Warhammer 40k : Space Marine Kayvaan

The witch opened her mouth to retort, her pride demanding resistance. But the moment she tried, she felt it—a suffocating power pressing down on her, beyond anything she had ever experienced. Her legs buckled, and before she realized it, she was on her knees, trembling before him.

Among daemons, hierarchy isn't determined by titles or birthright, as it is among mortals. In the realm of Chaos, power is everything. Strength, cunning, legions under one's command—all serve as measures of worth. The weak are crushed and enslaved; the strong ascend to rule. The red-haired witch had always believed she could climb higher, that she would one day reach the upper echelons of Chaos. She had faced and defeated powerful foes before. Even now, Kayvaan's strength—though overwhelming—shouldn't have been enough to make her bow. But this wasn't just power. It was something else entirely.

The purity of the Chaos energy radiating from Kayvaan was beyond comprehension. Its essence was untainted, refined to a level she had never encountered. Even the Four Great Powers of Chaos themselves seldom displayed such unadulterated might. The oppressive aura compelled her to kneel, not through fear of death, but through an instinctive, primal reverence. Her thoughts spiraled. 'Who is this man? How can his power feel this pure, this absolute?'

An idea formed in her mind, terrifying in its implications. Beads of sweat formed on her brow, her back damp with cold. "Please forgive my boldness," the witch stammered, her voice trembling. "Am I standing before… His Highness the Prince?"

Slaanesh, the Prince of Pleasure, the Dark God of Excess, had many names. One of them was the Daemon Prince. Kayvaan paused, momentarily stunned by her question, before a smirk curved his lips. "Me? That guy?" He chuckled. "No, I'm not him. But I don't blame you for the mistake. Without him, there wouldn't be me. Do you understand?"

The witch nodded, her expression blank with confusion. In truth, she understood nothing, but she dared not press further. Kayvaan's words echoed in her mind. 'Not Slaanesh, but created by him? What does that mean? Was he forged by the Dark God's will?'

She quickly abandoned the thought. Whatever he was, the power radiating from him was real. Its oppressive nature wasn't just overwhelming—it was innate. It wasn't something that could be faked. It was the difference between a predator and prey, like a mouse instinctively cowering before a cat.

Unbeknownst to her, the red-haired witch's kiss had triggered something dormant within Kayvaan—a gift left behind by Slaanesh. Millennia ago, the Dark God had placed a curse on Kayvaan, binding him for nine thousand years. When Kayvaan finally met his end, the curse dissipated, leaving behind a fragment of Slaanesh's power. This fragment, a "gift," was pure Chaos energy. Unlike typical Chaos blessings, it carried no inherent malice or corruption—only raw, unbridled power. 

Yet, using this power came at a steep cost. It amplified the darkness within its wielder, drawing out their worst impulses and magnifying their flaws. For years, this energy lay dormant in Kayvaan's body, unnoticed. But now, with his mental defenses eroded by relentless combat, grave injuries, and the effects of the stimulant, the witch's kiss had unlocked it.

The darkness surged, flooding Kayvaan's body and awakening a part of him that had long been buried. In the depths of his mind, another presence stirred. This was not the first time such an awakening had occurred. Just as Slaanesh's first words declared, 'The old Kayvaan's death was not the end. It was only the beginning.'

Kayvaan now stood face-to-face with the same opponent his mentor once battled—the most powerful enemy he would ever encounter: himself. Of course, the red-haired witch could never comprehend such depths of introspection. "Forget it," Kayvaan muttered, shaking his head. "I am who I am. I am Kayvaan. Unlike the fools who came before, I'll become the true Kayvaan. My life will shine with the most brilliant light, and I'll make the entire universe tremble at the sound of my name." His piercing, abyssal gaze fixed on the witch. "And you, you're my first servant. Be proud of that. From now on, your purpose is to serve me."

The red-haired witch, trembling, bowed her head to the ground. "Yes, Master. I understand."

Kayvaan smirked. "Well, you're obedient, I'll give you that. The more I look at you, the more I think it's a miracle you're here at all. Without you, I might've stayed locked away forever. This fool," Kayvaan gestured vaguely to himself, "didn't even know I existed. He forgot about the gift entirely." He laughed softly. "Loyalty and sacrifice? What nonsense. That blind faith nearly got us killed. Fortunately, I'm here now to fix everything. Better late than never."

Kayvaan stood up. As he did, every trace of his injuries vanished. His skin was flawless, without so much as a scar, and his features radiated a striking, almost supernatural beauty. "Now," he commanded, his voice sharp and authoritative, "explain everything. What is this underground city? Why are you here? What is Chaos after, and what's the deal with these Eldar? Spill it, witch."

The red-haired witch cast a nervous glance at Rosina, who stood with her long knife raised, guarding Syladria. The two Eldar women exchanged bewildered looks, their eyes filled with disbelief.

Moments ago, they had watched their queen dominate the battlefield, only to see her now groveling at the feet of a man who had been on the brink of death. Worse still, the man's aura had transformed into something dark and oppressive, oozing pure evil that even they could sense. "What's the hesitation?" Kayvaan's voice snapped the witch back to reality. "Is there something you can't tell me?"

The witch panicked, bowing lower. "No, Master! I was just thinking of the best way to explain it. I'll tell you everything—everything!"

The witch began her tale, sparing no detail. "So," Kayvaan summarized after listening carefully, "you came here to retrieve something, and Rosina was your vanguard. She set up the altar and the coordinates for your portal, opening the way for you to arrive and claim it."

The witch nodded quickly. "Yes, that's correct."

"Strange," Kayvaan muttered, frowning. "I know about the Blackstone Fortress, but wasn't it built by the Eldar? If you need key components to activate it, why would you come to a lost human colony to retrieve them? How could what you're after be here?"

The witch hesitated before replying. "According to what I've uncovered, this ancient city wasn't originally human. It wasn't even a hive city. It was an Eldar Craftworld."

Kayvaan stamped his foot on the ground beneath him. "This?" he asked incredulously. "You're saying this was an Craftworld?"

"Yes, originally," the witch explained. "Long before the birth of Slaanesh, some Eldar foresaw their civilization's doom. While some fled to the far edges of the galaxy, settling on remote planets, others boarded the Craftworlds and drifted through space, seeking sanctuary.

"But when Slaanesh was born, the psychic storm of her emergence swept across the galaxy, annihilating countless Eldar. Even the Craftworlds weren't immune. This Ark was thrown off course, crashing onto the planet. The colonists who later discovered it transformed it into a hive city."