Chapter 19
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Chapter 19: Title
"Are we truly proceeding with the station director’s order to keep broadcasting? This feels irresponsible," Hawk’s assistant ventured, unease coloring his voice as he recalled the recent call.
The director had initially planned to halt the program, only to receive contradictory instructions from above demanding continued transmission.
Since the spectral apparition of Waylin manifested, viewership numbers had skyrocketed beyond twofold. The show’s already substantial audience now reached unprecedented heights in the network’s history.
"Unless faced with absolute necessity, we don’t stop the broadcast," Hawk muttered, eyeing the ominous armor through the monitor. A death during his production would end his career. "Summon paramedics and police. Get rescue teams ready at the perimeter."
"But maintain transmission?"
"Ratings won’t matter if we’re charged with negligence. Move!"
Within the castle’s oppressive corridors, Augustus staggered like a marionette with fraying strings, his pursuer’s bronze giant axe gleaming dully in the torchlight. The metallic shriek of blade against stone echoed behind him as the weapon narrowly missed cleaving his spine.
"Where’s the cursed exit?" he rasped, disoriented by the labyrinthine passages. No responding shouts came from the production crew outside – only the relentless clank of armored footsteps gaining ground.
Clutching the winged cross sword pendant at his chest, Augustus collapsed against a crumbling wall. The golden amulet’s silver wings seemed to mock his desperation. "If any divinity exists…" His bitter prayer died as shadow engulfed him – the executioner’s axe arcing downward.
Heat blossomed in his palm.
A resonant clang shattered the death-blow. Augustus stared at the full-sized cross sword now gleaming in his grip, its blade sheathed in shimmering luminescence. The radiance cascaded along the bronze giant axe, dissolving the pursuing armor into clattering debris.
Before his stunned eyes, a black phantom coalesced – grotesquely familiar. It snarled at the sword’s glow, hesitating like a cornered beast.
[Statue’s revenge arc? *slow clap*]
[Kickable face tbh]
[Shut up and take my money for that glowstick!]
[Production crew wildin’ fr]
The phantom lunged as the sword’s light dimmed. Augustus swung instinctively, his amateurish sword techniques barely deflecting the onslaught. Each parry drained the blade’s radiance further.
Outside, the production crew’s floodlights carved harsh patterns through the castle windows.
The wail of police sirens filled the lawn of Beers Castle, accompanied by hospital ambulances, as trained officers disembarked from their vehicles.
"Rescue people inside? You’re sure this isn’t your production crew’s special effects?" Team leader Sheriff Blake pointed accusingly at the monitor, his face twisted in offended skepticism.
The controversial program had stirred international attention beyond the Kingdom of England’s borders. Though aware of the media frenzy, Blake had dismissed it as staged entertainment until now.
"None of this is ours!" Hawk protested, palms raised in frustrated sincerity. "If we possessed such technology, we’d have deployed it episodes ago!"
"A real ghost?"
"We compared historical portraits from the Earl of Beers’ collection. The family heirloom shows sixty percent facial congruence with her appearance." Hawk gestured helplessly at the screen where a noblewoman in medieval garb walked alongside modern guests. "It’s statistically conclusive."
Blake studied the feed, jaw tightening. The program director wouldn’t dare fabricate evidence involving British aristocracy. Yet there she moved – a spectral anomaly gliding through HD footage.
"Then terminate production immediately!"
"The viewership numbers…" Hawk wiped his brow. "Our executives won’t pull the plug without casualties. Ratings trump reason."
"You’ve got phantoms and now monsters, yet wait for tragedy?"
"Ghosts fall outside police jurisdiction." Blake’s tone brooked no argument. "Should’ve called exorcists, not taxpayers’ officers."
Hawk clasped hands in supplication. "We fund public services through seven-figure levies! Where’s our protection?"
The subsequent reconnaissance mission proved futile. No glittering halls from the broadcast greeted Blake’s team – only mildewed corridors resembling cheap studio sets. Their reality diverged completely from the televised fantasy.
Space Overlap, the theorists called it. Two castles occupying identical coordinates across dimensional planes.
Augustus’ cross sword dimmed perilously when figures emerged through the archway – not rescuers, but fellow contestants. His desperate swing connected with the Abyssal entity, holy steel shearing through its shadowy form. The beast recoiled, a third of its mass dissolving instantly.
"Decay acceleration exceeds projections!" Waylin’s warning came between gasps as she dodged tendrils of darkness.
Merlinka stared at the transformed swordsman. "What’s happened to Augustus?"
Their distraction proved costly. The shadow-monster shrieked, redirecting its assault toward Waylin. "Strike now!" she cried, vaulting over rotten furniture. "Channel Yahweh’s light through belief!"
Augustus gaped at the spectral noblewoman. A ghost commanding him against monsters? This wasn’t some RPG where mouse clicks solved everything!
[OMG Sword-bro’s face!!!]
[Rescue the ghost bae! She’ll haunt your bed~]
[Why "big sword"? Phallic much? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)]
[FBI open up! This chat’s going to horny jail!]
[Ghost girl’s getting cornered while y’all thirst!]
[Keyboard warrior reporting for duty! *types furiously*]
Merlinka shoved the paralyzed Augustus forward. "Help her!"
The swordsman stumbled into action – less from courage than ingrained chivalry. Donald and Lucy moved to assist, but Waylin waved them back. "Only sanctified steel affects Abyssal aura!"
"Reignite the holy light!" Waylin ducked a blackened claw. "Focus on your faith in Yahweh!"
[Holy swords? Actual divine intervention?]
[Watching reality TV while my worldview crumbles…]
[Totally scripted. Where’s the SWAT team?]
[Blasphemous foreigners! (╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻]
[Sword dude’s lowkey badass though?]
[Simp detected →_→]
[Guy-on-guy action! ( ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡°)]
[Netizens be wildin’ while people die smh]
Beyond the spectral chaos, the production crew paced outside Beers Castle’s gates. Their 911 calls proved useless – officers found only empty ruins. No overlap, no monsters, no proof. Just soaring ratings… and creeping dread.
