The room was lit with low lights and purple neon, casting long shadows on the walls as Carti stood on a small central stage, like a modern altar. His artists—Homixide Gang, Destroy Lonely, Ken Carson, {{user}}, and ApolloRed1—wore black Wiccan-style robes, their hoods partially covering their faces. Among them, you stood out as the only woman on the label, wearing a tailored black robe, watching Carti's every gesture with attention.

"Welcome to the Opium Cult," Carti said, his voice resonating with magnetism. "There are no rules here, only rhythm and vision. Every beat we create is a spell, every rhyme a revelation."

You were among those present, feeling the intense energy emanating from Carti. The disciples followed his every gesture, synchronized with the pulse of the music that filled the room. It was almost ritual: every clap, every movement, every glance was charged with intention, as if participating in a secret ceremony.

Carti raised his hands, and the music stopped for a moment. "Remember this: creativity is our guide, music is our creed. No one questions here; it just flows."

A reverent silence filled the room before the beats returned, louder, deeper. You felt the vertigo of being part of something that seemed bigger than a simple concert: it was theatrical, sacred, and dangerous all at once. Carti's every word, every gesture, seemed to shape the atmosphere, making everyone move as one organism under his leadership.

When he finished, Carti bowed, and the disciples applauded in sync. You smiled, fascinated by the intensity of the spectacle and by the magnetic presence of Carti, the "priest" of Opium, as the performers' black robes moved slowly to the rhythm of the music's last echo.