Shadow of the Changeling

Chapter 2: Into the Abyss

The underhive streets were a tangled mess of filth, shadows, and low voices whispering in the dark. The air was thick with the scent of cheap alcohol, burning scrap, and unwashed bodies. Kel'Acthar moved confidently through it all, his broad, muscular form cutting an imposing figure among the riffraff, his hooves clacking softly on the uneven ground. His casual tank top, single pauldron, and rugged pants allowed him to blend in, while the two knuckle dusters on his hands—Truth and Cull—completed the look of a streetwise bruiser.

Behind him, Inquisitor Elara Valenhurst kept pace, moving with practiced grace. Though she felt out of place, her fitted bodysuit and ash-darkened cloak concealed her noble bearing well enough. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, scanned every shadow. Psychic energy simmered just beneath the surface of her thoughts, ready to lash out at the first sign of danger.

“Remember,” Kel'Acthar muttered as they approached a low-lit building draped with strips of stained fabric, “speak only when spoken to. And keep it brief. If they ask why you’re here, you’re my client. Worried mother looking for her kid.”

Elara narrowed her eyes at his tone. “I’ve played this role before, Kel. I don’t need you reminding me.”

Kel'Acthar shot her a quick glance, his red eyes glinting with faint amusement. “Belik,” he corrected. “Here, my name’s Belik.”

She frowned. “Belik?”

He nodded, his voice lowering as they neared the building. “I’ve been in this hive for half a year now. Built up a reputation in the fighting pits. People know me, respect me, fear me. That’s why this works.”

Elara arched an eyebrow. “And here I thought you were just naturally intimidating.”

Kel'Acthar chuckled softly, the sound almost lost in the ambient noise of the hive. “I’ve earned my place down here. Don’t ruin it.”

She rolled her eyes but said nothing. Instead, she adjusted the thin shawl over her shoulders, trying to mask her discomfort at the grime coating the underhive streets. As much as she hated to admit it, Kel—Belik—knew this place far better than she ever could.

The two entered the low-lit hideout, stepping into a room choked with smoke and the stench of unwashed bodies. Rusted metal walls reflected flickering lumens, casting distorted shadows of the gang members sprawled around makeshift tables. Their eyes locked onto the newcomers, suspicion thick in the air.

At the back of the room, seated on a throne of scavenged steel and worn cushions, was the gang’s leader. A scar ran down the left side of his face, pulling his lip into a permanent sneer. His hulking frame dwarfed the other gang members, his sheer presence commanding the room.

Kel’Acthar inclined his head in greeting. “Boss Krag. Got work for us?”

Krag’s sharp eyes flicked to Elara, narrowing. “Who’s the skirt?”

“She’s with me,” Kel said casually, his voice low and confident. “Got herself a problem she can’t solve alone. Figured I’d bring her here. Maybe we help each other.”

The room erupted in low chuckles, but Krag silenced them with a wave of his hand. “A noblewoman in the underhive? That’s rich. What’s your story, girl?”

Elara stepped forward, keeping her voice steady but tinged with feigned desperation. “My son,” she said, glancing down as though to compose herself. “He disappeared weeks ago. The Arbites won’t investigate. They said it’s not worth their time. I—” She faltered, lifting her eyes to meet Krag’s. “I don’t know where else to turn.”

Krag leaned back in his makeshift throne, studying her. “And you thought coming here would solve your problem? What makes you think I give a damn about some lost noble brat?”

“She pays well,” Kel cut in, his tone clipped. “And she’s desperate. Desperate people are useful.”

The gang leader grunted, stroking his chin. “Maybe. But new blood doesn’t walk in here and ask favors without proving they’ve got what it takes.” He gestured lazily to a wiry man with a broken nose sitting nearby. “Murth, what do you think?”

Murth sneered, his eyes fixed on Elara. “I think the skirt’s full of it. Bet she’s never even seen blood, let alone spilled any.”

Elara’s lips curved into a faint smirk, her eyes locking onto Murth’s with icy precision. “I don’t need to look like scum to deal with scum.”

The room fell silent. Murth’s hand drifted to the knife at his belt, his jaw tightening. But before he could act, Krag barked a laugh. “Feisty. I like her.”

He turned his attention back to Kel. “All right, Belik. You want my blessing to move around the underhive? You’ll earn it. Got a gang of heretics hiding out in the next sector. They’ve been stealing my shipments, causing trouble. Take them out.”

Kel’Acthar tilted his head. “Clean job or a message?”

“Clean job,” Krag replied, his grin widening. “No survivors.”

Kel glanced at Elara, his expression unreadable. “You up for this?”

She gave a curt nod. “Let’s get it done.”

---

The heretics’ hideout was a crumbling building at the edge of the block, its shattered windows and rusted doors barely concealing the flickering lights inside. The Warp’s taint hung heavy in the air, its acrid stench making Elara’s skin crawl.

Kel’Acthar moved in first, his massive frame leading the way as they pushed through the door. Inside, a group of three heretics sat around a table, their whispers falling silent as the two strangers entered.

The largest of them, a wiry man with a tattooed scalp, rose to his feet, sneering. “Who in the Warp are you?”

Kel’Acthar didn’t waste words. He lunged forward, Truth and Cull smashing into the heretic’s jaw with brutal efficiency. The man crumpled to the floor, unconscious before he hit the ground.

The second heretic raised a lasgun, but before he could fire, Elara extended her hand. A surge of psychic energy rippled through the room, wrenching the weapon from his grasp and sending it skittering across the floor. Her blade flashed as she darted forward, slashing across his shoulder and forcing him to the ground with a pained cry.

The final heretic turned to run, but Kel’Acthar intercepted him with a single, thunderous punch to the ribs. The power packs on his knuckle dusters crackled as the blow sent the man sprawling, his body lifeless before it hit the ground.

The room fell silent, the only sound the faint hum of the power packs as Kel’Acthar wiped his knuckle dusters on his pants.

“You didn’t mention you had a blade,” he muttered, glancing at Elara.

She arched an eyebrow. “You didn’t mention those,” she said, nodding to his powered knuckle dusters.

Kel grinned, a rare flicker of amusement crossing his face. “Guess we’re both full of surprises.”

---

When they returned to Krag’s hideout, the gang members’ eyes followed them with a newfound respect. Krag leaned forward in his throne, his scarred face breaking into a wide grin.

“Well done,” he said, his tone laced with approval. “Seems you’ve got what it takes.”

Kel nodded, his expression neutral. “We’ll need to move around freely.”

“You’ve earned it,” Krag replied, waving them off. “Don’t make me regret it.”

As they left, Elara cast a sidelong glance at Kel’Acthar. “Well?”

Kel shrugged. “Not bad for a noble.”

Elara allowed herself a faint smile. “Not bad for a beastman.”

They disappeared into the shadows, their uneasy partnership solidifying with each step.