Warhammer 40k : Space Marine Kayvaan

As if on cue, the red-haired witch rose from the wreckage, her body emitting sickening pops and cracks as her broken bones reset themselves. Kayvaan's onslaught had nearly shattered her entire skeletal frame, and his claws had torn through her internal organs like wet paper. One of her eyes had even been gouged out by a well-placed crane-mouth punch.

Yet none of it seemed to matter. The injuries were knitting themselves back together at an alarming rate. Her mutilated form rapidly regenerated, and in moments, the black silk dress she'd been wearing was replaced by swirling black psychic energy. The smoke coiled around her body, hardening into thick, jagged black armor. 

"I underestimated you, human," the witch said, her voice calm and measured, though her crimson eyes still blazed with fury. "But that won't happen again. Now, you'll face me at my full strength."

She reached into the void and pulled out a massive black crystalline sword. Its blade was wickedly jagged, emanating a chilling aura that froze the air around it. "This blade will trap your soul, imprisoning it for eternity. Your suffering will become part of my masterpiece!"

Kayvaan sneered. "You changed your outfit, but you're still spouting the same useless nonsense. Come on already!"

The witch didn't attack right away. Instead, she turned her head toward the Spirit Tribe warriors. Her gaze settled on Rosina. "Rosina," the witch said coolly, "are you just going to stand there and watch me get beaten to a pulp?"

Rosina smirked, resting her executioner's blade on her shoulder. "If I had some tea, I'd sit down and enjoy the show."

"How thoughtful," the witch replied with mock sweetness. "But don't forget—I haven't fulfilled my part of the deal yet."

"You got what you wanted, and I upheld my end of the bargain. We're done."

"No," the witch said with a sly smile, her gaze shifting briefly to Syladria, who stood nearby. "You delivered the goods, but I haven't paid up yet."

Rosina's eyes narrowed. "Don't tell me you're trying to back out on our deal. If you do, I'll hunt you down—even if you hide in the depths of Chaos. You know I can."

"Relax," the witch said, shrugging. "I'm not backing out. I just need a little help finishing this human. Then I'll honor our agreement."

"I don't trust you."

"You never have, and I can't blame you. But you're out of options." The witch spread her hands as if in apology. "Believe me, I'd rather take him down myself, but this human… He's something else. A monster. Rosina, lend me your strength."

Rosina sighed and glanced at Syladria. "It looks like I have to stand with the daemon again. Just this once, can you stay out of it?"

Syladria frowned. "Rosina, what kind of deal did you make with this devil? How could you trust her? She's clearly manipulating you!"

Rosina didn't flinch. "I know. I know it's stupid. But I didn't have a choice. I'll deal with the consequences later. Just don't interfere."

After a moment of hesitation, Syladria stepped back. "The Eldar sure are reliable allies," Kayvaan said sarcastically, raising an eyebrow. "Syladria, weren't we supposed to be on the same side? And now you're just going to stand there and watch me get ganged up on?"

Syladria's face was impassive. "I'm sorry. I didn't keep my promise."

Kayvaan chuckled bitterly. "Figures. Never had high expectations for the Eldar's sense of honor anyway. Well, that makes it two against one." He studied his opponents. The red-haired witch, now clad in black armor and wielding a cursed sword, radiated raw power. Beside her stood Rosina, a deadly force in her own right, her executioner's blade gleaming with malice. 

Both were as beautiful as they were terrifying. Alone, either one could destroy worlds. Together, they were an unstoppable storm. Yet Kayvaan only laughed. "Perfect. This makes it a fair fight. Let's go!"

When the two women attacked in unison, Kayvaan felt the weight of their combined power bearing down on him like an avalanche. The battles he'd fought before had been grueling, even unlucky at times, but he'd always managed to maintain control. "Why do you keep fighting? The survivor won't be you!" the red-haired witch taunted, swinging her black magic sword with calculated move. Each strike was meant to limit Kayvaan's movement, her blade cutting arcs of freezing air as it descended. All the while, her voice lashed at him as persistently as her weapon. "Do you honestly think you can take on the two of us alone? Know your place, human. You're just a mortal. Stop chasing what's impossible!"

Rosina, on the other hand, said nothing. She held the executioner's blade in a white-knuckled grip, her focus absolute. Her strikes were deliberate, her movements precise. Each attack came from a cunning angle, her blade dancing between brutal swings and sudden, unexpected thrusts meant to exploit even the smallest opening in Kayvaan's defenses.

A mortal. Kayvaan didn't see himself as anything more. He wasn't some legendary hero, nor did he believe he was inherently superior. To an ordinary person, facing either would be suicidal—a clash with figures from legends. Facing both was sheer lunacy.

This was, without question, the toughest battle of Kayvaan's life. The moment the red-haired witch revealed her unnatural speed, any hope of retreat was gone. Running would only ensure a swifter death. Victory or death—those were the only choices now.

Kayvaan didn't bother responding to the witch's verbal jabs. He spoke with his claws instead. Electric energy arced across the air as his lightning claws met Rosina's blade and the witch's magic sword. Their weapons clashed with ferocity, releasing bursts of brilliant sparks and high-pitched screeches of metal grinding against psychic energy.

Not far from the chaos, the grotesque painting of corpses and blood lay undisturbed. Syladria, standing in tense silence, found herself transfixed. The beauty of the scene before her struck her unexpectedly. It wasn't the hollow beauty of a canvas or an artificial masterpiece—it was the raw, visceral beauty of life and death colliding.

In the center of the arena, three warriors moved with lethal grace. Their strikes were fluid yet merciless, their movements fueled by raw hatred and the primal instinct to survive. Each attack carried a singular purpose: to kill. But no victor emerged. The fight had reached a stalemate, with neither side able to deliver a decisive blow. 'How?' Syladria thought, her eyes wide with disbelief. 'Is this human protected by Khaine, the God of War? How can he hold his own? No, this isn't human—it's a monster!'

Kayvaan fought hard to maintain his rhythm. He couldn't afford to let either opponent gain control of the battle. With the witch's magic sword forcing him back and Rosina's blade attacking from the flanks, his movements were tightly constrained. But Kayvaan stayed sharp, forcing the two to respond to his tempo. He pressed whenever he could, searching for an opening to land a decisive blow.

Despite his precarious position, he could feel himself gradually seizing control of the fight. If he could keep this pace, victory might just be within reach. But then reality hit him like a hammer. A ten-second countdown echoed in his ears, a harsh reminder that the stimulant coursing through his veins was about to run out. Five minutes of superhuman speed and strength—his borrowed time was nearly up.

The fight reached its peak. Syladria held her breath, her gaze locked on the battlefield. She didn't dare blink, knowing the outcome could be decided in an instant.