Surviving Silent Hill-- Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I own nothing of Silent Hill 1, 2 or 3. Konami does. I only wish I did.

James shot again at P.H., his bullets making a metallic sound as they miss his body, ricocheting against the metal pyramid. He watched Vincent crawl away from the Great Knife from the corner of his eyes, trying to keep P.H.'s attention... He edge forward, trying to make sure P.H. didn't get to his weapon. He was too close to him, he knew, but he risked it for both their lives.
He had been killing Vincent himself for a while now, but the appearance of P.H. had never happened before. Another glitch. He cursed whatever higher beings were controlling them for making this mess. He shifted his weight again, ducking under P.H.'s arm, trying to stay out of his way. He had just reloaded the pistol, ducking under the arm again, when P.H. flung his arm back, catching James in the chest.
Pain exploded from him, and he was sure he could feel the crunch of bones and puncturing of his lungs and forcing the air out of him. James fell away, rolling into a ball as he tried to protect his organs, P.H.'s unencumbered agility coming towards him and striking out again, flinging James across the room and into the wall. He sucked in air, bracing himself as he connected with it, throwing his muscles into small spasms and straining his bones. He gritted his teeth, and used the wall as support, dragging himself onto his feet.
His eyes focused, clearing as the blood drained away. P.H. stood over his knife, Vincent a few feet away, unmoved, white as a sheet and probably afraid for his life. James remembered the original reason he had decided to help, to protect the man that had killed Maria. He opened his pants, taking out the shotgun and cocking it. He tried to aim it towards P.H., his arm, which he had long ago lost feeling in, shook, causing the blast to end up feet away from it intended target. Vincent's head snapped to him, the fear in his eyes shining through.
James stood, glued to the wall, pain threatening to engulf him with sweet promises of sleep... darkness. He fought it off, concentrating as Vincent dodged P.H., tripping over chairs. P.H. merely moved towards the door, swinging the massive blade to and fro in a lazy attempt to hit the man.
Vincent made his way towards James, a piece of cloth in his hand. He slipped his hands under his arms, dragging James towards a cleared area. James peered around as Vincent began doing something involving the emptied floor and the rag. He watched Vincent for a moment, dodging P.H. while still messing around with the floor. He raised himself on his elbow, trying to get a better look at what was happening. He lay in the interception point of three circles, followed by symbols and more circles. Just looking at it caused his head to hurt, something reminiscent to the red square of doom. He watched as Vincent finished, the smell of blood filling his nostrils, churning his stomach.
Vincent dashed one last time away from P.H., getting nicked in the process and still jumping nimbly to the center. P.H. dragged himself, readying the weapon, to the circle. Then stopped. James watched as he stood serenely outside the circle, still and silent, pyramid pointing straight towards him. For a moment nothing more happened, both men watching the demon, it watching then. Than, almost as if deciding the fight was too much, James watched P.H. turn and drag himself away.
The remnants of the door cracked as P.H. hauled the sword through them, causing large splinters to shoot away from him, twirling quietly in place. James closed his eyes, giving in to the throbbing pain that had started to take his mind. There was shuffling, probably Vincent readying his next weapon, then a sharp pain pierced his arm, a small drop in the torrent of agony that had washed over him. He was losing whatever control he had, different muscles spasming in odd intervals, and he could just barely hear Vincent, saying something to him as if from the end of a well.
There was pressure, at first acute and sharp, then dulling as time went on. A cold numbness crept over him and he realized he was regaining control of himself. He opened his eyes, lulling his head against the cold floor. In front of him were two emptied ampoules laid next to his head, along with an opened first aid kit. He rolled his head forward, watching as Vincent concentrated on wrapping his various wounds. Vincent looked back up, lifting an eyebrow.
"Are they helping? I found the ampoules in your jacket pocket. I didn't think you'd mind if I used them..." Vincent shrugged, making a spilt for his leg using a large piece of wood from the door and some gauze. James shook his head. All over his body was similar life saving techniques, bandages, gauze, splints, and tourniquets, all of them made by the same man that had made this this whatever it was he was laying in.
He stretched him arm, taking in a large breath. Already he felt worlds better, the bones he had previously thought broken fixed by the magic that was the game. He shook his head, reaching over into his jacket and grabbing some health drinks, drinking them quickly as he fought Vincent to get up.
"I'm fine now, dammit. It's just some bruises." He cleared his throat, looking away while he finished the last drink he would need. Now it wasn't even bruises.
Vincent growled, taking his arm. "Bruises?!" He yanked backed his sleeve glaring at him. "Your bone was sticki—" He looked down, eyebrows coming together in an almost funny look of astonishment. He unwrapped the bloodied wrappings, letting the wood fall away. "I... I swear your bone was broken here..." He moved his fingers over the arm. "I even saw the bone puncture the skin. It was as big as a cantaloupe!"
James shook his head, batting off Vincent. "I told you about the game. But would you listen?!" He rolled his eyes. "No, cause we just had to oogle my wife, 'huh?" He looked around, the bar in ruins, Maria's body covered in shattered glass and chips of wood. "Now, c'mon. We have to figure out what's wrong... None of this should have happened... ECSPECIALLY you."