# Chapter 8: The Cartel's Territory
The Gilded Cage Casino didn't have a front door so much as a wound in the city's fabric. It sat in the deepest part of the Undercity, where the perpetual twilight of the upper levels gave way to a canyon of neon and shadow. Here, the air was thick with the smell of ozone from flickering signs, sizzling synth-grill meat from street vendors, and the cloying sweetness of illicit dream-essence vapors. Konto and Liraya approached on foot, their new clothes—sleek, expensive, and utterly foreign—feeling like a costume. The cred-stick Liraya had procured from a hidden family account felt heavy in his pocket, a tool and a liability. The casino's entrance was a shimmering curtain of holographic koi, swimming in an impossible circle. As they stepped through, the sounds of the Undercity muted, replaced by a symphony of chiming credits, hushed whispers, and the low, thrumming bass of a system designed to soothe and entrap.
The interior was a cathedral of vice. Gilded pillars, etched with runes that pulsed with soft, seductive light, supported a ceiling that was a live projection of the Aethelburg night sky, complete with drifting clouds and constellations that formed and reformed into lewd or auspicious symbols. The air was cooler here, scented with expensive perfume and the sharp, clean tang of high-grade alcohol. Patrons in shimmering silks and razor-cut suits drifted between gaming tables where holographic dealers dealt cards of pure light. Liraya, to her credit, looked like she belonged, her posture regal, her gaze sweeping the room with a cool, analytical curiosity. Konto felt like a wolf in sheep's clothing, every instinct screaming that he was being watched. The Aspect tattoos on the patrons' hands and necks glowed with soft, controlled light—Fire Aspects at the poker tables, Earth Aspects at the dice games, their power a casual display of status.
"Stick to the plan," Liraya murmured, her voice barely a whisper against the ambient noise. "We're buyers. Looking for a unique experience. The Night Market broker said to ask for a 'private table.'"
Konto nodded, his eyes scanning the security. They weren't Arcane Wardens, but something else. Hard-eyed men and women in sharp, dark suits, their movements economical and predatory. They weren't just bouncers; they were enforcers. He could feel the faint, psychic pressure of their presence, a low-level hum of mental discipline that spoke of training. They were Weavers, unregistered and loyal to the house. The Somnus Cartel didn't just deal in dreams; they weaponized them.
They approached a main bar that seemed to be carved from a single, massive piece of obsidian. The bartender, a woman with silver hair coiled like serpents and eyes the color of liquid mercury, polished a glass with a cloth that left faint, sparkling trails in the air.
"Champagne," Liraya said, her voice crisp and carrying the easy authority of the Upper Spires. "And information."
The bartender's smile was a thin, practiced line. "Information is the most expensive vintage we serve."
"We're aware," Liraya replied, placing the cred-stick on the polished obsidian. "We're looking for a game that isn't on the main floor. Something more… immersive."
The bartender's gaze flickered from Liraya to Konto, lingering on his face for a fraction of a second too long. He felt the faintest tickle against his mental shields, a casual, invasive probe. He reinforced them instinctively, a wall of brick and mortar in his mind. The probe retreated. The bartender's smile didn't change, but her eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. "The Cage offers many experiences. For the right price."
"The price is not an issue," Konto said, his voice a low rumble. "We want to see the dream-pits."
That was the mistake. The code words from the Night Market broker were for amateurs. The real currency here was power, and they had just announced themselves as outsiders. The bartender set the glass down with a soft, final click. "The pits are for members only."
A man detached himself from a nearby pillar, moving with a liquid grace that was unnerving. He was tall and lean, dressed in a suit of dark grey silk that seemed to absorb the light. His hair was a shock of white, and his eyes were a pale, arctic blue. But it was the aura around him that made Konto's stomach clench. It was the same feeling he got from a corrupted dream, but this one was controlled, focused, and utterly malevolent. The Aspect tattoos on his neck, a series of sharp, jagged lines, glowed with a sickly purple light.
"Members, or people who don't ask stupid questions," the man said, his voice smooth as venom. He stopped beside them, his gaze dismissive of Liraya and fixed entirely on Konto. "I hear you're looking for a dream, little walker. You look like you're already living in a bad one."
Konto's blood ran cold. He knew that face. Kaelen. A ghost story whispered among the unlicensed psychics of the Undercity, a dreamwalker who didn't just extract secrets, but shattered minds for fun and profit. He was everything Konto feared becoming, a creature of pure, selfish id.
"A psychic duel?" Konto repeated, keeping his voice level. "This isn't a back-alley dive, Kaelen. We're here for business."
Kaelen's grin widened, a predator's baring of teeth. "The business is dreams, little walker. And this is how we settle disputes. In the pit. Or are you scared?"
The challenge hung in the air, thick with unspoken menace. The patrons of the Crescent Veil were watching, their eyes gleaming with cruel anticipation. The soft chime of the casino had faded into a hushed silence. Liraya's hand found his arm, her touch a silent, urgent question. He couldn't back down. To refuse would be to admit weakness, to confirm they were frauds. It would get them killed just as surely as accepting the challenge. But to accept… to enter the dreamscape in his current state, with the corruption already whispering at the edges of his mind… that was a different kind of suicide. He looked from Kaelen's smug face to Liraya's worried eyes and made his choice.
"Fine," he said, his voice a low growl. "Let's go to the pit."
Kaelen laughed, a short, sharp sound that was all contempt. He gestured with a long-fingered hand. "Right this way. Let's give the clientele a real show."
They were led through a part of the casino the public didn't see. The opulent glamour gave way to stark, functional corridors of brushed steel and flickering fluorescent strips. The air grew colder, carrying the antiseptic smell of sterilization and something else, something coppery and organic, like old blood. The hum of the main floor was replaced by the low, resonant thrum of powerful machinery. Two of Kaelen's enforcers fell in behind them, their presence a silent, physical threat.
Liraya leaned in close, her voice a frantic whisper. "Konto, this is a trap. He knows who you are."
"He knows I'm a dreamwalker," Konto corrected, his eyes fixed on Kaelen's back. "He doesn't know anything else. This is about territory. He sees me as a rival moving in on his turf."
"You're not in any condition for a duel! The corruption—"
"I'll handle it," he cut her off, his tone sharper than he intended. He immediately softened it. "I have to. Just… be ready. If you see a chance to cause a distraction, take it. Anything to throw him off balance."
She nodded, her expression a mask of grim determination. Her hands were already glowing faintly, the air around them shimmering as she drew on her Aspect, preparing a weave he couldn't see but could feel—a subtle manipulation of the ambient energy, a hair-trigger spell waiting for a target.
They arrived at a circular chamber, dominated by a single, large chair in the center. It looked like a cross between a dentist's chair and an electric chair, all polished chrome and thick, leather restraints. Thick cables, pulsing with a soft blue light, snaked from the chair to a console manned by a technician with vacant eyes and a series of glowing ports implanted along his shaved scalp. This was the dream-pit. A place where two minds could be connected, their wills clashing in a raw, digital arena while their bodies lay vulnerable.
"The rules are simple," Kaelen said, shrugging off his jacket and handing it to one of his guards. He rolled his neck, the joints cracking with a series of sharp pops. "No physical weapons. Only what's in your head. The machine amplifies our connection, makes it real. First one to have their mental shields shattered loses. The machine… it doesn't like a mess. It helps finish the job. Permanent-like."
Konto stripped off his own jacket, handing it to Liraya. Her fingers brushed his, a fleeting touch that was both a comfort and a reminder of everything he stood to lose. He sat down in the cold chair, the leather creaking under his weight. The technician moved forward, his movements robotic, and began attaching the nodes to Konto's temples. The metal was cold against his skin. A low hum vibrated through the chair, sinking into his bones.
Across from him, Kaelen settled into an identical chair, a look of ecstatic anticipation on his face. "I've heard about you, Konto. The ghost who walks in dreams. The man who pulled a secret from the Arch-Mage himself. They say you're good. I'm going to enjoy breaking you."
Konto didn't reply. He closed his eyes, focusing inward. He had to build his fortress. He pictured a wall of solid, seamless obsidian, a hundred feet high and a hundred feet thick. He reinforced it with memories of Elara's laugh, of the first time he'd successfully used his powers to help someone, of the gritty, stubborn resilience of the Undercity itself. He built his defenses, but as he did, he felt the corruption stirring. A hairline fracture appeared in the obsidian wall. From it, a thin, black ooze began to seep, whispering of doubt and fear.
*You can't win. He's stronger than you. He's what you'll become.*
"Initiating sync," the technician's voice droned.
The world dissolved.
The transition was jarring, a violent lurch from physical reality to the conceptual space of the dreamscape. One moment, Konto was in the cold chair; the next, he was standing on a platform of black glass suspended in an endless, starless void. Kaelen stood opposite him, no longer in a suit but clad in armor of jagged, purple-black crystal that seemed to drink the light. His eyes burned with malevolent glee.
"Let's see what you're made of, little walker," Kaelen's voice echoed, not from his mouth, but from the void itself.
Kaelen attacked first. He didn't form a weapon. He simply *willed* the platform to shatter. The black glass beneath Konto's feet exploded into a million shards, and he plummeted into the abyss. He fought the instinct to panic, forcing his mind to solidify the air beneath him, creating a new foothold. He landed hard, his mental knees buckling. The effort cost him. A crack splintered across his obsidian wall.
*Too slow. Too weak.*
Kaelen was on him in an instant, a blur of crystalline armor. He didn't punch or kick; he struck with pure psychic force. A blow that felt like a physical hammer slammed into Konto's chest, throwing him backward. He skidded across the invisible ground, his mental shields screaming. Kaelen was a brute, a savage. He used overwhelming, direct force, seeking to pulverize Konto's defenses with sheer power.
Konto scrambled to his feet, deflecting another blow with a hastily erected shield of shimmering energy. The impact rattled his teeth, or the dream-equivalent of them. He couldn't win this way. Kaelen was stronger, his corruption a source of power, not weakness. Konto had to be smarter. He had to use the one thing Kaelen didn't have: subtlety.
He feinted left, then dove right, letting Kaelen's next blow miss him by inches. Instead of countering, Konto reached out with his mind, not to attack, but to touch. He brushed against Kaelen's consciousness, a light, searching probe. He found what he was looking for almost instantly: arrogance. A deep-seated, unshakable belief in his own superiority. It was a chink in the armor.
Konto shaped a thought. He didn't create a monster or a weapon; he created a mirror. A perfect, seamless pane of glass that appeared between them. In it, Kaelen saw not himself, but a terrified child, cowering in a corner. It was a guess, a shot in the dark based on the raw, narcissistic cruelty he sensed in his rival.
Kaelen froze. For a split second, his concentration wavered. "What is this?" he snarled.
"Your reflection," Konto shot back, pouring all his will into the illusion. He made the child weep, the sound thin and pathetic in the vast emptiness.
"Lies!" Kaelen roared, and he attacked the mirror with a furious blast of purple energy. The mirror shattered, but the moment of distraction was all Konto needed. He didn't press the attack. Instead, he retreated, pulling back into the shadows of the void, letting Kaelen's rage burn itself out.
But the corruption in his own mind was taking advantage of the chaos. The black ooze was seeping faster now, forming tendrils that snaked around his thoughts. The image of Elara, his strongest memory, flickered and distorted, her face melting into the screaming visage of a nightmare creature.
*You can't protect her. You couldn't then. You can't now.*
A wave of despair washed over him, cold and suffocating. His obsidian wall groaned, another massive crack spreading across its surface. He stumbled, his focus fracturing.
Kaelen saw it. A cruel, triumphant grin spread across his face. "Losing your grip, little walker? The dreamscape is a hungry place. It eats the weak."
He lunged, his crystalline fist raised for a final, devastating blow. Konto knew he couldn't block it. His shields were failing. The corruption was inside him, whispering, poisoning his will. This was it. This was how he ended. A shattered mind in a backroom casino, his body a vegetable, his partner left to die.
Then he felt it. A subtle shift in the energy of the dream-pit. A faint, warm pulse, like a distant sun. Liraya. She was doing something. She couldn't enter the dreamscape, but she was a powerful mage. She was messing with the machine, the power source. It wasn't enough to shut it down, but it was enough to create a fluctuation, a momentary dip in the energy that fed Kaelen's assault.
The blow that should have shattered Konto's mind instead glanced off his failing shield, a glancing blow that sent a shockwave of pain through his skull but left him intact. It was the opening he needed. The corruption was still there, the whispers still loud, but Liraya's intervention had given him a sliver of clarity. He couldn't fight Kaelen and the corruption at the same time. So he wouldn't. He would use one to fight the other.
He embraced the darkness.
He stopped fighting the black ooze. He let it in. He channeled its raw, chaotic energy, not into his own mind, but outward. He didn't try to shape it into a weapon. He simply released it, a wave of pure, undiluted nightmare.
The void around them warped. The starless blackness bled into a swirling vortex of screaming faces, grasping claws, and scenes of urban decay. The floor beneath them became a roiling ocean of lost memories and broken dreams. It was the Somnolent Corruption, unleashed.
Kaelen, who had always controlled his corruption, had never faced it as an external force. He was a creature of the dark, but he had never been swallowed by it. He recoiled in horror as the nightmare tide washed over him. His crystalline armor began to crack, not from a physical blow, but from the sheer, illogical horror of it all. The nightmares he used as weapons were now turning on him.
"No!" he screamed, his voice a mixture of fury and terror. "This is my power! Mine!"
He tried to fight it, to impose his will on the chaos, but it was like trying to cup water in a sieve. The corruption Konto had unleashed was wild, untamed, and infinitely more terrifying than the focused cruelty Kaelen wielded.
Konto stood at the eye of the storm, the epicenter of the madness he had released. He felt the corruption tearing at him, ripping away his memories, his sense of self. He was holding on by a thread, his identity a flickering candle in a hurricane. But he had Kaelen where he wanted him. He pushed forward, walking through the chaos as if it were a rainstorm, and placed a hand on Kaelen's cracked helmet.
He didn't shatter his mind. That would be too easy. That would make him just like Kaelen. Instead, he did what he did best. He extracted.
*Where does the sedative come from?*
The question was a hook of pure will, sinking deep into Kaelen's terrified consciousness. The answer came back not as a word, but as an image, a flash of searing clarity: a sterile, white laboratory. A logo of a stylized, three-forked lightning bolt. A name, spoken in a cold, female voice: Hephaestia.
He had it.
With a final, monumental effort, Konto severed the connection. He shoved Kaelen away from him and, with the last of his strength, screamed a single command into the void: *WAKE UP!*
The world snapped back into place with the force of a physical blow. Konto was gasping in the chair, his body drenched in cold sweat, every nerve ending on fire. The technician was fumbling with the restraints, his face pale with fear. Across from him, Kaelen was convulsing, his eyes rolled back in his head, a thin trickle of blood leaking from his nose. He hadn't been shattered, but he had been broken.
Liraya was at his side in an instant, her hands cool on his forehead. "Konto? Are you alright?"
He couldn't answer. His vision was swimming. The black ooze was receding, but it had left its mark. The world seemed sharper, more fragile. He could see the faint, shimmering auras around everyone in the room, the raw, psychic energy that bled from them. He could hear the technician's frantic thoughts, a jumble of fear and confusion. The corruption hadn't been purged. It had been integrated. He had won the duel, but he had lost a piece of himself in the process.
He pushed himself up, his muscles screaming in protest. He looked at Kaelen, who was being dragged away by his guards, a broken, whimpering mess. The patrons and staff of the Gilded Cage watched him with a new kind of fear, a mixture of respect and terror. He was no longer just an outsider. He was the man who had walked into the pit and tamed the monster.
He had the information they needed. The plague wasn't just a local conspiracy. It had an outside supplier. A rival city-state. Hephaestia.
The mission was a success. But as he looked at his own trembling hands, seeing the faint, dark veins that now seemed to pulse under his skin, he knew the real war was just beginning. And he was no longer sure which side he was on.