207. Syndicates of the City of Spades

Long ago the City of Spades ran along the same flat plane as Brandar. Bordering H10 and S3 was the terminating line of H10’s escarpment. The smooth cliffs plunged straight into an endlessly thick blanket of fog. The outskirts of the City of Spades existed in a colossal canyon spanning from the City of Hearts all the way to the distant City of Clubs.

Beneath the fog the lands dug deeper. The fog merely scratched surface of its impossible depth. An uneven valley of shanty towns and ruined landscapes remained enshrouded in a perpetual haze, resembling an infected wound when viewed from above.

The haze’s origins were unknown, and it kept the Eye in the sky blind to the inhumane horrors that laid beneath.

The landscape once ran level with where the fog now hovers. The devastation of the last Atelier War had upheaved tremendous mounds of rock, exposing a volatile sinkhole that caused a chain reaction to occur across all of the City of Spades.

As a result, the entire city had sunken into itself, consumed by its own wrathful hatred and unpunished depravities. The fog was like a portal into a different world made of nothing but dilapidated shantytowns.

Villages. Towns. Cities even… they could all be found down, ran by strength and the promise of protection. More often than not it the weak did not have a choice on who ruled them, let alone carry a voice.

Not all were so fragmented either. In some areas life went on as normal, but these places were in the territories of either Syndicates or under the protection of powerful organization founded in H10.

These people, however, did not do this out of the kindness of their hearts.

Their greed was disguised as ‘compassion’.

Protection costed the desperate a pretty coin. So long as they wished to live then they were at the whims of the world beneath the fog, invisible to all above. The City of Spades was where aspirations of the few festered, and where the rest died.

If one did not have the strength to survive on their own, then all they could do was submit.

Deep underneath the fog, beyond the safe haven – Armistice Point – that bridged H10 and S4, and over the rocky bridge that went over the chasm surrounding the safe haven was a place known as the Brick Graveyard.

Nothing but the ruins of brickwork homes sprawled over tens of kilometres in every direction away from Armistice Point. The contrast between the two worlds was so great that when looked at from afar the pristine walls and bricked structures were like a mirage.

The Brick Graveyard served as a reminder for what was lost after the last Atelier War that saw two Ateliers clash. There were no survivors. The majority of S4 were ruins.

Their roads were the only thing maintained. The homes had been looted so extensively that not even a shard of glass remained. It had died a long, painful death along with their inhabitants.

A small settlement thrived on the distant border of the Brick Graveyard, southeast of Armistice Point. It was a small town controlled by a Syndicate like many others.

This Syndicate was nothing large, notable nor notorious. They were considered small, numbering less than 20 in manpower. Sleeping Dogs was their name.

Wooden huts and retrofitted ruins mended by what could barely pass as the work of a carpenter sprawled in a tightly knit manner. The streets were thin and ran like veins with no rhyme or reason in regards to direction.

Laundry was hung above strings and rope that went from home to home. Sometimes, one would find a body left to rot atop them either to act as a warning or to ‘greet’ outsiders. All manners of life roamed freely, with many missing various fingers and toes, whilst the strong kept all their digits.

There miraculously existed an inn for outsiders to rest. The price was always up to the Syndicate, of course. Past its wooden doors and small band of axe-wielding guards that stood outside overwatching their small settlement was a gathering of two contrasting groups.

The small Syndicate: the Sleeping Dogs, and a tiny Office that offered a wide range of protection for their clients to help undercut the bigger dogs. The client their office had recently fished was a confident man dressed in a suit – a rare apparel found in the City of Spades.

A pair of dice tumbled along a round, chipped table. The man in the suit sat across a massive, muscular man who wore his scars like tattoos. In one hand was a smoking pipe. His apparel exposed maximum skin and emphasised muscles as a means of intimidation.

In contrast, the office members who stood silently beside their seated client were well dressed and groomed in blue, military-esque uniform which saw leather padded along their vulnerable areas, such their chests.

The man across the suited person was undoubtably the one who ran this place.

“S-Sevens again…” The suited man choked on his breath, much to amusement of the people within the room.

“Keep rolling good friend. I never said you had to stop.” The boss spoke in a generous tone, blowing more smoke into the saturated inn. “You stop now, and you pay up. You have what we want. Or, you can keep going and make it all back.”

“You’re on a losing streak. I suggest you pay them now and leave before things get dangerous.” One of the male Office members quietly urged. “Sevens is all the dice rolls. It’s being manipulated.”

“B-But I saw someone win earlier. You saw it too so that can’t be right.” The man in the suit uttered, causing the Office members to reluctantly stand by, much to the joy of the boss and his rowdy henchmen.

“I… I’m getting bad vibes already. I still can’t get rid of the smell of unwashed blood.” A female member timidly complained, holding a glaive close to her chest.

“It’s normal procedure. This isn’t the first time our Office has dealt with them.” The third Office member assured. “Remember our rules. We cannot impose ourselves onto our clients. We only protect.”

“Undercutting but without the show of strength makes you three all the more a bigger target.” The boss laughed, blowing smoke in their direction, causing the woman to shudder. “But we’re kind here. Keep rolling friend. Get anything other than a seven and you’re free to go. Lose again, and we might have to take your fingers. Maybe your toes. Your eyes? Trying to buy back your family under our grateful care…”

The boss chuckled to himself, tormenting the man with his presence alone as the gambler threw the dice once again. It ran off the table and moved unnaturally, resulting in the tally of 7 as it always had. Earlier, he had watched a group play before him and win several times, enough to buy their spouses back from what the Syndicate called the ‘Den’.

The Sleeping Dogs were a Syndicate that participated in the trafficking of people, usually to extort people like the gambler himself out of valuables or, most importantly, their fingers.

A collection bin sat underneath the boss. It leaked with fresh blood and had already collected well over fifteen fingers.

“… but if your love is that great despite how well used she is, then maybe we should give her back. Ha ha. Friend. When you tremble like that it tells me that you’re not so keen on seeing them again. What a shame. And here we thought we found a perfect couple for those cannibals.”

The gambler wanted to vomit. The faces of the Office members remained mostly unchanged. They couldn’t care less for their client unless it was a physical altercation. However, activity began to brew within the inn. The bartender slipped a throwing knife onto the counter, as well as ropes, prompting the Office members to similarly brandish their weapons.

“Do you believe he has what I want?” The boss suddenly asked, his eyes moving from member to member until they landed on the woman, who jolted erect.

“O-Of course… W-who in their right mind would gamble with nothing?” She answered, a bead of sweat running down her forehead.

“This man. We were only informed that this was a protection request, but I didn’t expect him to willingly drag us into fight.” Her partner placed a blade along the throat of the gambler. “… forgive our instruction. Our contract specifically asks us to protect our client.”

“And you think you’re going to walk out here without paying us? Our friend here must have paid you up front. Coins? Elven Coins? Maybe a couple teeth?” The boss spoke as his henchmen slowly began to surround them.

Furniture began to move on their own, and the knives placed along the bar shivered as if manipulated by an invisible force.

“It’s going to be messy again…”

“What do you think? Justica Arms won’t notice if we just let him go.

“T-they’ll find out. They always do. I-I don’t want to do something wrong.”

“Good friends. This man willingly came here to gamble, knowing he hand nothing. Don’t play the moral card with scum like this. It was him who played this game in the first place. We are the victims, no?” The boss laughed, blowing smoke at the man who sat there, drowning in despair. He was no longer their ‘friend’. “You like the shiny pebbles? Your coins? Remove us, and you remove one node of income. So long as we’re in control over these parts then you also got business comin’ your way. So let’s leave this here.”

“But you also want what he’s given us.”

“That goes without saying. Tell you what. Give that woman to us and you can leave without trouble.” He finally offered, right as a weighted rope suddenly flew across the room, passing by the shoulders of many.

It ensnared the gambler, throwing him to the ground as it restrained him to his chair. It instantly shattered, throwing splinters across the room. It became clear that the boss of the Sleeping Dogs was capable of manipulating objects at will. The man was instantly knocked out, leaving only the Office members who were heavily outmatched.

But they didn’t raise their weapons like the woman did. Instead, they slowly lowered them, considering the offer.

“There’s no way right? Hey… Hey…?”

“Our Office will suffer a major blow if we lose the coins or fail to fulfil our mission. They won’t kill him, so no one will be able to prove the outcome of this.”

“That also extends to you. I don’t know how someone so boneless got hired into our Office. We’ll let them know that you were a mistake. I hope you understand.”

“… What… but you were the one who hired me…” She staggered backwards, unable to believe how quickly they had turned against her. It was surreal. A nightmare had dawned upon her in the blink of an eye.

“I will never make that mistake again. But it worked well in the end. Excuse us.”

“Goodbye.”

They left without another word, leaving the black-haired woman in utter disbelief.

“… Snakes… D-Dammit… Is the Office really that much more important? I-I hate this line of work… I should have quitted when I had the chance.”

Her survival instincts fired on all cylinders as she gripped onto her giant glaive, still trembling. A part of her yearned to go after them, but it was already too late. By now, she was completely surrounded. Her weapon was the only thing left by her side.

Just as the two men were about to leave – the floorboards suddenly sprung up and devoured them like a giant bear trap. A red mist was all that was left of them. Their apparel were shredded so finely that they still lingered in the air, carried by a non-existent wind.

The boss of the Sleeping Dogs never intended for them to leave.

“A shame that we couldn’t get their fingers. All this mass on me means nothing if a twerp half the size of me can rip my guts out with just their pinky. So you gotta lay the foundations. Lower their guard and –” He blew one last time towards her, half amused by his latest merchandise. “– You get a catch. But no one’s going to want you. I’m tempted to let you back off into the streets, but what do you all say?”

“She’s ours.”

“Leave her. She still has all her fingers attached!”

“We haven’t had anything new for the last week ever since those red blobs and the Bookheads came demanding our catches!”

All manners of depraved calls surrounded her. She was at the greatest odds, and she knew that her life in their hands would be miserable. But even so, and in spite of her fear, she remained cemented, ready to at least take several down with her.

She offered one swift prayer to the Celestial Heavens, shutting her eyes for one moment before she changed her grip on her glaive.

But she never swung.

No one moved an inch. Several harrowing screams resounded from outside as an unnatural heat began to boil their blood. Footsteps could be heard just beyond their shabby walls, and a figure could vaguely be seen through its many cracks.

Behind them were a bundle of bodies, each squirming and screaming as they were dragged with strings attached directly from their bodies. The heat came from their wounds that produced this strange string.

The remaining woman quickly used this confusion to slash at several of the Syndicate members, downing five in an instant before she was quickly swarmed and apprehended. Panic quickly ensued as the boss threw himself from the seat, cracking his neck all the while the woman screamed for help from the outsider.

“Someone shut her the fuck up.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are trampling on our turf!?”

“There were four of them! Get the other man up! You – whoever the fuck you are – If you don’t want to lose your precious member and client then come in with your back turned to us! We could take her fingers, eyes, and tongue just like that –!”

“DON’T COME INSI –!”

She was swiftly beaten at the back of the head, immediately rendering her completely incapable of speaking. It dazed her, and her eyes rocked all over the place as she hung limp in their arms, barely breathing.

No one on the other end spoke a word. They stood at the entrance, unmoving with only the shadow of their boots visible beneath the door. Right away they could tell this person was small. So small that it caused the boss to smirk, but there was also a tinge of fear that kept him on edge.

Because it was as he said – even the smallest person could tear him apart with only their pinkie depending on their strength. The screams outside never stopped, and it drowned their words as someone was immediately ordered to check the door.

However, just before he could kick the door into the face of their newest enemy, it suddenly exploded in their face, causing shrapnel to shred them. What remained was the streaming palm of a woman dressed in a black, feathered coat, with golden eyes that demanded them to submit.

And submit they did.

Whether by a mysterious force, fear or by her presence alone – they felt every inch, every hair and every crevice of their soul under the scrutiny of one thousand eyes. Her presence demanded their attention, their submission and in this one instance – their retribution.

She took one step forward and dragged every single one of the Sleeping Dog members that were not currently within the inn, all by herself. She was like a child dragging along a bunch of deflated balloons.

Her appearance was like that of a black-feathered angel, a complete perversion of the pale angels they believed in and the doves of white. She was the antithesis, and before long, she was face to face with the boss of the Sleeping Dogs.

But his perspective was false. Because in reality he was already devoured by her overbearing presence. Her eyes ravaged his soul, carrying nothing but animosity that had already denoted him as something less than human.

He was no more than a dog, soon to be a forever sleeping one.