Warhammer 40k : Space Marine Kayvaan

"Yes, something truly useful," Kayvan replied. In an instant, a massive suit of jet-black armor materialized over his body. From his fists, razor-sharp, crow-like claws extended, glinting ominously. "The most useful thing in a universe this dangerous is fighting."

Without another word, Kayvan lunged at Joe. For someone so large, his speed was terrifying. Before Joe could even register what was happening, the steel claws had pierced his chest. A searing cold spread from the wound, quickly followed by a wave of suffocating weakness. Death's grip tightened around him. "Why...?" Joe gasped, his voice barely audible.

"Don't look at me like that," Kayvan said casually, retracting his claws as if nothing had happened. "I was just saying hello. Didn't expect you to be this fragile, though. It's disappointing, especially considering the wealth of combat techniques buried in your memory. Anyway, get up."

The sensation of dying vanished as quickly as it had come. Joe scrambled to his feet, clutching his chest in disbelief. "I... I'm fine?"

"Of course, you are," Kayvan said nonchalantly. "We're in a spiritual space. Your body isn't real here, so a blade can't actually harm you."

"But it felt so real!" Joe protested.

"The pain, the cold, the sense of death creeping closer," Kayvan replied, shrugging. "Those weren't your feelings; they were mine. I shared one of my past experiences with you. Remember that sensation and learn to avoid it—because in reality, it won't end so nicely. That's what we're working toward."

"Wait," Joe asked, still shaken. "You've actually had your heart pierced before?"

"Yeah," Kayvan said with a faint smirk. "It was during a brutal battle. If not for the surgery that gave me two hearts, I wouldn't have made it off that hellish planet alive. Enough about me, though. Let's talk about you. You're alarmingly weak. Your reflexes, mental fortitude, and combat experience are all practically nonexistent. How is that even possible? I've seen incredible fighting techniques in your memories, and your world seems to pride itself on martial arts."

Joe coughed awkwardly. "Those... might be from some novels. Fictional stories. I'm more of a pacifist, honestly."

"That won't do," Kayvan said firmly. "Pacifism is a luxury you can't afford. In this cold universe, peace is just the pause between wars. Luckily for you, we have plenty of time. I'll train you myself. From now on, you'll call me captain."

"What are you planning to—"

"Careful with your tone, apprentice," Kayvan cut in.

Joe sighed. "Alright, captain. What are you planning to do?"

"You're too weak, and weakness has no value to the Empire. If you want to replace me one day, I'll need to train you—teach you how to fight, survive, and serve the Emperor properly. You're lucky; not everyone gets to learn from me. Let's start with the basics: understanding our weapons."

The massive armor vanished from Kayvan's body, replaced by simple, lightweight clothing. Raising his hands, he revealed a pair of sleek steel claws glinting menacingly under the light.

"These are Raven's Talons, the unique weapon made by th primarch," he explained, clicking the claws together. A sharp metallic screech echoed through the space, sending shivers down Joe's spine. "Sharp, deadly, and easy to handle. They're perfect for close-quarters combat. Nothing kills more efficiently. Now that you've seen them, let's move on to training."

In the consciousness space, there was no day or night, no concept of time. Kayvan had initially tried to track it by sheer estimation, but he gave up once his calculations reached a thousand years. For both him and Joe. time had become irrelevant. They didn't need food or sleep, taking breaks only when exhaustion demanded it, then diving back into relentless training.

Joe's studies spanned every aspect of Imperial life. Kayvan was determined to teach him everything: the Empire's history, its language, its customs, and its culture. Like a sponge, Joe absorbed this vast trove of knowledge, finding solace in learning amidst the monotony.

But the cultural lessons were brief compared to the endless combat drills. Once Kayvan deemed the academic portion sufficient, he poured his energy into honing Joe's fighting skills.

The training was merciless. Joe's body was shredded countless times, yet he persisted. Over time, the once-ordinary man began to grow, both in skill and resolve, under the watchful eye of his captain.

At first, Kayvan only taught Joe how to fight with two claws. Under relentless and high-pressure training, Joe made significant progress. Gradually, he could withstand Kayvan's attacks, though not without effort. "Very good," Kayvan said, his tone laced with approval. "You've grasped the basics of using claws. Although you're slow to learn and, frankly, not very bright, it doesn't matter. We have plenty of time to fix that. Now comes my favorite part. This is still about steel claws, but what I'm about to teach you is entirely different from what you've learned so far. Pay close attention. These are my true martial arts."

"Wait," Joe interrupted, blinking. "Are you saying everything I've learned so far was just the basics?"

"Of course," Kayvan replied without hesitation.

"..."

The days that followed were a blur of grueling battles and torturous lessons. Only then did Joe begin to grasp how truly formidable Kayvan was. As the training progressed, this realization deepened.

Kayvan's fighting skills defied simple explanation. They were less like techniques and more like a deadly art form. Unlike traditional art, this craft was perfected through countless battles, honed in blood and fire. His movements were precise, ferocious, and efficient, designed to kill with ruthless speed. As Kayvan often said, "Crows don't waste time tearing open a chest when a single thrust to the heart will do."

His combat style mirrored that philosophy. There were no wasted movements, no unnecessary flair. His attacks were swift and merciless, aimed directly at the enemy's vital points. These skills, passed down from Raven himself, had been refined on countless battlefields. Simple. Effective. Deadly.

Once the physical training sessions ended, Kayvan introduced tactical training. "Combat literacy is often more important than combat skills," Kayvan explained as they sparred. "The different battle groups in the Empire all have their own traditions and methods of fighting. For us, the Crow Guard, our specialty lies in assassination, sabotage, and destruction. We excel at operations behind enemy lines. When the opportunity arises, we strike at the enemy's core. Decapitation tactics are our bread and butter. There's no need for us to engage in direct, drawn-out battles to prove our strength. Our job is to eliminate the enemy efficiently and move on."

Joe nodded, his sweat-drenched face reflecting his growing understanding.

Kayvan continued, his voice steady and commanding. "This is why combat literacy is critical for a Raven Guard. You'll need to know when to attack decisively and when to bide your time. When to create chaos and when to simply lurk in the shadows, letting your presence gnaw at the enemy's nerves. These decisions are yours to make as a frontline commander, and they won't be easy. You'll often find yourself deep in enemy territory, surrounded on all sides. One wrong move could doom your entire squad. It's not just your life on the line; your decisions could affect the success of an entire campaign. Brothers will die because of your mistakes. That's why learning to gather intelligence and make sound judgments is non-negotiable."