[ Third person POV ]
Dante continued down the dark hallway, the oppressive air thick with demonic energy. He could feel them—no, see them—lingering in the shadows like parasites clinging to a rotting host. One hand rested calmly on the hilt of his blade, the other holding up his handheld camera, casually recording everything. He didn't bother using a light. He didn't need it. His senses had long since been trained to cut through the dark, sharpened by years of dealing with things that most people couldn't even name.
Demons and spirits always got desperate—that's why they relied so heavily on darkness. It dulled the senses of their victims, blinded them, isolated them. They fed on fear, on the panic that set in when you couldn't tell what was watching you. But Dante wasn't afraid.
In fact, their pathetic little tricks amused him. He could feel their presence crowding around him, whispering from the walls, but all it earned them was a quiet, mocking chuckle under his breath.
Dante suddenly stops in his tracks.
Something feels… off. His instincts—the ones forged through countless battles—flare like alarm bells. He narrows his eyes and spreads his senses across the hospital. His aura stretches through corridors, past rusted doors, broken gurneys, and bloodstained walls.
What he senses surprises even him.
The structure around him doesn't feel like a typical haunted building. It feels… alive. Shifting. Endless.
The entire space resonates like a giant maze, but not just in physical layout—in its spiritual resonance, its very geometry is wrong.
"This isn't some haunted hospital," Dante mutters under his breath, his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of Rebellion. "It's a pocket dimension..."
The Collingwood Psychiatric Hospital no longer exists in the normal world—not completely. At some point after its abandonment, rituals, torment, and decades of suffering caused it to warp and detach from physical reality. Now it exists inside a quasi-dimensional fold
"Tch… Guess I was too busy enjoying the thrill of the job," he muttered, cracking a smirk as he stepped over a flickering hallway light. "Good thing I bothered to train in spatial manipulation. Otherwise, this would be a real pain in the ass."
The dim, flickering lights above buzzed like angry insects. The air was thick—heavy with a pressure that only something unnatural could bring. He could already feel the building shifting around him, warping space in impossible ways.
"Time to find the others," he said, his voice low but calm, a lazy confidence in his tone. "They're probably already exploring and filming somewhere in these cursed hallways. Better hope they haven't split up… This ain't Scooby-Doo, and none of them are shaggy enough to survive solo."
He started speed walking, his steps light and precise, but purposeful. With a deep breath, he expanded his awareness outward—his senses flooding through the surrounding space like radar. The walls twisted unnaturally in his mind's eye, revealing just how warped this place truly was. A maze. A trap. A dimension that seemed alive.
In one smooth motion, and the air around him shimmered. Space folded, twisted, and then a translucent barrier surrounded him, warping the very fabric of the environment around his body. It was a technique the took hours of study and training—inspired by Gojo Satoru's Infinity, but modified to suit his own style. Where Gojo's technique halted matter, his distorted space itself. Anything that came near would be pulled, pushed, or shredded apart before it could even touch him.
It could protect him from nearly anything—physical, spiritual, even energy-based attacks—**as long as they didn't manipulate space itself. That was the one loophole, the one crack in his infinity. Only someone who truly understood spatial manipulation could bypass it.
But in a place like this, filled with angry spirits and a warped dimension?
He was the apex Predator.
He kept speed walking through the decaying corridors, boots thudding against cracked tile, echoing like a metronome of defiance in the dead silence. Fluorescent lights above flickered like dying stars, casting shadows that danced along the walls like they had minds of their own. The stench of mold, rot, and stale death clung to the air like a second skin.
His senses were wide open—sharp, calculated, but loose enough to let the chaos flow. Spatial awareness expanded outward, giving him a three-dimensional feel of the entire area, like his mind was running sonar through a haunted house on acid.
Then—
SLAM.
A door crashed somewhere up ahead, the sound ricocheting down the hall like a shotgun blast in a cathedral.
He didn't flinch.
"Oh great. Another jump scare ." He sighed. "C'mon, at least put in some effort. Boo me harder, damn it."
It was probably just another spirit trying to rattle him. Classic haunted House move. Cute.
Without hesitation, he took off running, coat whipping behind him like a demon on caffeine. The hallway groaned and warped as he moved, the building trying to fight back—twisting space, rearranging walls.
Too bad he was the one who rewrote the rules.
Another door stood open ahead. Beyond it, a faint flicker of static light—and a figure holding a camera. Tall. Dark skin. Moving cautiously.
"TC."
He slowed, but just a little. No need to go full anime protagonist reveal. His senses zeroed in—energy signature, spatial resonance, heartbeat. Yeah, that was definitely him.
Not an illusion.
But even if it had been?
He'd just dispel the illusion by a mere glance.
He smirked, tilting his head slightly.
"Finally, a familiar face. I was starting to think this haunted asylum didn't do guest appearances."
As he stepped into the room, the shadows twitched again—like they weren't happy about the reunion.
"GAH—!"
TC jumped like he'd been hit with a jolt of electricity and immediately spun around, swinging his fist on reflex.
With zero effort, he leaned back, dodging the punch with a grin and a cocked eyebrow.
"Whoa there, man. Easy!" he said, still smiling as he casually slid his hands into his pants pockets like he hadn't just narrowly avoided getting clocked.
"It's just me. Chill."
TC stared at him, wide-eyed and breathing hard. His pulse was thudding so loud, it probably had its own sound design.
"I heard a sound and figured I'd check it out. Y'know… the usual ghost door slam, creepy vibe, 'come-closer-and-die' energy. Had to make sure nothing was munching on you," he added, tilting his head slightly as he glanced around the dim hallway.
His voice was cool, unbothered—laid-back in that 'I've fought demons before breakfast' kind of way.
"You good?" he asked, eyes scanning TC quickly for anything off. "Or are we gonna have to do the 'check if you're possessed' routine again?"
The lights overhead flickered violently—another reminder that the building was very much alive, and very much watching.
"Oh shit—it's just you, Dante..." TC exhaled hard, the tension in his shoulders only slightly easing. "Man, I just saw a door slam shut. Right in front of my face. Scared the living hell outta me."
His voice was shaky, stuttering slightly as he replayed the moment in his head. He looked toward the door again, like it might decide to move on its own.
"I don't know what that was, man. Maybe... maybe it was the air pressure or somethin'? Or—hell, maybe someone's screwing with us."
He sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than Dante.
But Dante just stood there, relaxed as ever, hands still in his pockets, letting TC talk it out. The kind of calm that either meant total control—or total insanity.
"Uh-huh," Dante said with a smirk, one brow raised. "Air pressure, huh? In a place where the laws of physics took a vacation the minute we walked in."
TC didn't respond immediately, his eyes still glued to the door. The silence pressed in, thick and heavy.
"Look," Dante continued, his tone dropping a little, "this place is messed up. Doors don't slam shut on their own just because the wind feels cheeky. You felt it. I know you did."
TC swallowed hard.
"Yeah... yeah, I felt it. Like something was... there."
"Exactly," Dante nodded, the smile still lingering but his eyes now focused. "You don't have to say 'ghost' if you don't want to, but let's not pretend the place isn't pissed we're here."
Dante took a step closer, eyes steady on TC.
"Look, T.C..." he said calmly, but firmly. "You don't wanna admit it —but that door didn't close on its own."
TC started to protest, but Dante kept going, his tone low but unwavering, like he was walking him through basic survival logic in a place where logic barely applied.
"And no, that doesn't mean it's definitely a ghost," he added with a shrug, "but let's be real. That wasn't air pressure. Doors don't slam like that unless something puts force behind them."
He motioned toward the hallway with a lazy hand.
"If it was a person, you would've seen them run off—or at the very least heard footsteps. You didn't. There was nothing."
He let that hang in the air for a second, the silence thick and heavy between the flickering lights.
"It just shut. On. Its. Own."
Dante tilted his head slightly, studying TC with that same half-smile—cool, but sharp.
"So either this place has a really dramatic HVAC system… or something unseen decided to let you know it was watching."
A cold draft drifted through the hallway just then, as if to punctuate the point.
"Still think we're dealing with airflow?"
TC started pacing, his footsteps echoing in the corridor, eyes darting between the door and the shadows creeping at the edges of the flickering light. He rubbed his face with both hands, like he was trying to scrub the fear off his skin, trying to process what he'd just seen—what he knew he saw—but still didn't want to believe.
He mumbled to himself, half under his breath.
"Could've been.…He keeps trying to rationalize this situation but none of it added up, and deep down, he knew it.
Finally, he stopped pacing and turned to Dante, trying to square up, trying to pull himself together—but his voice still cracked with tension.
"Okay. Okay. So what—you're saying we should just bounce, right?" He swallowed hard, trying to keep his cool but failing to hide the panic behind his words. "Because I'm not dealing with this shit, man. Nah. I don't know what this is, but I know enough to get the hell out while I still can."
Dante watched him silently for a beat, arms crossed, eyes unreadable.
Dante stepped forward slowly, voice calm but firm—cutting through TC's spiraling thoughts like a blade.
"TC—look at me for a second."
TC's pacing slowed. His eyes flicked toward Dante, wide, restless, unsure.
"I want you to think for a minute. Just... breathe. One thing at a time."
Dante's tone was steady, anchoring. "First off—I'm here. You know that. You know exactly why I was brought in on this project."
He held TC's gaze.
"I was hired to protect all of you. That's not just for show—and you know that better than anyone."
The building creaked again, distant and slow, like something was shifting behind the walls.
"So I need you to take a deep breath," Dante continued, his voice low and reassuring, "and calm down. Right now. I can't protect you if you're panicking, and we both know that panic gets people killed in places like this."
TC nodded, trying to steady his breathing, but the tension still hung off him like a soaked jacket.
"There you go," Dante said, nodding once. "We're gonna figure this out. But I need your head on straight."
He glanced down the hallway.
"Because whatever's in this building... it's watching us."
"Alright, T.C., what I need from you—right now—is a straight answer: where the hell are Sasha, Lance, and Houston? Because judging by the mess I'm looking at, you four decided to split up. And honestly? That might be the single dumbest thing I've ever seen… and I've seen a guy try to exorcise a ghost with a Nerf gun."Dante's voice was calm.
"Wait—don't you have a walkie? Why not just call them?"
T.C. asked, his voice tight with unease as he glanced around the dim corridor. The beam of his camera light cut through the darkness, casting long, twitching shadows that danced at the edges of his vision.
"I lost it," he said with a straight face—
Even though they he knew he was just too lazy to use it.
"Fine, then I'll use mine."
T.C. muttered, grabbing his walkie out of his pocket. He pressed the button and brought it to his mouth.
"Hey, Lance—are you there? Come on, man, where are you?"
Static crackled on the other end. No response.
Alright, that's not gonna work here. We'll have to find the others ourselves and get you all out of this place and back to the lobby. Sounds good?"
Dante said, his tone firm but calm
"Yeah, yeah… sounds good."
T.C. nodded, thinking aloud as he scanned the corridor.
"I think Lance might be at the bathroom—the one with those tubs spread out all over the place. We should check there first. Sasha could be in one of the patience rooms..."
He paused, brow furrowed.
"But Houston? I've got no idea he at. He's probably just wandering the hallways like it's a damn sightseeing tour."
"Alright, let's go find Lance—"
Dante paused, then smirked.
"Oh, right. Almost forgot—I've got one more thing to show you."
Without warning, he bent down, picked up a rock from the floor, and casually hurled it straight at T.C.
T.C.'s eyes widened in shock. He instinctively raised his arms to shield his face—
—but just before the rock made contact, the necklace around his neck pulsed with a soft glow. A translucent barrier flared to life, catching the rock midair. It dissolved instantly on contact, reduced to ash before it hit the ground.
T.C. lowered his arms, stunned.
"What the actual fuck was that...?"
T.C. muttered, his voice barely more than a whisper. His eyes were wide with shock, still fixed on the fading shimmer of the barrier
"That right there is exactly why I gave you that necklace,"
Dante said with a smirk, clearly proud of his handiwork.
"As long as you keep it around your neck, nothing in this place can touch you."
"Now let's—"
But before Dante could finish his sentence. In an instant, an unnatural gust of wind slammed into them. The dim corridor, already pitch-black, The only illumination came from T.C.'s camera-mounted LED and the flashlights strapped to their gear—just enough to slice through the heavy layers of dust and darkness
Dante's red leather coat snapped out behind him, whipping in the violent wind like a crimson flag. The boarded-up walls groaned—echoing as if the asylum itself was breathing . T.C. flinched, his heart pounding, and the camera slipped from his slack grip. It hit the floor with a deafening clatter, the LED beam spinning wildly before settling, casting its cold, circular glare further into the corridor.
Just for a heartbeat, a twisted, humanoid silhouette flickered at the very edge of the light—distorted, unnatural, gone again before T.C.'s next breath.
T.C. stepped back, voice trembling:
"What the fuck was that...?!
Dante didn't answer right away.
His eyes scanned the corridor, senses sharp. There were no spirits nearby it but be the building. that silence, It didn't sit right with him.
"They're not around us..." he muttered under his breath. "Which means they might be after the others."
He turned to T.C., tone suddenly firmer—less playful, more commanding.
"You need to stay close. We're getting everyone, and I'm going to get all of you out of this place. Now."
T.C. simply nodded, too shaken to argue. His grip tightened on the camera, knuckles white.
He didn't care about the footage anymore. He just wanted to go home—back to his family. When this was over, he'd quit.
He and Lance weren't even friends. Just coworkers on a job that had gone way too far off-script.
"Alright, let's move."
They both took off down the corridor, T.C. taking the lead toward where he last saw Lance. Dante followed close behind, eyes sharp, senses spreading out like ripples in still water.
The deeper they went, the more obvious it became—this place was far bigger on the inside. Twisting halls, endless turns... classic pocket dimension behavior.
When I get out of here, I'm blowing this place to hell.
Dante thought, keeping pace with T.C. effortlessly.
This place should've never existed.
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Thank you so much for reading this chapter.
I'm still a new writer, and every bit of feedback helps me grow and improve.
If you enjoyed the story—or even if you didn't—please leave a comment and let me know what you think. I'd really appreciate your thoughts, suggestions, or anything you'd like to see more of in future chapters.
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It really helps motivate me to keep writing and pushing the story forward. Your support means a lot!
[ Chapter End ]