Warhammer 40k : Space Marine Kayvaan

As he spoke, Kayvaan raised his hand. The air around him thickened with tension, and the moment his hand fell, the two Eldar warriors were claimed by the black spikes. But just as the final blow landed, a cold, commanding voice sliced through the air like a blade.

"Captain Kayvaan? What's going on here?"

Kayvaan froze, his hand pausing mid-motion. He turned, and a look of shock crossed his face as he recognized the voice. "Elizabeth!?"

Walking into the tent was the female Inquisitor, Elizabeth. She stopped in her tracks, her sharp gaze taking in the scene: the Eldar warriors impaled on black spikes, their lifeless forms suspended mid-air, and the red-haired witch lying twisted on the ground.

Kayvaan's expression quickly shifted from surprise to pain as he stumbled, clutching his chest. His body trembled as if the strain of the battle was finally taking its toll. Kneeling on one knee, he groaned, "You came just in time…" He gasped for breath, his tone heavy with exhaustion. "I fought alongside the eldars against a daemon, but the battle… it was too much."

Elizabeth's keen eyes flicked between the impaled Eldar and Kayvaan, her expression unreadable. "The Eldars?" she asked.

Kayvaan nodded, his face a mask of solemnity. "They were brave, sacrificing themselves to hold back the daemon. Without them, the situation would've been dire."

Elizabeth's gaze lingered on the black spikes, then shifted to the red-haired witch's broken form. "And the daemon? Was it defeated?"

"Yes," Kayvaan replied, forcing himself to his feet but staggering under the effort. "Barely. The creature was like something out of a nightmare—almost unkillable. I managed to subdue it, but it won't stay down for long. We need to seal it immediately."

Elizabeth's eyes narrowed. "Seal it?" She pulled her bolt pistol from its holster and began walking toward the witch. "No need for that. Killing it outright will suffice."

Kayvaan's heart raced as panic surged within him. He had no intention of allowing the red-haired witch to be killed. Her death wouldn't solve his problem; daemons didn't die easily, and if she was destroyed now, it would upend his plans. He needed her alive to extract more information—and to ensure his secret remained hidden. 

"No! Don't kill her!" Kayvaan exclaimed, reaching out as though to stop her. "It's not that simple! Killing her won't—" His words were cut off as Elizabeth turned suddenly, her bolt pistol trained directly on his forehead. The motion was so swift, so deliberate, that it left no room for questions or protest.

Kayvaan's mouth opened to speak—to plead, to explain—but the words never came. Elizabeth pulled the trigger without hesitation. The bolt round struck him squarely between the eyebrows, its momentum snapping his head back as his body lifted off the ground. The explosive charge detonated, engulfing his face in a fiery burst of shrapnel and concussive force.

The attack didn't end there. Elizabeth's pistol barked repeatedly, each round slamming into Kayvaan with the force of a thunderclap, propelling his body through the air like a broken marionette. In her other hand, blue psychic energy crackled and coiled around her fingers. With a sharp gesture, she unleashed a torrent of lightning as thick as a pillar, the energy surging toward Kayvaan and striking him mid-flight.

The psychic lightning didn't merely flash—it sustained, holding Kayvaan aloft in an unrelenting cascade of power. Elizabeth's outstretched arm trembled from the strain, but she held firm until the lightning finally dissipated, leaving a smoking, charred figure crumpled on the ground.

Kayvaan lay motionless for a moment, his body burned and blackened, his hair singed into a wild afro. Slowly, he stirred, letting out a long, exasperated sigh. Black smoke drifted from his mouth as he sat up, his posture oddly casual for someone who had just endured such a brutal assault. "Well," Kayvaan muttered, brushing ash from his shoulders, "that was… thorough." His burnt appearance and singed hair would have been comical under any other circumstances, but the gleam in his dark eyes was anything but humorous.

Elizabeth stood her ground, her bolt pistol still raised. "You're alive," she said, her voice calm but laced with suspicion. "I expected nothing less from someone as dangerous as you."

Kayvaan chuckled, the sound dark and sardonic. "I didn't plan to kill you, you know. The fool who came before me had a soft spot for women like you. Truth be told, I'm not fond of your type. Too much authority, not enough fun." He tilted his head, his smile sharp and mocking. "But I have to admit, you saw through my act. I'm curious—where did I slip up?"

Elizabeth's movements were momentarily hesitant. Kayvaan's absurd appearance—charred black with an afro of scorched hair—made him look utterly ridiculous. It was almost enough to make her laugh, but the weight of the situation anchored her. Laughing now would be far too embarrassing, so she steadied herself and responded coldly, her tone sharp. "You're riddled with flaws," she said, crossing her arms.

Kayvaan tilted his head, feigning surprise. "Flaws, you say? Come now, was it really that bad?" Covering his face, he added with mock indignation, "Time was tight! I didn't expect you to show up so quickly, and I'm hardly a professional actor. It's understandable my performance was… let's say, rushed. But tell me—what gave me away? What was my biggest mistake?"

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes, her tone turning icy. "Your biggest mistake?" she repeated. "I was already here long before you started your little charade."

Kayvaan blinked, his expression shifting to one of genuine confusion. "You were here all along? Since when?"

"Since the moment you declared your dream of building a 'grand harem,'" she said, her voice dripping with disdain.

Kayvaan sighed, shaking his head. "Ah, that… Well, it couldn't be helped. But let me state this for the record—even now, I maintain that I am not an daemon. I am still Kayvaan."

Elizabeth's eyes narrowed further, her voice rising with palpable frustration. "You dare speak such nonsense? daemon, stop pretending and leave this man's body at once!"

The tension in the room thickened. Elizabeth's keen observation told her all she needed to know. Despite Kayvaan's scorched appearance, it was obvious he remained unscathed. His movements were smooth, fluid—entirely unaffected by the damage. It was clear: whatever power animated this figure wasn't ordinary, and it certainly wasn't the Kayvaan she knew. Her psychic energy surged again, lightning crackling between her fingers as she prepared for a more decisive strike.

"I keep telling you," Kayvaan continued, his tone a strange mix of irritation and amusement, "I'm not possessed. I am Kayvaan. The experiences he lived? I lived them too. His knowledge, his preferences? They're mine as well. To put it simply, I'm the part of Kayvaan that's been suppressed for too long." He gestured animatedly as he spoke. "Let's use a psychological analogy, shall we? There's this theory about human nature—dividing the psyche into the id, ego, and superego…"

"What are you even talking about?" Elizabeth interrupted, her tone laced with venom, as the psychic lightning in her hand grew brighter, crackling louder with each passing moment.

Kayvaan pressed on, ignoring her. "The id represents primal desires—the most instinctive parts of ourselves. The ego is our rational self, the part of us that interacts with reality. And the superego? That's where all the moral ideals and social constructs live. Now, imagine this: Kayvaan's superego has fallen into a deep slumber, leaving only the id and a heightened sense of freedom. I no longer operate under restrictive 'moral principles.' Instead, I embrace the pleasure principle—living freely, doing as I please."