[ Third person POV ]
[ A few Minutes later ]
A few minutes had passed when Kenny, the building's caretaker, showed up—just long enough to lock them inside. It was part of the show's gimmick, something Lance hadn't bothered to mention ahead of time. Frankly, Dante thought it was a terrible idea. Locking yourselves into a place with a history like this? You might as well be asking to die.
Dante quietly unzipped his duffel bag and retrieved his twin handguns—custom ivory and ebony grips catching the low light. He holstered them beneath his long leather jacket, just in case something called for a long-range response.
Now, he stood off to the side of the lobby, arms crossed, watching the crew with a calm, unreadable expression. They were in the middle of filming another take for their new episode.
In front of the camera stood Lance, arms folded across his chest, projecting as much confidence as he could muster for the shot. Behind and beside him stood Sasha, Houston, and Matt—each in position, playing their part. T.C. held the camera steady, capturing every detail as Lance launched into his latest on-camera monologue.
"Alright, this is the real deal, folks. This is, by far, the biggest location we've ever investigated—and the most dangerous. Now, I want to emphasize that this facility was built very much like a prison. All the windows are barred. We literally could not get out of here if we wanted to.
We are locked in until Kenny the caretaker returns to let us out in the morning.
We'll be working in total darkness, capturing everything on three night-vision-capable cameras—along with the static cams Matt set up at our key hot spots.
Alright, everyone... if you're ready—
It's time to have some Grave Encounters."
Lance said it all with practiced confidence, staring straight into the lens like he'd done it a hundred times before.
After the intro was finished, the team broke off to prep their gear. They grabbed a few handheld video cameras, a still camera, digital audio recorders, and EMF detectors—anything that might help document potential paranormal activity inside the asylum.
Matt double-checked the static cams, making sure each one was recording and positioned on the known "hot spots." T.C. ran a battery check on the handhelds, while Sasha flipped through her notes one last time, reviewing details on previous sightings and reported phenomena.
It all felt routine—just another investigation for the show. But even then, there was a tension in the air. The deeper they went into this place, the more it felt like the asylum was watching them back.
While the rest of the crew was busy checking gear and getting ready, Dante made his way over to Matt, who was still hunched over the monitor, double-checking the feed from the static cams.
He reached into his coat and pulled out one of the protective necklaces he'd made—an intricate design of silver and darkened bone, strung on a sturdy black cord. According to Dante, they were more than just charms; they were spiritual armor. Supposedly, anyone wearing one would be protected from harm—physically, mentally, and spiritually. Even a fall down a flight of stairs wouldn't leave a scratch.
"Hey, Matt," Dante said, holding the necklace out. "You want one of these? I picked up a couple from this vendor I know. He claims they protect against evil spirits and demons."
Matt glanced at it, then back at the monitor. "Seriously?"
Dante gave a small shrug and a casual smirk. "Hey, I'm a little superstitious, alright? And we are in an abandoned asylum. Lotta people died here. Can't hurt, right?"
Matt hesitated for a second, then reached out and took it. "Yeah... screw it, why not," he said, looping the cord over his neck. "Thanks, man."
Dante nodded and moved back to his post, pretending like it was no big deal. But deep down, he wasn't handing those things out just for fun.
While Dante stood off to the side, arms loosely crossed, he scanned the room with a practiced eye. He wasn't just watching the crew—he was reading them, figuring out who might need a little extra protection.
His gaze settled on Sasha, who was flipping through her research notes near one of the camera cases. She looked focused, her brow furrowed slightly as she reviewed information on the asylum's darker history.
Dante smirked to himself, then casually made his way over, hands in his jacket pockets. He stopped just behind her, his tone easy and conversational.
"Hey, Sasha," he said, making sure not to startle her. "I picked up a few of these necklaces from a vendor I trust. Gave one to Matt a few minutes ago—figured you might want one too."
He pulled out one of the necklaces, holding it out by the cord. "Supposedly, they keep you protected—from evil spirits, demons… all that stuff. I know it sounds kinda out there, but hey… I'm a little superstitious. And we're standing in a place that's basically a spiritual war zone."
Sasha looked up from her notes, eyes moving from Dante's face to the necklace. She arched an eyebrow but didn't look dismissive.
"You really believe in that?" she asked, half-curious, half-teasing.
Dante shrugged. "Let's just say I like to be prepared for the weird stuff. And if there's even a chance this thing works… well, it's better to wear it than wish you had it later."
Sasha paused, then smiled faintly and took the necklace. "Alright. I'll humor you." She slipped it over her head. "Thanks, Dante."
"No problem," he said, giving her a nod before turning back toward the rest of the crew.
Dante still had a few protective necklaces left in his coat, but he wasn't rushing to hand them out. He preferred to watch first—to see who might actually need one the most.
His eyes settled on T.C., who was double-checking the camera battery levels at the edge of the room. Just from a few minutes of observing him, Dante could tell the guy wasn't just some cocky cameraman. There was a steadiness to him, a no-nonsense kind of focus. And there was something else too—something in the way he talked to Sasha earlier, mentioned his kid in passing.
Family man.
Dante didn't need to know all the details. He just knew one thing: he wasn't about to let someone's dad die in a place like this.
He walked over casually, keeping his tone light, his hands tucked into his coat pockets like he was just chatting to kill time.
"Yo, T.C.," he said, giving him a nod. "Quick thing—got a couple of these necklaces from a guy I know. He claimed they offer spiritual protection—against stuff like evil spirits, bad energy, the works."
He pulled one of the necklaces from his pocket and held it out. "Gave one to Matt and Sasha already. Figured you might want one too. We're locked inside a haunted asylum overnight—can't hurt, right?"
T.C. gave it a curious look, half-skeptical, half-amused. "You buy this off some dude at a flea market or something?"
Dante grinned. "Something like that. Let's just say… I've got a few tricks up my sleeve. I trust these."
T.C. took the necklace, turning it over in his hands before slipping it over his head. "Alright, cool. Appreciate it, man. Can't say no to a little extra protection in a place like this."
"No problem," Dante said, giving him a nod. "Just want everyone walking out of here in one piece."
After that, Dante quietly stepped away from the group, thinking for a moment. The crew was busy running another camera check near the center of the lobby, all caught up in prepping their gear and lines. It was the perfect time to do what he had in mind.
He slung his duffel bag over his shoulder and made his way toward Matt, who was seated behind a folding table, eyes flicking between live feeds on his laptop. The grainy green footage from the static cams gave the asylum a haunted, lifeless feel—more grave than abandoned.
"Hey," Dante said casually, resting a hand on the table. "Think you can pass me a couple things? Flashlight, maybe a handheld recorder, EMF reader if you've got one."
Matt looked up, a little puzzled. "You heading out somewhere?"
"Yeah," Dante replied, feigning a light tone. "Figured I'd take a solo stroll through this lovely deathtrap. Who knows? Might bump into Casper or something."
Matt blinked, then gave a half-laugh. "You're serious, aren't you?"
Dante gave a faint smirk. "Dead serious."
There was a pause. Then Matt reached into one of the storage crates and handed over a flashlight and a handheld EMF detector. "Alright, man. Just stay within range of the cams if you can. If anything freaky starts happening, I wanna catch it."
Dante gave a nod, tucking the gear into his coat and duffel. "If anything freaky starts happening, I'll be the one catching it."
What he didn't say—what nobody knew—was that if the group ran into trouble, the protective necklaces he'd handed out earlier would alert him instantly. Not with lights or sounds, but with something deeper. A signal. A pull. And when it happened, he'd get there faster than they'd think possible. The necklaces will envelop the wearer with an invisible barrier that will protect them from any harm, even if it's physical, mental and spiritual, they will not be harmed. They can't even be touched by the spirits or anything involving the supernatural. They're basically untouchable, Without another word, he turned and walked off into the shadows of the asylum, letting the dark swallow him up one hallway at a time.
As Dante moved deeper into the asylum's shadow-soaked hallways, the air grew colder—thicker. The silence around him wasn't empty. It was listening.
The spirits had begun to stir.
Faint whispers crawled along the peeling walls. A sudden creak echoed behind him, followed by the soft scuff of something that wasn't there. Most people would've panicked. Run. But Dante didn't flinch. His expression stayed calm, unreadable—eyes sharp, scanning every shadow.
He came to a slow stop in the middle of the corridor.
Then, without a word, he slid his duffel bag off his shoulder and unzipped it. From inside, he pulled out Rebellion—a custom-forged sword with a blackened, weather-worn grip and a faint gleam along its steel edge. He holstered it across his back, the hilt resting just behind his right shoulder, perfectly placed for a quick draw.
With practiced hands, he zipped the duffel bag tight again and slung it back over his shoulder.
The whispering got louder. Closer. But Dante didn't move.
"You know," Dante said, his voice low, almost conversational as he walked the dark hallway, "I've been doing this a long time. Conspiracies, hauntings... hunting demons, putting them down—one by one."
His pace was slow and steady, hands tucked in the pockets of his long coat. He wasn't speaking to anyone the camera could see, but he wasn't alone. Not really. The air was thick with spirits—watching.
"You ever hear a demon beg?" he asked, glancing toward a broken window, the shadows shifting unnaturally across the walls. "Beg for mercy... beg for death?" He scoffed. "I bet you haven't. It's a rare sound. Ugly. Desperate. But to me?"
He paused, a slow, crooked smile forming on his face.
"It's music."
Dante's eyes flicked from shadow to shadow, locking onto the invisible things lurking there.
"There's something... beautiful about watching something evil suffer. Seeing it crumble. Knowing it'll never hurt another innocent soul again." He tilted his head slightly, almost like he was listening to something only he could hear. "That's why I do this. Every single day. Every chance I get. Because I love seeing people smile again—after the monsters are gone."
His smile faded for a beat... only to be replaced by a wide, manic grin.
Then he turned his head slowly, eyes burning with a strange excitement, and whispered to the spirits around him:
"I'm not trapped in here with you."
He let the words hang in the dark.
"You're trapped in here with me."
Dante's grin faded.
Now, his face was completely unreadable—cold, detached. He stopped walking, his boots echoing slightly down the empty, decaying hallway. The air around him felt heavier, thicker, as if the spirits themselves were holding their breath.
His voice came out low and steady—flat, but laced with a quiet threat.
"None of you lay a finger on the people I'm protecting."
He turned his head slowly, scanning the unseen presences around him.
"If even one of you so much as brushes a pinky against them… you'll wish I was never here."
He stepped forward, each footfall deliberate.
"This asylum… it's just you and me now."
He paused in the stillness, letting the weight of his words sink into the ether.
"All of you died here. You suffered here. Now, you're just angry echoes—evil spirits clinging to a place that doesn't want you anymore."
His hand rested near the weapon on his back, his eyes sharp.
"And I'm not afraid of ghosts."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth—not joy, not amusement, but something colder.
"You're prey now."
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[ Chapter End ]