Shadows 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 an unexpected grace. Though she felt out of place, her fitted bodysuit and ash-darkened cloak concealed her noble bearing well. Her eyes, sharp and perceptive, scanned every shadow. Her psychic abilities hummed beneath the surface, ready to be called upon at a moment’s notice.

“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, just say I brought you.”

Elara narrowed her eyes. “I won’t be some silent prop. I can handle myself.”

Kel'Acthar shrugged, his red eyes glinting with faint amusement. “We’ll see.”

Inside, the room was choked with smoke and stank of cheap ale. Gang members slouched around a few tables, eyes narrowing as Kel'Acthar and Elara entered. The leader, a hulking figure with a scar down one side of his face, squinted at them, suspicion plain on his face.

“You the new blood?” he grunted.

Kel'Acthar gave a short nod. “Krag. Brought my girl here too,” he replied, tilting his head toward Elara. “We’re looking for work.”

One of the gang members, a wiry man with a broken nose, sneered. “She don’t look like no underhive scum.”

Elara’s gaze shifted to him, a faint, dangerous smirk on her lips. “I don’t need to look like scum to handle scum.”

The man’s sneer faltered, his hand drifting to a knife on his belt, but Scar-face barked a laugh. “Feisty. I like her.” He looked back at Kel'Acthar. “But you know the rules. New blood’s gotta prove himself.”

Kel'Acthar’s expression hardened as he held up his knuckle dusters, the Imperial Aquila glinting faintly on each. “Trust me. I don’t need to prove anything.”

Scar-face’s eyes narrowed. “All right, Krag. You want a place, let’s see what you’re made of. Got a gang hiding out nearby—heretics, from what we hear. Won’t be missed.”

Elara glanced at Kel'Acthar, her eyes flashing. She could sense a faint warp taint emanating from their leader. “And if they’re heretics,” she said, her voice smooth, “it would be a shame to let you handle them alone.”

Kel'Acthar inclined his head slightly, a hint of surprise crossing his face. “You sure?”

She nodded. “Let’s go.”

The gang led them to a crumbling building at the end of the block. The group lurked in the shadows, watching as Kel'Acthar and Elara approached. As they crossed the threshold, Elara sensed the taint growing stronger. Her hand drifted to her side, where she kept a small, hidden blade of her own.

Inside, a group of three heretics sat around a table, whispering, their eyes darting nervously as Kel'Acthar and Elara stepped into the dim light.

One of the heretics rose, his face twisted with a sneer. “Who in the Warp are you?”

Kel'Acthar didn’t bother with a reply. He lunged forward, Truth and Cull striking with a brutal, sudden force that shattered the heretic’s jaw. The man crumpled to the ground, his eyes rolling back.

As another heretic raised a gun, Elara moved with lightning speed, her hand outstretched. She tapped into her psychic power, unleashing a blast of force that sent the man’s weapon flying from his hand. Before he could react, she closed the distance, her blade flashing as she struck him across the shoulder, forcing him to the ground.

The last heretic turned to flee, but Kel'Acthar stepped in his path, his powerful knuckle dusters crackling as he activated the power packs. He delivered a thunderous punch, the man’s ribs crunching under the blow, and he collapsed in a heap.

The room fell silent, the three heretics lying broken on the ground. Kel'Acthar wiped his knuckle dusters on a rag, glancing back at Elara with a faint look of approval.

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

“You didn’t ask,” she replied coolly, sliding the weapon back into its sheath. “And you didn’t mention those,” she added, nodding to his powered knuckle dusters.

He gave a shrug, his lips curving into a faint smirk. “Everyone has secrets.”

They made their way back to the gang’s hideout, their presence alone drawing looks of respect from the gang members who’d doubted them. Scar-face greeted them at the door, a dark gleam of satisfaction in his eyes.

“Seems you two can handle yourselves,” he said, inclining his head. “We could use more of that.”

Kel'Acthar grunted in acknowledgment, while Elara maintained her cold, aloof expression. The gang leader’s aura was foul, his taint barely concealed, and the mere thought of associating with him made her skin crawl. But she knew better than to let her disgust show.

As they turned to leave, Kel'Acthar leaned in close, speaking softly so only she could hear. “See? This isn’t so bad.”

Elara glanced at him, her gaze sharp. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”

Outside, they made their way back into the underhive streets, Elara’s eyes flicking to Kel'Acthar. Despite her disdain, she couldn’t deny his effectiveness—and, if she were honest, she appreciated his brutal directness in combat. They made an unexpectedly efficient team, but she’d never admit it to him.

For now, she thought, glancing at the shadowed streets around them, she would play her part. But she was determined to prove herself, not just to her mentor but to this crude beastman at her side.

Little did they know, their assignment would take them deeper into the underhive’s twisted heart, where far more than mere heretics awaited.