Killz led Devon into a chamber. Awaiting in that private room with regal poise atop velvet divan, sat a striking woman garbed in shimmering silks. Her caramel-hued features were beautiful bordering on severe like a goddess who could gift fortunes with a glance or curse enemies to shadow. Callous indifference dominated the atmosphere as two dangerous figures entered.

This living idol exuded primal intensity through predatory eyes. Devon swore thin tendrils of inky black smoke swirled the base surface underneath her where polished heels touched stonework. Unease tingled his senses - this entity was no ordinary associate.

Her hazel gaze turned measuring Devon like a rare insect. "Fresh meat you bring underwing this cycle... Mm, I sense bindings to Light within his cellular biology." Full red lips pursed thoughtfully. "But strands of Chaos churn his blood all the same. Interesting subject for our little garden...”

She smiled without warmth, teeth dainty yet haunting as a gravestone. Devon stood rigid and barely breathing. Never had he encountered true supernatural danger this concentrated. But withdrawal risked unknown consequences.

Sensing the tension, Killz stepped forward gesturing respectfully. “A pleasure as always conferring with you, Fortunekeeper. Please excuse my young associate’s backward manners in your divine presence.” He shot Devon a cautioning glare.

The elegant woman tilted her head inquisitively. “No need for apologies. I quite admire the raw reactions of mortal specimens when faced with cosmic unknowns.” She studied Devon like a spider would an ensnared fly. “Although if he wishes to progress farther here, 409 propriety protocols must manifest, including addressing your host appropriately.”

Her cutting tone sparked panic within Devon and he immediately dropped to one knee formally. “A thousand pardons, madam! My ignorant tongue knows not how to address beings of... such supreme standing.” He kept his eyes lowered submissively. What had he gotten into now?!

The intimidating woman nodded in approval, her dreadful aura softening somewhat.

“Well spoken. You show sparks of intuition at least - a promising quality in these coming times.” Her nails traced Devil’s Ivy leaves sprouting miraculously from nearby stonework. “I am the Exchange Broker of the Twelve Courts. District governors and local affairs hold little interest for my station.”

She smiled coldly. “Although lately, your city's unrest has attracted Keepers’ scrutiny as rifts expand unchecked. Plants bloom eagerly anticipating harvest, so to speak...”

Unease swirled Devon’s gut speculating the Broker’s obscure meaning. But daring further inquiry risked wrathful offence. Thus he remained silent as Killz resumed dialogue.

“Portland’s fate is indeed at an event horizon, my Lady. Chaotic urban warfare spreads daily even with enhanced militia crackdowns." Killz cracked a sly smile. "If the common rabble continues turning monthly profits from neon trafficking, wider stability across Jamaica may collapse.” He chuckled.

The Broker waved one hand lazily. “Let the human cattle multiply their numbers and addictions. Such cycles of golden eras fading into decline are inescapable through civilizations across infinite spectra.” She examined dangerous nails. “Although should this outbreak taint sovereign borders, mobilization of corrective measures follows swiftly.”

She eyed Killz and Devon like ants scuttling her pristine floors. “That outcome will displease all involved. Thus I extended felicitations establishing this facility boosting production and local control, did I not?”

“Y-yes Diviner! Your providence made possible this Neon harvesting dome securing wondrous profits in troubled times!” Killz nodded fervently, clearly intimidated by the Broker’s imperial tone. “Managing volatile test subjects spreads considerable influence pacifying territory. Perhaps down the road, even election seats...”

He trailed off hesitantly under the Broker’s raised brow. Devon remained kneeling discreetly observing the tension, concentrating on regulating his own spiking vitals. This entire meeting was landing off the expected rails!

Boom!

Mercifully, a deep rumbling resonated from somewhere behind the chamber walls before another awkward beat passed. The vibration grew into booming thunder making floor tiles tremble. Devon steadied himself as fine dust rained down from the quaking ceiling.

“Speaking of productive efforts, seems my next engagement beckons.” The Broker smiled without humour, rising smoothly amidst the quakes. Rather than distressed, she appeared darkly excited like a spectator eager for a bloody spectacle.

“Come mortals, let us appraise burgeoning fruits together. You will gain wider perspective on flowering opportunities from my patronage."

Without awaiting their response, she exited the side chamber through hanging amber beads. The intricate ornaments resembled suspended honey droplets or perhaps centuries of cultivated sap. Their residue clung to Devon’s face and shoulders as he followed behind Killz confused but alert. What fresh dangers awaited now?

“Hmm?” Kill identified Devon’s fearful expression and told him, “Not to worry, Mama Dutty is a solid chick. Just don’t speak too much in her presence.”

“Oh, ok,” responded Devon before thinking to himself, ‘So her name is Mama Dutty?’

Boom! Boom!

Passing down shadowy tunnels with the sound of rumbling growing louder and more violent, the group emerged unexpectedly onto an interior mezzanine balcony with waist-high marbled railing. Spreading before them was an enormous underground arena easily triple Olympic scale surrounded by ascending stonework benches. Blazing arc lights and rock formations resembling volcanoes or mineshafts created a disorienting spectacle. The space looked carved out violently from subterranean depths themselves.

Hundreds of shouting individuals jammed spectator rows waving banners and banning makeshift instruments together creating a deafening cacophony. Their combined noise and stamping feet explained the earlier tremors felt. Countless eyes remained fixated on the central lowest arena level. Devon peered down in astonishment at the chaotic scene.

Oval craters were visible at opposite sides of the arena floor resembling beast pens. Between them warped humanoid figures thrashed violently against glowing restraints binding their thick limbs. Muscles bulging abnormally and blue neon veins coruscating across their skin, the restrained specimens resembled mythic titans or modern punk kaiju. Feral snarls and unintelligible babbling echoed from the twitching figures. They appeared maddened beyond reasoning yet somehow leashed by technology preventing outright violence between each other.

Mama Dutty suddenly spoke by Devon's shoulder making him flinch involuntarily. Her voice carried easily over the mayhem. “Behold, mortal, what becomes of your fellow humans when Nightmares awaken!" She swept one long nail indicating the ferocious mutated beings. "Alchemic reactions unlocking latent genes through Lithium immersion. Cells are realigned permanently by neon dust and nanotechnology. Strength multiplied beyond natural limits!”

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Devon's sharpened gaze was watching the arena floor. So this location served to pit unstable Neon Punksters against each other publicly. How merciless! Yet necessary insight to gather he reminded himself.

Mama Dutty meanwhile continued explaining enthusiastically. “Here loyal customers practice weaponizing reconstructed by-products from neighbouring C-9 leakage. Intriguing discoveries result after combining talismanic exposures!”

Turning to Devon, she bared her teeth hungrily. “As owner of this... “Sanctuary”, I particularly enjoy monitoring extreme biological reactions closely. Invisible worlds reveal much to those daring peek beyond flesh veils...”

Her hypnotic words stirred fearful awe in Devon. This place was no mere fighting arena. Dangerous experimental forces were manifesting that could alter Jamaica’s future severely if left unchecked!

As understanding hit him, environment control systems across Devon's hidden cybernetic suit sprung to life balancing his core homeostasis while filtering toxic environmental elements. He would need his mind, body and spirit sharpened maximally while exploring this modern nightmare. No mistakes were permissible against otherworldly intelligence.

“Stay vigilant, son.” Ras Nine’s mystical voice appeared to echo suddenly within Devon's mind. “Survival demands perceiving all angles when navigating through enemies’ rancid nucleus...”

Encouraged by his mentor's timely wisdom, Devon calmed his thundering pulse through practised breathing techniques and observed ongoing activities more analytically. He still maintained a rookie disguise in front of these potentially vicious overseers.

Around the perimeter, various armed guards signalled confirmation receiving masked handlers' approval, deactivating restraints binding the Arena captives. In moments, the freed figures exploded forward with hideous roars charging to clash amidst showers of brilliant sparks near the arena's heart markings etched into ancient stonework.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Clawed limbs swung wildly bashing opponents repeatedly as crazed beasts forgetting human civility. No discipline moderated the pure carnage erupting accentuated by neon blood streaks.

“Barbaric displays of violence...” Devon muttered. He noticed pristine unused settings arranged at the mezzanine balcony indicating spaces for privileged viewers. Several more distant alcoves contained mysterious robed guests silently assessing the escalating fighting below. Everything about the scene unnerved him thoroughly.

“Many secrets buried in bloody sands here.” Mama Dutty noted Devon's curiosity. She spoke conspiratorially, “Beasts are loosed hungering battle, yet observe twin masters seated on balcony thrones down yonder claiming prize combatants.”

Following her clawlike finger-pointing, Devon spotted two figures on a raised dais overlooking frenzied violence. The regal platform's elevated position resembled Greek Olympics judges critiquing races and pankration bouts before roaring crowds cheering favourite champions.

One bald, dark-skinned man with gold necklaces that resembled artillery shells wore an expensive Italian suit and held a sceptre with a glowing orb. He manipulated the rod occasionally, which somehow directed mutant fighters to shift attack directions, stagger or resume exertions like puppets. The bizarre controlling forces seemed magic yet clearly assisted in orchestrating Arena matches with strategy.

The second observer was a pale hooded female figure scrutinizing table screens showing biometric statistics. Perhaps a manager monitoring subject health and trait optimization, Devon speculated. These controllers definitely coordinated underground duels somehow by long-range influence. Additional insight was required to penetrate the operation directly!

As the vicious melee dragged minutes longer, eventually one battered twisted figure dropped to its knees with its neck gushing luminous fluids before toppling face forward. The victor loomed above exhaling blue mist from huge nostrils, muscles scored by bleeding claw marks. Then the handlers swarmed and restrained the dazed monster with energized nets, bringing combat to a conclusion. Roars of triumph and agony echoed throughout the expansive amphitheatre alike.

Devon turned away repulsed. He had witnessed enough pointless brutality for one night. This entire hidden realm seemed crafted by demons... and apparently maintained under regular human management too without wider Jamaica's knowledge! The scale of the conspiracy left him shaken. How to combat manifold enemies wielding such concentrated power?

Sensing inner turmoil, Killz approached flashing an eighteen-carat smile aiming to reassure his undercover protégé. “Quite exhilarating demonstrations, enuh? Mama Dutty’s rare gifts for unlocking primal reservoirs are valuable commodities attracting diverse clientele.” He gestured meaningfully around at concealed viewing terraces and luxury suites. “As yuh can see, many influential London investors and Silicon Valley technocrats have vested interests examining these ‘enhanced yet unstable’ test subjects in controlled environments.”

The gang lord chuckled while counting fat stack of US dollars a uniformed attendant presented subtly on a serving platter. “Ruthless business for sure. But victories come in all flavours, so don’t knock the hustle, star!”

Devon bit his tongue censoring choice remarks. Attending these unethical death matches merely continued trivializing mass human exploitation. How could ordinary citizens sink to such lows besides wicked coercion? His molars ground painfully witnessing the exchanged currencies. How carefully orchestrated the entire racket!

Sensing wavering trust from his newest recruit, Killz adopted a sympathetic tone leaning closer. “Listen here Devon. I know it is nuff madness reveal itself here suddenly. Yet try to see opportunity beneath harsh surface.” He smiled encouragingly. “If them enhanced louts down there can mash up fools for coin, it means anybody can level up serving higher powers. Like Shihan say - flip obstacles into openings, Aikido style!”

The gang lord pointed meaningfully towards distant suites where hooded VIPs conferred receiving the latest biometric updates regarding the Arena subjects. “Right now, the real big money is being made discovering how neon mixtures simulate metahuman abilities or induce trauma limiting problematic side effects. Him sponsors the whole research divisions!”

Eyes shimmering greedily, Killz continued his appeal. “I plan on investing heavily inna them cutting edge experiments elevating thugs into living weapons! If pit fights entertainment help fund new breakthroughs, so be it.” He grinned hungrily watching fresh replacement captives get hauled from cages towards Arena’s abattoir. “Urban municipalities soon pay big budgets for our security forces equipped with mass-manufactured powers. Police and military contracts overflow when engineered asylum shock troops demonstrate successful field testing. Then the whole island recognizes Lid Syndicate's top clan!”

He emphasised this ambitious vision with exaggerated hand chops before squeezing Devon’s tense shoulder. “Yuh with me so far, bredrin? As my top lieutenant, I guarantee yuh get front-row VIP privileges enjoying the ride to the top!” Killz smiled broadly sensing agreement near.

But Devon remained frozen in place digesting tangled revelations as his ears' filters somehow deadened the surrounding noise. Neon experiments weaponizing vulnerable citizens... Powered criminals unleashed as corporate guard dogs... Delusions of underworld grandeur toppling social order! Killz’s naked admissions left his stomach churning like choppy seas.

Yet harsh truths exposed vital threats that righteous alliances might still neutralize before establishment. This night’s many discoveries were gifts despite the nauseating presentation. Now the true enemies and obstacles took shape from obscurity. The stockpiled munitions and stokeholds mapped at last! Time now to quietly gather details enabling strategic sieges that avoided bloodier retaliation.

With welling optimism, Devon met his sponsor’s searching gaze. “Yuh aim far sighting these risky ventures, chief. I still am just a small fry struggling to understand the wider vision.” He chuckled anxiously then lied. “Although if profits really flood in supporting your, uh, urban security plans, I stand ready to handle increased... distribution.”

Killz studied Devon closely seeking deceit before flashing gold approvingly, “Now that brain is aligned properly towards progress! The same motivation is elevating me from nobody to the dawn's top contender!”

He said, referring to Dancehall Mic who led the second-largest local Guild in Jamaica and biggest rival Syndicate controlling the West side. Killz’s ambition sought to overtake even that apex with ruthless business and shows of strength. The volatile equilibrium sustaining kingdoms...

“What say we celebrate your wise choice with some fine champagne upstairs." Killz proposed, leading them away from the Arena towards guarded VIP elevators. "We shall discuss further your expanding role delivering rare products across borders...” He smiled conspiratorially. "Plenty of fertile territories remain untouched by Lid’s ambitions or Babylon’s gaze. The world soon be ours, General!”

Suppressing real fury, Devon forced a weak chuckle following the gang lord’s swaggering footsteps towards ‘fortune’s garden’. But inwardly his disciplined thoughts already planted seeds uprooting the stronghold foundations sprawled around them all.

The hunted soon turns hunter through watchfulness, insight and courage. And so the New Moon’s gathering darkness brought with it a glimmering light of hope beyond the abyss after all!