Hellboy's expression is naturally inscrutable, the deadpan set of his features often making it difficult to tell exactly what he's feeling, if he's being serious or joking. His eyes are flat and yellow, and he looks up to study Olivia's face. He can tell she's worried, his words making it even worse.

But he can't help that. It's the truth.

"I don't know. He was attacking a girl," he says, gesturing vaguely in the direction he came from, the blood trail he left. "It was like he was possessed."

Pausing, Hellboy lowers his hand back to the ground. He can feel the moisture under his palm, his blood soaking the snow and the dirt.

"He would have killed her."