Disclaimer: See Chapter 1
A/N:
Chapter 4: Those Places That God Abandoned
The three of them were standing in the kitchen together, the vessel box resting on the counter in front of them. Sam, standing in the middle, was debating whether or not to open it. On the one hand, he understood that he had no choice in the matter; this was the one thing that the Devil absolutely demanded from him. Now, he was getting paid for this and that somehow magnified the responsibility he felt towards getting it done. Of course, on the other hand, he was purely and completely terrified of going out again and hunting down the damned. His palms felt clammy and his hands were shaking, each breath was quick and shallow and his heart was racing.
"Come on already, open it," demanded Sock.
"Yeah Sam, are you okay?" asked Ben.
"Uh, yeah. It's just that it's been so long since I had to capture a soul, it just feels a little strange."
The box was a little on the large side and was fairly hefty. Sam swallowed his fear and lifted the lid of the box. That strange mist that always made him think of dry ice flowed out, disappearing into the air. When it cleared, a gasp was forced from his lungs at the sight of the object contained within. It appeared to be a crossbow, a large one at that. He reached in and lifted it out of the box, seeing it in more detail. The crossbow was made of wood and steel, somewhat modern-looking with some subtle signs of prior use along its surface. It had a chain of bolts coming from it and disappearing neatly into a drum hanging below. Overall, it looked somewhat mechanical in nature, obviously being some sort of automatic crossbow.
"That is so damn cool," whispered Sock, reverently.
"I feel like I should kneel," added Ben.
Sam remained silent on the matter, opting to study the incredible vessel instead. He held it in a somewhat proper firing stance, getting a real feel for its weight. It would do nicely for soul-catching, but he couldn't help but wonder why he required so much ammunition. What could it mean? The possibilities truly frightened him.
"I totally understand what you mean, Benji," said Sock, his eyes glued to the weapon "Best vessel ever, hands down."
"What do you think, Sam?" asked Ben.
"I think I'm glad you just restocked the bar." Sam set the crossbow back into the box and noticed two spare drums of bolts still sitting at the bottom. Closing the lid, he grabbed it and walked into his room and set it in the closet. He placed it right next to his backpack, the one he had used in Silent Hill. His two friends followed him around as he did this, neither opting to say anything. When he had done that, Sam turned around to face them and said, "until I get the information on the soul, the vessel stays in here. Sock, I'm talkin' to you specifically. Do not play with it or touch it in any way, got that?"
"Well, Sammy, let's be reasonable here."
"No Sock, I'm not negotiating with you on this one. You touch it and you don't get paid."
"Aw Sammy, you're no fun."
"I'm plenty fun, just not with crossbows."
Charlie chose that moment to cry out for attention. Sam rushed over and said, "Hey buddy, what's wrong?" The baby only cried in response, his face scrunched up in agitation. "You just being cranky?" He reached into the playpen and picked him up, setting the baby boy up against his shoulder. "Hey guys, give us a minute?" asked Sam, looking at Sock and Ben.
"Yeah sure, we'll be in the living room," said Ben on both his and Sock's behalf. They left and Sam was alone with Charlie.
"I think you need to go to bed. Let's get you in your jammies, huh?" Sam went about changing Charlie into his pajamas and did his best to calm him down. Once he was done, Sam set him into his crib and planted a kiss on his forehead. "Pleasant dreams, little dude," he whispered.
He left the room, gently shutting the door behind him. Heading back into the living room, Sam moved straight over to their makeshift bar and poured himself a shot of whiskey, downing it immediately. After pouring himself another shot, he turned to Sock and Ben. He said, "it has two spare drums of bolts in the box and I have no clue how many bolts in each drum there are. I don't like the feel of this one so far."
"There's spare ammo in the box!? That is so cool!" exclaimed Sock.
"You're worried about this," observed Ben.
"Well, yeah, I am," replied Sam. "I mean, how bad is it gonna be, if we need this much ammunition?"
"You think it's more than one soul, Sammy?" asked Sock, proving that he could actually focus on serious matters.
"Maybe," he said, grimacing. "We're gonna have to wait until the Devil contacts me to get this information." With that, Sam took the second shot he had poured for himself, saying, "For now, we wait."
It wasn't until sometime after lunch that the Devil eventually whisked Sam away from work to talk about the soul. He had been returning from the parking lot after helping a customer with their purchases. Entering through the automatic sliding doors, Sam found himself appearing in a dark open room on the other side. Some light was seeping in through two series of stained-glass windows from both sides of the room. He was in some sort of church, it would seem. On the far end, directly across from him was an altar and a small podium. Standing behind the podium, was the faint figure of the Devil.
Suddenly, he could hear the distant sound of organ music playing in the background. The song playing was intense and dark-sounding. Raising his arms, the Devil cried out, "Do you wish to be baptized in the eyes of your Lord, my child?"
"I'd rather die," responded Sam, walking up to the front. He passed by rows of empty pews, noticing distantly how old and disused they looked. In fact, everything he could see in this darkened assembly hall was covered in dust and rotting away. This church hadn't seen use in many years.
Laughing, Satan said, "Have a seat, Sam. We have a lot to discuss and it's going to take a little while."
Not feeling all that disobedient at the moment, Sam took a seat in the front row near the center aisle.
Did you get the vessel yet," asked the Devil.
"The crossbow? Yes."
"Man, is that thing badass, or what?" asked the Devil, unable to suppress a huge grin.
"I had some concerns about the vessel and what it implies."
"I see where you're going with this one, Sammy, and the answer is: yes. There is more than one soul for you to catch, this time. There are, in fact, sixteen souls to catch."
"Sixteen!?" Sam exclaimed, horrified at the thought of it.
"Yes, Sam. Ever since your little vacation to the East Coast, I've been thinking. It has become pretty clear to me that you can handle tougher cases. With that in mind, I've decided to give you an assignment more suited to your skill level. Besides, you're gonna make a killing here. As I recall, I just agreed to pay you five thousand a soul. Come on, man, that's eighty grand in one blow." He stepped down from the podium, taking a thick file folder with him.
The Devil walked over to where Sam was and sat down next to him. "Over thirty-three years ago, a man named Edgar Ross commanded to a group of people who followed him to hang themselves. He had formed a cult a couple years before that, mostly recruiting college students from the University of Washington. By the end, when he gave that fateful command, he had precisely fifteen followers.
"The beliefs he taught to his sect stated that God was a planetary body floating in orbit around a neutron star, some thirty-or-so light years away. According to the belief structure he created, he was a conduit for God to form a portal to Earth. The idea was that when they all killed themselves in the exact same way at exactly the same time with him, they could all join him in a trip through this portal that would take them to God, like some sort of rapture.
"Anyway, they all hanged themselves from the rafters of this very church on August 13th, 1975 at precisely midnight. They weren't found for another three weeks, due to the remote location of this church. They all, of course, went straight to Hell."
And all sixteen of them broke out together and are back," concluded Sam.
"Exactly, but that's not all. You see, Sam, he didn't stop his recruitment campaign, not even after being sent to Hell. He first tried to convert his fellow damned souls, but the damned are usually so preoccupied with their own suffering that they don't make for a very good recruitment base. After his failure there, he turned to the demons torturing him and his people. The audacious son of a bitch actually tried to recruit demons, can you believe that? Of course, that didn't work either.
"That was when he turned to something else. Not many people know this, but there exists in Hell a creature that is neither demon nor man. It is a race of imp-like creatures that most down there have taken to calling brimstone rats."
"Brimstone rats?" asked Sam, sounding confused.
"Yes. Now, these things are a terrible nuisance and are pretty much like any other vermin you might encounter. They're small, fast, and vicious, not to mention that they like to travel enmasse. While dangerous, they're not very strong and can be killed with regular weapons."
"So, did he recruit these 'rats'?" Sam asked, sounding very disturbed at the prospect.
"A couple thousand of them," admitted the Devil.
"Jesus," whispered Sam, before yelling, "and you want me to go after them!?"
"Yes I do," replied Satan, sounding as calm as ever.
"We can't do that alone, it's too dangerous!" screamed Sam.
"Come on, Sammy, you'll do fine. You were a serious hardcore badass in Silent Hill. You've handled much worse than this."
"I was terrified every step of the way. I thought I was gonna go mad and you make it sound like I was having the time of my life. I haven't had a good night's sleep since returning from that hell hole and I jump at the slightest noise and you foist this on me!? Fuck you!" Sam stood up and said, this time sounding more resigned, "just give me the file and send me back so I can get started."
"So you admit that that place messed you up?" asked Satan, peering oddly at him.
"What?" Sam turned around, fury blazing in his eyes. "What did you say?"
"I asked you to confirm my suspicions, more specifically about your nightmares and your insomnia, not to mention that uncontrollable flinching and shaking after every time something startles you."
"What business is it of yours?" asked Sam, incredulous.
"I need to know that you can do your job, Sam, that you're mentally up to the task," said the Devil without a trace of emotion in his voice.
"Then why did you give me this assignment, if you were so concerned for my well-being? asked Sam, spitting out the word concerned with as much venom in it as he could. "I mean, it doesn't make any sense. You were just going on about how you thought I would do great at this and then you question my ability to do it."
"Don't get me wrong, Sammy, I do believe in your ability to carry out your duties. But, I also believe that you're on the verge of a mental breakdown. I'm just saying that you should consider some sort of outlet for your problems, talk about it with someone."
Sam scoffed and said, "like you? No offense, but you're the last person I would want to talk to about anything and on top of that I don't really like the idea of being psychoanalyzed by you at all."
"Very well then," responded Satan, "if you don't wish to discuss it with me, we'll continue with the business as usual then. Edgar has been extremely busy since he got out and has made preparations to make his new church. For some reason that I haven't been able to figure out, he seems to need human sacrifices for his new cult. They have already started pulling people off the streets for this purpose. He's been using an old dilapidated mission in Queen Anne as a base of operations, but he's rather sentimental for a dead cultist and will probably move on to a more appropriate location. Everything detailing all that is already enclosed; here's the file."
Flipping through it, Sam asked, "just Edgar's file? What about his followers?"
"His is the only one you will need, if you end up needing even that. The thing you need to understand is that when they chose to follow him, they gave up their very independence. That only got worse after a few decades in Hell. Now, they're nothing but mindless drones that only serve one purpose: to do as he tells them. You won't find anything in their files that would be of any assistance in their capture. You have the file on Edgar and the vessel, now get it done."
Immediately after the Devil finished speaking, Sam was returned to the Work Bench. He found himself in the employee break room, sitting at one of the tables. The last faint strains of that awful music, which had been playing softly in the background the entire time, could still be heard for a moment before fading away into silence. Getting up, he left the room and sought out Sock and Ben, who were slacking off in the stock room. "I just got back from talking with the Devil," he said. "It's much worse than we thought."
Sam filled the two of them in on the details of their new assignment. After a lengthy conversation that bounced back and forth between the extreme danger involved and the massive amount of money they were about to make, they eventually decided to gather together some weaponry and supplies.
Sock had insisted on making his own weapons for the upcoming mission, breaking off from them to see to this task. Ben, who was looking a little green at the prospect of what they were about to do, claimed he was going to dig up some more conventional weapons and left to do that. Sam was left alone to plan things out and track down the location of the old mission in Queen Anne. Fortunately, the Devil was kind enough to give him all the information he needed in that thick manila file folder he had provided.
Andi had agreed to take Charlie while they went out to hunt down the soul. He planned to keep her ignorant of some of the facts regarding this assignment, namely that there were sixteen souls to capture and the issue of the rats, as well. Sam was getting a very cold feeling in his gut at all this. The Devil, being his usual evil self, had given him this awful task as his first mission since taking a break from work. Many questions and doubts plagued his mind. What if he froze up in the middle of the fight? What if he ran out of ammo for his crossbow? Could he ever sleep again after enduring the terrible experience? And there was no doubt in his mind that it was going to be a horrific ordeal. Images of Silent Hill and some of the things that had happened to him there, flashed through his mind uncontrollably. He had kept up a brave front for Sock and Ben, but the truth was that he was scared as all hell. All he wanted to do was curl himself up into a ball and just cry and shut the whole world out.
Pushing all that useless pity-party bullshit aside, Sam focused his attention on reading through the file. He busied himself with jotting down a brief summary of the information that he thought might be useful. When he was finished with that, he folded up the summary and slipped it into his pocket. Sam decided, when he had secured the file in his locker, to get back to his normal day job duties; this was mostly to burn off excess nervous energy. Truthfully, he had all but checked out of this job since his talk with the Devil about getting paid. It hurt to accept the offer, but he really needed the money and the extra time that this opportunity afforded him.
It was another couple hours before his shift was over and Sam clocked out, intent on meeting up with Sock and Ben at the apartment. He hoped that they had come up with some decent ideas for weapons since they split up. Ben, while not very good at this sort of thing, would do his very best at getting good supplies. His main concern was Sock, who was incredibly insistent on creating the weaponry. Sam had no clue as to what he was up to, but he did see him pushing a shopping cart around the Bench and tossing all sorts of items into it. That was quite awhile ago and he had long since left, so there was no telling what Sock was doing now. Sam decided to let go of his apprehension over that and just trust that Sock hadn't blown anything up or anything like that.
Before heading home, he stopped by a pizza place and ordered a pizza and some breadsticks for dinner for the three of them. It wouldn't do to go out to that old mission on an empty stomach, even though he didn't really feel all that hungry himself. In truth, he didn't have much of an appetite these days, not since Silent Hill. But that didn't mean he didn't understand the need to stay strong, especially given his job. A thought that occurred to him then was that it might be a good idea to keep a limited stockpile of weapons and supplies on hand, in case he needed them again in the future. He would have to table that idea until after this whole soul-catching business though; there was no sense in getting ahead of himself when he was this busy.
When he was back in his car with his food, Sam pulled out his cell phone and called up Tony. He saw no reason against asking Tony for some more information on these so-called brimstone rats.
"Hello?" said Tony's voice on the other end.
"Hey Tony, its Sam."
"Oh, hey Sam, how's it going?"
"Well, I'm officially back on the clock now and I need a little wisdom," said Sam.
"Oh? What's up?"
"You see, the soul I'm going after has some of these odd creatures with him apparently. The Devil called them brimstone rats."
"Really? Sam, those things are a nuisance. They account for something like thirty percent of your boss's backlog of work. They're small and relatively weak, but they're vicious and travel in packs. It's odd for them to leave Hell; they don't really like the conditions outside of it. But, it isn't unheard of; there have been isolated incidents of them escaping the inferno and infesting places on Earth. There's no real concrete information on how they came to be, but the most popular theory is that they are created from cruelty."
Sam was confused by his description of their origins and asked, "how do you mean they're created from cruelty?"
"Well," said Tony, "every time somebody commits an act of cruelty against another, does something mean to somebody else, one of them is created somewhere in the bowels of Hell. Sam, do you know how many rats this soul has?"
"Yeah, the Devil said that the soul had somewhere around a couple of thousand of them in his ranks."
"Jesus, Sam, that's horrible. In those numbers, they can be extremely dangerous; I can't stress that enough. Be careful, okay?"
"Alright, we will, but Tony, what would you recommend against them?"
"Well, they can be killed very easily, but the issue is killing many at once. If you have access to some sort of explosives, I would highly recommend those. Other than that, anything you think can hurt them will, even fire. But like I said, be careful, because they travel in packs and they can quickly overwhelm you. Be sure to have close-range weapons on hand, as well, in case they do overwhelm you."
"Thank you, Tony. You've been a big help," said Sam.
"Of course. Stay safe, Sam," replied Tony.
"I will. Have a good night, Tony."
"You too, bye Sam." With that, Tony hung up and Sam did as well. Slipping his phone back into his pocket, Sam focused his attention on driving and headed home.
Entering his apartment, Sam immediately smelled a noxious combination of gas and other harsh chemicals. Sock could be seen in the kitchen off to his left, standing over the counter, a variety of glasses and chemical jugs set out messily before him. Sock looked over in his direction, his face partially obscured by a painting mask and a set of protective eyewear.
"What's going on?" asked Sam, trying not to cough and sneeze from the chemicals in the air.
Sock pulled the mask down to hang around his neck and said, "I'm making napalm and bombs."
"Do you even know how to do that?" asked Sam, disbelievingly.
"Sure, got the recipes right here," he said, hefting up a book.
Sam peered at the book's cover and said questioningly, "the Anarchist's Cookbook?"
"Yeah, got it at that leftist bookstore on Pike. I figured it would come in handy and it did. This thing is a treasure trove of useful knowledge, Sammy. It showed me how to make pipe bombs with a bunch of match heads and some pvc piping. I'm tellin' ya, it's absolutely brilliant."
"Good, I just got off the phone with Tony. I was asking him about these rats and he said that the best method for killing them is explosives, because it can kill many at once. What have you gotten done, so far?" asked Sam, setting the pizza and breadsticks on the dining table.
"I got four pipe bombs all put together and the makings for another three or so on top of that. I've got some napalm made up in a bucket already; I just need to figure out how I'm going to deliver it."
"Deliver?" asked Sam, sounding very confused.
"Oh sorry, that's commando talk for how I'm gonna use it on the enemy, you know, like spray them with it or throw it at them in a water balloon or something like that."
"Ah, I see. What are you working on right now?"
"Making fire bombs with household cleaners, but I'm not having much success with that," admitted Sock.
"Well, let's just stick with the pipe bombs and napalm then," said Sam.
"Alright," agreed Sock. "I'll try again later."
Sock started cleaning up the counter, putting things away that he no longer needed. When he was done with that, he grabbed a large bucket of, what Sam presumed to be, napalm. "Now, what to do with this?" he asked aloud.
"Why don't you fill up a bunch of empty beer bottles?" offered Sam, flipping through the book. "That way, we can throw them like Molotov cocktails."
"I guess that would work, but we'll have to be real careful when lighting them. I don't trust this stuff all that much, to be honest with you. It isn't like plain gas or alcohol, it's much more dangerous. This stuff clings to you and burns forever."
"That's very cautious of you, Sock. I'm a little shocked."
"Funny, Sammy, very funny. Alright, I'll get to it."
"Good. I got food by the way, but we've gotta open some windows before we expose the food to the air in here. I'll go do that real quick." Sam went about ventilating the apartment, before heading to the kitchen. "I'll finish up the pipe bombs." He flipped the book to the page Sock had dog-eared with the instructions to make said explosive device.
Ben came home just a few minutes later, loaded down with a couple boxes and a number of large paper bags. Kicking the door shut behind him, he made his way over to the dining table. "Hi guys," he said on the way.
"Whadja get?" asked Sam, looking up from his work.
"Guns, knives and ammo," replied Ben, setting everything on the table. "What've you guys got going on over there?"
"Pipe bombs and napalm," said Sock. "I just like saying that, pipe bombs and napalm; they rhyme."
The three of them worked in silence after that, each preparing for the task ahead. They took a break to eat and finished up. Ben had acquired some 9mm. handguns and a short-barreled shotgun. The shotgun barrel was so short, it had to be mere centimeters away from being illegal. Ben had also purchased plenty of rounds for both types of guns, obviously learning his lesson from the incident with Greg.
After finishing up making the last of the pipe bombs, Sam took over work on loading and sorting the guns, drawing some curious looks from his friends at how comfortable he seemed with handling them. The knives were large and wicked-looking, each as sharp as a razor. They came with sheaths made of leather designed to be fixed to a belt strap.
Ultimately, they each got a handgun and a knife, with Ben keeping the shotgun for himself. Sock pulled out three utility belts and strapped one around his waist. The utility belts had a series of slots that could hold tools in them. He started slipping molotovs into them.
"Good idea," said Sam, breaking that long uncomfortable silence. He stared at the belt and got up, grabbing one for himself. It was a little tricky to get on and keep the belt knife accessible, but he managed to get it positioned acceptably and slipped a few molotovs into his own slots. Sam left one open for a couple pipe bombs, which were slimmer and more could be packed in a slot.
When they had all equipped themselves sufficiently, Sam went into his room and grabbed the vessel box from his closet, pulling out the auto-crossbow inside. He slipped the spare drums into the large pocket on his utility belt. "Okay guys," he said, "let's go do this. I need to get directions to the old mission. The Devil provided us an address, so we can look it up. I haven't had the chance to do that yet."
"Okay, Benji and I'll bag everything up and get it down to the car, while you do that." The three of them removed their belts and concealed their belt knives under their shirts. Sock and Ben left, as Sam was sitting down at his computer. He quickly got online and used Mapquest, printing off the directions to the address of the mission. Grabbing the map the second it was spit out of the printer, Sam rushed out the apartment, locking the front door behind him.
The directions on the map took them to a large fenced off lot, with the roof of an old building poking out above on the other side. It was blocked off by a very tall chain-link fence, secured by a series of large sheets of ply-board. From what they could see, it looked difficult to get over. "We're gonna have to find a place to cross over; let's circle the block," said Sam.
They proceeded to drive around, looking for a weak spot in the impenetrable barrier of the fence. Along the East side of the lot, Sam spotted what appeared to be a flap of chain-linking that had been pulled loose. There was no place for them to park on this street, so Sam directed Ben to park down on the next street. Unfortunately, there ended up being no available parking on the next street, as well. In the end, they had to park a few blocks away. As it was, the three of them got lucky, in so far that they were in a fairly uninhabited neighborhood. No one saw them equipping themselves with all sorts of illegal weaponry. Still, it was decided that they would sneak back over to the property and try their best to keep a low profile.
When they reached the part of the fence with the loose flap, Sam reached down and lifted it up. The flap opened up a bit, giving them just enough room for Sock to squeeze through. Sam let Sock and Ben go through first, before he crouched down and crawled through after them.
He found himself in an old parking lot; the pavement looked positively ancient. It was cracked and crumbling, a massive jungle of weeds growing out in these spots. The mission was standing there, sagging on its foundations and waiting for them to enter it. All the windows and doors to the place seemed to be boarded up, barring them from further access. It was three stories tall and had an imposing cathedral-like presence. There was no noticeable activity going on in there that the three of them could tell. Sam led them in a circuit around the perimeter of the building, looking for a way in.
Their search led them to a window by the South wing near the front doors. The ply-board had been removed from this window and the glass had been broken out. Sam grabbed his pocket-clip flashlight and shone it through the empty space of the window, revealing the remnants of some sort of office. There was an old wooden desk rotting away near the center, the chair that went with it missing. Nothing else of significance remained, having been stripped out by the prior owners of this place or by looters. Shaking away that unnecessary mental digression, Sam slipped the flashlight back into his pocket and handed the duffel bag containing the crossbow over to Ben. He braced his palms against the window sill and hefted his body inside, trying to make as little noise as possible while he did this.
The air inside was musty, redolent with mildew and dust. He resisted the urge to sneeze and turned around to take his bag back and to help his friends in. Once all three were inside, Sam set the duffel bag down on the desk and unzipped it. He pulled out the auto-crossbow and held it up in a firing stance, peering down its sight to make sure it wasn't misaligned. Once satisfied, Sam turned to his friends and silently gestured to them to stay behind him. By some sort of miracle, Sock didn't make so much as a single noise. What he could hear was a deep rumbling sound; it sounded like chanting. This was it, the moment he put himself back in mortal danger. His hands felt clammy and his body shook in mounting fear. All his self-doubt bore down on him then, threatening to unhinge him completely. The desolation in this place was uncomfortably reminiscent of that horrible place, the place his nightmares always took him to. Ruthlessly forcing it all down to the pits of his soul, Sam cleared his mind of those weaknesses, something that made the innocent little child still buried deep within him cry out in loss and remorse.
Covering his light with a hand, Sam poked his head around the corner. A number of votive candles were lit up, bathing the far end of what appeared to be an assembly hall in a dull glow. It was basically a church, so it stood to reason that there would be a place for the congregation. Standing on the dais there in front of the podium, the silhouette of a tall figure could be seen. Before this figure stood precisely fifteen hooded figures, all of them in a neat and tidy line, just in front of the dais, what may have been altar was placed between the solitary figure and the rest. Sam switched his light off and gestured for Sock and Ben to crouch down and follow his lead.
The three of them crept around the shadowy corners of the room, keeping near the walls to avoid detection. They made it all the way up near the front and could see the central figure on the podium. The other figures were chanting mechanically, while the one up front and center was swaying slightly, his arms held up in a rapturous state. It had to be Edgar Ross, the cult leader himself. He was a tall and severe-looking old man, his features sharp and angular. Edgar wore the same black robe as his follower, but with the hood worn down.
Sam figured he was close enough by this point to fire and aimed the crossbow at Ross. He got him dead in his sights and his finger began to squeeze the trigger, when a dark shadow moved into his view. Looking up from the sight, Sam saw that one of the hooded figures had stepped in his way and was staring down at him. The hood completely concealed its face and Sam saw nothing in the abysmal hole where its face should've been. He suppressed a shudder in the face of it, flashing back to that staircase in the middle of nothingness. Sam pulled the trigger and a bolt flew out, piercing it in the chest. The soul burst into a ball of red light and sucked into the crossbow, almost knocking him on his ass.
This, of course, got the attention of the rest of the souls, all of them looking right at the trio. Edgar pointed directly at Sam and yelled, "two of you, kill them! The rest of you will come with me!" He turned around and walked away, disappearing around the corner into the staging area behind the stand. Twelve of the souls followed behind him, leaving them alone with two more of the souls. The closest one raised an arm and an eerie green light emanated from its hand. Sam pushed his friends aside and dove to the floor in time for the light to shoot out and smash into the wall behind where he was kneeling, blasting that section into rubble. Chunks of burning wood and plaster rained down upon them and Sam forced himself to his feet, urging his friends to get up, as well.
Both souls were charging up for another attack, their hands glowing with that sick-looking green light. They ran and ducked away, Sam getting split up from them when he was forced to dive the other way. The green lights shot out, smashing into more of the wall, destroying what they hit. Sam had ducked behind a row of pews to avoid the attacks and poked his head out afterward, aiming his crossbow at the nearest of the souls. He fired again, hitting it in the gut. It burst into reddish light like its predecessor and was sucked into the vessel. This time, Sam was more prepared for the kickback and recovered quickly enough to roll to the side, as its remaining companion retaliated with yet another blast of green light. It smashed into the pews he had been behind and blasted through the next couple rows beyond. More burning chunks of wood fell down, some of them stinging him in the face.
Sock and Ben started jumping up and down on the dais, waving their arms frantically and yelling out to get its attention. Somehow, it managed to work and Sam saw that he had a clear shot at it, when it turned around to focus on them. He aimed the crossbow and fired at it, managing to score a hit in its shoulder. When it was sucked up into the vessel, he got up and jumped over the pew and made his way over to his friends.
"Nicely done, Sammy," breathed out Sock, trying to get his breath back under control.
"Thank you," said Sam.
"What do we do now?" asked Ben, keeping them on task.
"We go after Edgar," replied Sam heading over to the corner the rest of the souls had disappeared behind. That was when they heard and felt it, a gradually building rumble of activity coming from above them. It got louder and louder, as whatever was causing it got ever closer. "The rats," whispered Sam, cursing under his breath. He started running around the corner and chased after Edgar and his cadre, as they were being chased themselves by the rats of Hell.