Warhammer 40k : Space Marine Kayvaan

The witch froze, caught off guard by his blunt response.

"Have you looked at yourself lately?" Kayvaan continued, grimacing. "You're missing half your body! An arm is dangling from your chest, one leg's gone, your hands are stumps, and there's a knife sticking through you. You're dripping blood everywhere. You're more wrecked than a piece of battlefield scrap, and you think this is seductive?" He snorted. "And stop grinding against me—it hurts, and I've already lost too much blood. Seriously, is this your new form of torture?"

"I… I…" The witch stammered, her voice breaking with indignation. "You disgusting maggot! You lowly creature! I'll—wait—" She paused, suddenly realizing something. A sly smile spread across her face. "You're trying to provoke me, aren't you? You want to die quickly, don't you? Nice try, but it won't work."

Kayvaan smiled faintly but said nothing. "Oh, I see now," the witch purred, her eyes gleaming. "You think you've conquered fear because you're not even afraid of death. How naive. But don't worry—I've thought of something far worse for you." Her excitement grew as she leaned in, her face inches from his. "You'll become my slave, my eternal servant. You'll fight for me, suffer for me, and entertain me for eternity. Doesn't that sound delightful?"

Kayvaan remained silent, his expression impassive. "Come now, don't look so unimpressed," the witch teased, her smile widening. "It's simple. All it takes to seal the deal is a kiss." She leaned down, her lips meeting his in a deep, forceful kiss.

Through that connection, the corrupting power of Chaos flowed. It slid into Kayvaan's body like a serpent, subtle and insidious. The sensation wasn't unpleasant—it was warm, intoxicating, even pleasurable. A rush of euphoria filled him, mingled with a heady dizziness. For a fleeting moment, it felt like a lover's kiss, passionate and intimate.

This was the power of Slaanesh, god of excess and hedonism. Unlike the raw brutality of Khorne, the scheming manipulations of Tzeentch, or the festering decay of Nurgle, Slaanesh's dominion was indulgent, seductive, and artfully destructive. Many who fell to Slaanesh did so willingly, intoxicated by its alluring promises of pleasure and fulfillment.

'To die from a kiss—especially one given by an enchanting beauty—wasn't the worst way to go.' Kayvaan admitted this to himself as his vision blurred and his body felt the pull of unconsciousness. Compared to being struck down by lightning or enduring the torturous trials inflicted by his mentor in the endless expanse of his mind, this felt almost poetic.

Yet, there was a irony in his situation. The red-haired witch, who had kissed him with such sinister intent, was far from beautiful now. Her body, battered and broken by his own hands, looked more like a shambling zombie than the alluring seductress she once was. The thought made Kayvaan's stomach turn.

Would this be how it ended for him? Would his mind be consumed, his body turned into a mere puppet for the daemon who had defeated him? Kayvaan didn't know much about how Chaos corruption worked, but his curiosity drove him to observe the process unfolding within him.

The power of Chaos entered Kayvaan's body, moving with a practiced precision honed over countless corruptions. The red-haired witch had overseen this transformation many times. For her, it was a ritual she could perform blindfolded—a predictable sequence that always ended the same way.

Chaos, as it always did, reached into the deepest recesses of its victim's heart. It searched for the hidden darkness buried beneath layers of self-control and morality. That darkness, invisible in daily life even to the victim, was a treasure trove for Chaos—a wellspring of corruption waiting to be unleashed.

The witch had seen it countless times. Not long ago, she had kissed a soldier in the Defense Force, a man once renowned for his valor and glory. Under her influence, the hidden shadows in his heart were catalyzed, transforming him into a mindless beast driven only by bloodlust.

There was no reason for her to believe this case would be any different. Everyone who had tasted her lips had fallen without exception. As Chaos manifested itself in Kayvaan's conscious world, it took the form of the red-haired witch. Her ethereal avatar entered the depths of his mind, seeking the core of his being. What she found was… unexpected.

In the farthest corner of Kayvaan's consciousness stood a box, tied neatly with colorful ribbons. The witch tilted her head. Humans always locked their desires and fears in containers—boxes, jars, even safes. It was a common manifestation in the mindscape. But a gift box? That was rare.

Still, she wasn't fazed. Over the millennia, she had encountered every quirk imaginable. With a smirk, she tore off the ribbons, ripping the box open with eager hands. Inside, she found what she expected: pure, unfiltered darkness.

Kayvaan's eyes turned pitch black, devoid of whites or pupils. They became twin abysses, pulling at the souls of all who dared meet his gaze. "It's done," the red-haired witch declared, satisfaction dripping from her voice. She turned to Rosina, still standing nearby. "You can remove the blade now, my dear collaborator. There's no danger anymore."

"Redhead," Rosina said evenly, her expression unreadable, "it's time for you to fulfill your promise."

"Are you threatening me?" Despite her disheveled state, the witch's voice remained imperious. Even pinned to the ground, she radiated authority. "Rosina, do not test my patience. I do not break my word. But don't forget—you can't threaten me. Killing me would accomplish nothing. daemons don't die. Even if you strike me down, I'll simply regenerate in the Chaos Realm."

Rosina's grip tightened on her blade, but she knew the witch was right. Gritting her teeth, she pulled the knife from the ground, freeing both the witch and Kayvaan.

The red-haired witch wasted no time. Chaos energy surged through her, repairing her broken body. Her shattered heart reformed, her severed hands reattached, and her lost leg was regenerated. However, her crushed eye remained irreparable; she hastily covered the empty socket with a piece of white gauze.

Within moments, she had returned to her former glory. The tattered remains of her dress were replaced by a flowing black gown, sheer and sensual, exuding an air of power and mystery. Despite her visibly tired face, her excitement was undeniable. She hadn't just survived—she had won. And her prize was a slave unlike any other. "Stand, my slave," she commanded, her voice trembling with exhilaration. "Tell me—who is your master?"

Kayvaan's eyes, dark as twin abysses, stared motionlessly at the top of the tent. For a moment, he seemed detached from the world, as though lost in thought or observing something unseen.

The red-haired witch frowned, sensing the eerie stillness. But then, Kayvaan sighed. "As soon as I open my eyes, someone dares to speak to me like this? How ironic," he said, his tone laced with dry humor. "Master? Hahaha. Who in this world dares to claim mastery over me? I doubt even that decrepit Emperor would dare."

Slowly, he sat up. His abyssal eyes flicked toward the red-haired witch, and just that glance made her tremble uncontrollably. "Little girl," Kayvaan said, his voice steady yet filled with oppressive weight, "you have guts to speak to me like that. Normally, I'd punish you, but since you're the one who released me, I'll be merciful. I'll spare your life." He paused, letting his words sink in. "Now kneel, devote yourself to serving me, and I promise I won't be stingy with rewards."