Right now it was marred by the fire-breathing bastard sitting on its left arm. And below it, still steaming, dragon crap stained the hem of Christ's robes.
"Now that's just disrespectful," Hellboy said. "Hey! You!"
The dragon twisted on its perch and looked down at Hellboy. It was sleek and strong, its hide gray-green with shades of red on its throat, chest, and back. It moved without making a noise, and that unsettled him. Something so big and bulky should be clumsy, not graceful. Maybe he could learn a thing or two from this creature.
"We need to talk," he said. And for a second he thought that might suffice. The dragon put its head to one side, as if ready to listen. It dropped quietly from its perch, wings out for balance, and stepped daintily toward Hellboy, as if ready to parley.
And then it opened its jaws and sent a fireball his way.
Even as Hellboy rolled to the side, he was aware of the press helicopters homing in on this new confrontation. He hated the press. If they saw him trampled and gutted and having his insides burned out, they'd film, not help. He swore that today they'd get no scoop of that sort.
He stood and pulled the pistol, letting off a shot that punched a hole in the dragon's wing. It didn't seem to bother the worm in the slightest, and Hellboy saw why: its wings were giant sails, thick leathery skin strung between sinewy supports, and they were already full of holes. He'd wasted a precious round just to add another.
The dragon roared and came at him. Its claws, previously so light and elegant, scored channels in the concrete as it ran. Its tail waved behind it, ripping the steel hand railing from the edge of the esplanade. Its head swayed from side to side as it ran, and the closer it came, the larger its teeth appeared.
Instead of turning to flee, Hellboy ran forward to meet it.
The dragon pulled up short, perhaps surprised by Hellboy's tactic, and gushed another wall of fire in his direction. But Hellboy was ready for that and did a long forward roll through the flames and out the other side. When he stood, smoldering slightly, he was only feet away from the dragon's head.
"That's not nice," he said, and punched the creature square on the nose with his heavy right hand.
The dragon roared, then whimpered. It reared up to its full height — big, very big, easily ten times as tall as Hellboy — and snorted. A couple of weak flames came from its nostrils, and then only smoke. It snorted again. Blood flecked the concrete around Hellboy, and he wiped a glob of it from his eye.
"Again?" Hellboy said.
The dragon seemed to agree. It launched itself forward and fell on all fours, trapping Hellboy beneath its stomach and crushing him down into the concrete. Hellboy gasped, tried to twist away, lost hold of the pistol. And then the dragon began to move across the esplanade, dragging Hellboy beneath it.
"Crap. Crap!" His jacket was ripped, his skin scored by the concrete, and the creature above him rumbled with something that could have been laughter. "You laughing at me, barbecue breath?"
The dragon stood, and Hellboy immediately punched upward into its gut. It roared in pain and stumbled away, its swinging tail catching Hellboy across the chest as it retreated. Hellboy went sprawling, and as he came to a stop, he leaned over and picked up the pistol. "That's convenient," he said, firing at the dragons head. The bullet ricocheted from the heavy scales above its eye and winged off somewhere over Rio.
That really pissed off the giant worm.
This is turning bad, Hellboy thought. Before he could stand, the dragon snatched him up in one of its claws and launched itself over the edge of the parapet.
The ground dropped away beneath Hellboy. Still clasping the pistol in his left hand, he was now loath to use it. Kill the dragon, fall a few hundred feet with ten tons of dead meat right above him ... that did not appeal. And besides, there were houses down there, cars, parks, and people.