintegrate. "Only one power will be able to tear asunder the ebony veil that separates me from the world that craves my touch--the power of belief."
    Absolom felt warm tears fill his eyes. " I believe," he told the deity, his lips trembling with an adoration he'd never felt before. It was almost more than he could bear.
    "That is not enough," the god replied, Peter Donaldson's skull slowly shaking from side to side upon the segmented spinal column. "No matter how true your faith, one man's belief is not enough. It will take the passionate faith of dozens. Hundreds. Thousands. The beliefs of others must be collected, harnessed as the source of strength that will enable me to walk in your world."
    The spiritualist searched his newly invigorated mind for the means with which to collect this power, but found nothing that would allow him to do as his god was asking.
    "How will we achieve this?" he asked the skeletal remains, whose dry, bony hands were still clasped in his. "What will we use to gather and to contain this power?"
    "I shall give to you and to the others with whom I have communicated a precious gift," the god explained, "a vessel in which to store the energies needed to transform the world."
    Donaldson's cadaver pitched forward. Absolom recoiled, pulling back his hands as the skull struck the middle of the circular table and exploded into dust. The bone cloud filled his lungs and he gagged, coughing wildly as he leaped up from his seat, stumbling away from the choking cloud.
    A precious gift, the final words of a god echoed in his ears. A vessel in which to store the energies needed to transform the world.
    As the bone dust settled, Absolom cautiously approached the table. In its center, among the powdery remains, was a single object, a strange cylinder.
    The clock upon the wall chimed the hour as the medium reached down into the chalky mess and removed the cylinder. It was no more than six inches long, perhaps an inch and a half wide, and appeared to be composed of some kind of opaque glass. He studied the object, wiping away the white dust that covered it. He could feel it feeding, drawing upon his strength--his belief in this most holy of missions. The vessel came to life, pulsing with a faint, eerie inner glow.
    But more energy would be needed, so much more.
    There came a gentle knock upon the study door, and Sally stepped into the room. "Absolom," she said cheerfully, a smile upon her attractive features. "Mr. Donaldson's time is over, and we must prepare for..."
    She stopped in midsentence, staring first at her husband and the glowing object he held in his hand, then at the mess of chalky white powder that covered the tabletop, the chair, and the rug beneath them.
    "What on earth has happened?" she asked.
    He wasn't sure how much he should tell her, and decided that he would wait to explain how dramatically their lives were about to change.
    "Nothing to trouble yourself with, dearest," he told her, slipping the glowing cylinder into the pocket of his vest, close to his heart. "Something wonderful has occurred and that's all you really need to know right now."
    "But where's Mr. Donaldson?" She looked around. "I was sitting outside the door and would have seen him leave if--"
    "Mr. Donaldson has served his purpose." He