Kochav's eyes, heavy with exhaustion, were fixed on the cavernous ceiling of the training hall. It curved upwards like the inside of a massive, organic bell, its chitinous surface pulsing with a soft, bioluminescent glow that cast shifting, ethereal light across the immense space.
The air was thick and humid, a strange mixture of living earth, the musky scent of unwashed hides, and a faint, metallic tang that Kochav couldn't quite place.
Every breath felt heavy, and the dull ache in his muscles was a constant companion after weeks of relentless drills.
He let out a long, slow exhale, the sound almost lost in the cavern's vastness.
Slowly, his gaze lowered, sweeping over the figures arrayed before him. Kroot stood in ragged columns, their avian heads tilted slightly, beady eyes unblinking, their bodies lean and deceptively still.
Behind them, the hulking forms of the Beastmen Abhumans formed less ordered ranks, their shaggy hides and crude armour a testament to their brute strength.
They stood idly, a mixture of boredom and simmering impatience radiating from them. They were a bizarre, mismatched assembly, raw and untamed, a far cry from the disciplined ranks of any Imperial force he'd ever commanded.
Yet, for now, they were his. His "manageable warhost," as Shadowgaze had so dryly put it.
His empty left sleeve felt like a phantom limb, a constant, irritating reminder of the new, terrible truth of his own flesh.
It was a secret he'd guarded fiercely, especially from these new, unpredictable allies.
He let out a sigh, then shouted,
"Rouar! Where the fuck are you?"
—
A soft rustle of leaves, barely audible above the tired grunts of the Kroot and Beastmen, was the only warning.
High above, nestled amongst the organic rafters of the cavernous hall, the felinid Abhuman uncoiled from its perch on a thick, glowing branch. Its lithe, dark form launched itself downwards, a blur of silent motion.
It wasn't an attack of malice, but a predator's instinct, a sudden, precise pounce aimed at Kochav's back, meant to test or assert dominance.
Before the felinid could complete its silent arc, Kochav twisted his right hand, intercepting the pouncing form. His palm met the felinid's chest with a surprising amount of force, a localized burst of telekinetic energy rather than a simple shove.
The felinid yelped, a startled, cat-like cry, its graceful lunge broken mid-air. It tumbled backward, landing with surprising agility on all fours a few paces away, its large, black eyes wide and blinking.
It shook its head, clearly disoriented but unharmed.
"There you are, furball." Kochav muttered, his eyes locking onto the felinid's
The abhumam stood up slowly, cracking its neck.
This was Rouar, a black felinid whose short, sleek fur seemed to absorb the chamber's faint light.
His eyes were black as polished obsidian, reflecting no emotion.
He wore a utilitarian brown leather armor, adorned with sharp shoulder pads that gave him a dangerous silhouette.
On his back, a long plasteel staff was fixed, its ends equipped with three conductive prongs.
Wires snaked along the staff's length, disappearing into its center, and triggers were fitted onto both grips.
When these triggers were depressed, electricity would arc from the staff's core to its prongs, transforming it into a potent shocking rod.
Rouar regarded Kochav for a moment, then asked,
"What do you want from me, Mon'keigh?"
—
"Why do I have to waste more time training these lots?"
Kochav demanded, his palm waving toward the assembled xenos.
—
"Are you questioning her lady's order?" Rouar asked, his black eyes unblinking.
—
"It's been two weeks! And look—
Kochav retorted, his frustration boiling over.
BANG!
A brilliant blue psychic bullet erupted from the muzzle of his ornate revolver, 'Sanguis Ferrum'. It streaked across the cavern, a shimmering bolt of raw force, and slammed into one of the Beastmen's carapace armor.
The force, though non-lethal, was immense; the hulking xenos grunted, stumbling backward before collapsing to the ground in a heap, stunned but otherwise unharmed.
"They can't even dodge!" Kochav continued, his eyes still fixed on Rouar, utterly disregarding the fallen Beastman.
Rouar's black eyes narrowed, his arms crossing neatly behind his back.
He shifted his gaze to the xenos standing beside the downed Beastman and gave a curt nod.
Instantly, two of the Kroot moved forward, lifting the dazed Beastman and carrying him off, presumably towards an infirmary.
Rouar's gaze snapped back to Kochav, meeting his eyes with an unnerving intensity.
"These 'lots', as you call them, have their usages," he stated, his voice a low, analytical purr.
He began to circle Kochav slowly, his movements fluid and predatory.
"Your training for them was fruitful, but the one thing that is not ready is you."
—
"Are you judging my abilities?" Kochav answered, his voice laced with irritation.
—
"The way you shoot your weapon," Rouar continued, his voice still a low purr,
"it kicked your shoulder as if it was an untamed beast."
—
"Can't help that I'm left-handed," Kochav answered, a dry retort in his voice,
"and as you can see, it's currently missing."
—
"Tch, Tch, disappointing," Rouar responded, a low, guttural sound escaping him. A cruel smirk spread across his muzzle.
"And you were so confident... No, arrogant."
—
"Why don't you find out, kitty?" Kochav muttered, his voice tight with barely suppressed anger.
"I'm ready anytime."
Rouar stopped pacing, his black ears twitching as he listened to Kochav's angry challenge.
"Very well then,"
he whispered, a low, dangerous rumble in his throat.
Then, his voice snapped, sharp and commanding,
"KAR'TRAK!"
—
The xenos around them roared and bellowed, echoing the command. Within seconds, the ring was formed around the two, pushing back the crowd.
A stage for a duel.
Rouar looked toward the crowd, offering a slight nod as if confirming some unspoken agreement to someone.
His gaze then snapped back to Kochav, and he let out a sharp, taunting shout.
"Let's teach this Mon'keigh a lesson"
He snarled, his black fur bristling, fangs exposed in a predatory grin as his eyes, dark as obsidian, fixed solely on Kochav.
The crowd roared in excitement, their collective hunger for spectacle palpable.
They shouted,"Blackmane," several times in unison.
Amongst them, Bergelmir stood like an unmovable rock, his blue visor fixed on the unfolding scene, a silent, unwavering observer.
Kochav looked around at the assembled audience, a confident smirk spreading across his face. He spoke loudly, his voice cutting through the lingering roar of the crowd.
"Pretty please, little kitty. I'll even handicap myself by only using one hand."
His right hand hovered just above the grip of his revolver, ready for a quick-draw.
—
Rouar dropped to all fours, his lithe body suddenly coiled and ready. His tail deftly unlatched the shocking rod from his back, the plasteel staff settling into his grip with an unnerving grace.
Its conductive prongs hummed faintly, a promise of raw power. He let out a low, guttural laugh, the sound chilling and devoid of mirth.
"Handicap, Mon'keigh?" Rouar purred, his black eyes gleaming with predatory amusement.
"Quite literally."
They waited.
The raucous cheers of the xenos slowly died down, replaced by a hushed, anticipatory silence.
Both Kochav and Rouar focused, their gazes locked on their opponent, oblivious to the crowd around them.
The air in the cavernous hall thickened with unspoken tension.
Then—
Pew, Pew, Pew.
Silent needles, almost invisible in the dim light, suddenly flew through the air.
They weren't from a conventional weapon, but shot with lethal speed from the prongs of Rouar's shocking rod.
Kochav was caught off guard, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing his features. But he was far from rattled.
His right hand, which had been resting above his revolver, moved with blurring speed. In an instant, gripped his dagger, its keen edge blurring as he spun it.
The metal sang softly as it deflected each of the incoming needles with practiced ease, sending them pinging harmlessly against the cavern floor.
Both combatants had tried to trick each other, feinting with seemingly vulnerable stances, each anticipating the other's impulsive move.
Rouar rushed at Kochav instantly, dropping low and charging with a burst of terrifying speed.
As he closed the distance, the prongs of his staff continued to spit out silent needles, a constant, deadly hail aimed to overwhelm Kochav's defenses.
The dagger in Kochav's hand became a blur, a shimmering shield of steel. Each incoming needle, silent and swift, struck its polished surface, deflecting away with a faint ping and leaving behind a fleeting blue hue where the psychic energy of the blade seemed to momentarily flare.
They clashed.
Rouar, a blur of black fur and leather, lunged forward.
His powerful hind legs shot out, delivering a brutal kick to Kochav's midsection.
As Kochav reeled from the impact, Rouar seamlessly threw his staff upward, catching it mid-air with his front paws, now wielding it directly in his hands.
The kick, delivered with savage force, slammed into Kochav's midsection, but it was met not by flesh, but by an invisible force-shield.
The blow rippled across the shimmering barrier, a faint blue distortion in the air, but left no damage to Kochav, who stood firm against the assault.
They locked eyes for a long second, a silent challenge passing between the human and the felinid.
Kochav, his stance unwavering despite the powerful kick, slowly lowered his dagger. He then held it forward, the blade glinting faintly, now ready for the offensive.
Pew.
Another silent needle shot from Rouar's staff, aiming precisely.
It was pointed slightly, not directly, at Kochav, a subtle feint. Kochav reacted instantly, dodging by a hair's-breadth, the needle whispering past his ear.
Then—
Kochav hurled his dagger at Rouar.
It spun through the air, glinting, and met the staff with a sharp clang, reflecting off its surface.
Without missing a beat, Kochav recalled the dagger with a subtle psychic tug, and instantly kept throwing it, turning the single blade into a relentless, returning barrage.
Their distance kept closing, until finally it was too close for Rouar to effectively wield his staff.
As the felinid hesitated for a split second, Kochav seized the opening.
He slid forward, his right hand dragging on the ground to maintain balance, while his left foot shot out, aiming a precise kick at the felinid's leg.
—
Rouar reacted with lightning speed, intercepting Kochav's outstretched foot with the side of his staff.
A smirk touched Kochav's lips. His foot, now pressing down, effectively trapped the staff against the ground.
From his low position, he recalled his dagger with another psychic tug.
Without a moment's hesitation, he threw it at Rouar's midsection, the blade spinning rapidly from his hand, aiming for a vital strike from the unexpected angle.
—
Rouar, with astonishing agility, dodged the incoming dagger.
In a blur of motion, he caught the blade in mid-air as it whistled past him.
Without a moment's pause, he hurled it back at Kochav with full force.
—
The dagger flew directly towards Kochav's eyes, only to be stopped dead inches from his face.
An unseen force shield shimmered into existence, deflecting the blade with an almost imperceptible ripple in the air.
The dagger hung suspended in the air, caught by Kochav's shield.
For a fleeting instant, a faint shimmer of blue light reflected off its hilt, revealing something connected to it—a barely perceptible line of ethereal energy, stretching back to Kochav's shielded hand.
—
Rouar's black eyes, which had been fixed on the dagger, widened imperceptibly as he noticed it.
He quickly grabbed Kochav's leg and, with a powerful heave, threw him away.
Rouar then deftly kicked his staff up, catching it with a practiced motion.
With his weapon back in hand, he immediately shocked the shimmering string of psychic energy that still tethered the dagger to Kochav.
The electricity crackled, traveling rapidly through the psychic tether, about to reach Kochav, but the Rogue Psyker, seeing the danger, dismissed the connection quickly, severing the conduit just in time.
Kochav swiftly rose to his feet, his gaze snapping to Rouar.
The felinid now stood amidst a web of shimmering, barely visible psychic strings, like an insect caught in a spider's elaborate trap.
Kochav pulled, and all of the shimmering strings snapped back to him with sudden force.
—
Rouar, displaying astonishing precision, dodged most of them, weaving through the retracting web with fluid, effortless movements.
One of the retracting strings, however, snagged Rouar's foot, instantly grounding him with an unseen, overwhelming force.
He quickly used his staff to move the binding string aside, then sent another powerful volt of electricity through it.
In the very same instant, his other paw, hidden from Kochav's view, moved with blinding speed.
Bang-Bang-Bang-Bang-Bang!
It was holding an auto pistol, and a fusillade of shots erupted, tearing through the air towards Kochav.
Kochav reacted in a blur, his body twisting and weaving to dodge some of the incoming rounds.
Others, he simply stopped with a psychic shield, the bullets flattening harmlessly against invisible barriers that shimmered briefly in the air around him.
While Kochav was dodging and shielding, the psychic strings he hadn't dismissed, those still lying on the ground from his earlier attack, activated.
They snapped taut, shimmering with an ominous blue light. They were everywhere, a shimmering, intricate web of psychic energy that had snapped to life around Rouar.
His black eyes widened in sudden alarm. He jolted back upright, then, with incredible agility, crouched atop his staff, effectively avoiding contact with the now-hazardous ground.
The ground vibrated with a low, ominous hum beneath Rouar, and the psychic energy of the strings was slowly but relentlessly pulling him down.
Kochav walked over slowly, sheathing his dagger with a soft click. He then pulled out Sanguis Ferrum, its polished metal glinting.
With deliberate motion, he pressed the cold muzzle against Rouar's face.
In the crowd,
amidst the murmuring chaos of excited xenos and the harsh, alien lighting of the cavern, Bergelmir's enhanced senses registered a faint, anomalous flux of psychic energy.
It was subtle, almost imperceptible, and distinctly not emanating from a human psyker who was holding the felinid at bay. He traced its origin, locating the source directly in front of him.
There, stood Shadowgaze. Her usually dark, hazel eyes now held a chilling intensity, their very edges glowing with a faint, ethereal green hue, a silent testament to the psychic power she was actively wielding.
The green glow in her eyes faded slowly, like embers cooling, until they were once again their natural hue.
Her expression, however, remained unreadable, vague, betraying none of the profound discoveries she had just made.
"His very essence pulses with a sickly chartreuse,"
Shadowgaze began, her voice a low murmur that cut through the crowd's din, yet held no discernible emotion.
"Beneath that facade, I felt a tremor of something akin to fear, yes, a desperate, clinging need for control, a desire to punish, and a heavy sorrow... all intertwine within him."
"His flame, blue, cloaked in orange. Fractured, twisted, hiding a limb that is not there, yet unmistakably present. His left forearm was a black mass."
"It reeks of The Changer of Ways."
—
"You ordered the felinid to fight him, just to make an observation?" Bergelmir asked, his deep voice cutting through the lingering hum of her psychic pronouncements.
—
"To assess the threats," Shadowgaze replied, her gaze now meeting his.
A subtle, almost imperceptible shift in her posture indicated she was no longer merely observing Kochav.
As she spoke, she simultaneously tried to gaze into Bergelmir's aura, seeking to penetrate his formidable mental defenses.
What she saw, or rather, felt, left her speechless for a second.
The sheer, ancient power that rippled within him was unlike anything she had encountered in a Mon'keigh.
Her unreadable expression flickered, betraying a fleeting moment of profound shock. Recovering swiftly, she reaffirmed her judgment internally, a cold certainty solidifying within her: indeed, Bergelmir was much more dangerous than Kochav.
"Why, then," she pressed, her voice gaining a new edge of bewildered challenge,
"Why do you let that fletchling warlock command you?"
Bergelmir did not answer.
His blue visor remained an impenetrable mask, his massive form utterly still amidst the surging crowd.
"Be it your way Mon'keigh," Shadowgaze finally stated, her voice sharp with a renewed, cold resolve.
Her gaze flickered to Kochav and Rouar.
"Just make sure his leash is tight."
Shadowgaze walked away, disappearing into the crowd.
Bergelmir gazed back at the ongoing fight between Kochav and Rouar.
Somehow Kochav was on the ground, with the Staff pointing at his face. Rouar lowered it to his chest, then shocked him unconscious, winning the duel.
Bergelmir let out a disappointed sigh. He pushed past the murmuring crowd, their awe and wariness palpable, and moved toward the unconscious Kochav.
Scooping the downed rogue onto his back, Bergelmir headed towards their cell. As they moved, a chilling transformation began: Kochav's cursed left arm was slowly regenerating, its dark flesh knitting back together with an unnatural speed.
Inside the cell, Bergelmir dropped Kochav onto the floor. The cursed arm was now fully manifested, a grotesque parody of its former self.
He knelt, raising his gauntleted hand, and carefully placed it over the strange limb.
Few hours later,
Kochav finally woke up, he yawned then looked around, and met Bergelmir's silent gaze.
"What?" Kochav muttered to the Astartes.
—
"How did you even lose?" Bergelmir asked back.
—
"Because of this bastard!" Kochav murmured, pointing at his mutated forearm.
A long pause, then he awkwardly asked.
"Did everyone.....see this?"
Bergelmir just nodded.
Kochav then asked,
"What did she say about it?" Referring to Shadowgaze, the Asuryani autarch.
—
"Same thing I will tell you, just keep it under control." Bergelmir answered.
"Now tell me, how exactly did you, a Delta-Plus dual-aspect psyker, lose to a felinid?" Bergelmir asked, his voice serious
—
"The word 'lose' kinda stings, you know, you didn't really need to add it," Kochav muttered.
Bergelmir stayed silent, unfazed.
"Fine, I'll say it," he continued, letting out a long exhale.
"Throughout the fight, I would hear whispers about multiple futures, his weak spots, everything."
"But it was twisted, of course. What it suggested was highly dangerous; if I did as it said, I would have killed Rouar."
"In the end, I was about to shoot Rouar with a non-lethal psychic bullet, but suddenly the flow changed. I felt an overwhelming power crowding in the cylinder, tempting me to try it."
"And then, well, I hesitated." Kochav shrugged.
—
"Hmmm, then it's no problem. I carved a subjugation rite on it while you passed out," Bergelmir casually spoke.
—
"You did what?!" Kochav asked, surprised, and looked at his arm. There were letters etched on his skin, right above the cursed arm.
Bergelmir crossed his arms and began explaining.
"I used my blood as ink to write a subjugation rite on your skin. Now you won't be able to hear its temptations."
He then raised a finger.
"But, a Daemon always finds a backdoor. It will tempt you again, maybe when a peril hits, or when your emotions are conflicted."
Bergelmir's gaze intensified.
"Remember that, your urges are greater than the daemon's."
—
"A little simpler please," Kochav muttered, confused.
—
Bergelmir sighed, and spoke low,
"The daemon will use your conviction to cloud your judgment. Just remember that it is your conviction, not the daemon's. The one whose beliefs are true will never lose themselves."
—
Kochav nodded twice.
"So basically, I just need to ignore it? Why did you have to say it so complicated."
—
Bergelmir sighed.
"Those letters will glow whenever you use its power. It will act as a filter and relay between you and the arm."
"Still, do not abuse it, you should get rid of the arm from time to time."
Kochav curiously looked at the letters, wanting to test its abilities. He flicked the fingers of the cursed hand.
A blue flame shimmered on the tip of his pointing finger, and the letters glowed bright white, stinging him a little bit.
He closed his palm, satisfied. Then, he tried to channel his power through it, the letters caught it, and the next second, the forearm disintegrated. He found an easier way to get rid of it.
Kochav laid down on the floor, tired, for the first time since coming here, he doesn't have to worry about his mutating forearm growing while he slept anymore.
And he did just that; he slept without a care in the world.