Warhammer 40k : Space Marine Kayvaan

From the haze of steam and smoke, the metallic shell of the "comet" unfolded with a hiss, like a mechanical flower blooming under pressure. Then came the unmistakable clank of footsteps, metal striking metal, as a massive figure emerged from the fog. What walked out could only be described as a giant—a towering figure that stood over three meters tall, clad in heavy black armor adorned with intricate decorations. Its size alone was intimidating, but the armor's embellishments sent shivers down their spines. Ornate gold skulls were engraved on the knees, elbows, chest, and abdomen. And when the smoke fully cleared, revealing the giant's face, the collective sound of the crowd gasping echoed across the hill.

What face? There was no face. The giant's visage was a skull, a skeletal mask framed by the ominous beauty of its armor.

"What… what is this monster?" a voice whispered, trembling.

"Your Holiness," one of the knights murmured, clutching the hilt of his sword, "is this the angel you mentioned? It doesn't look like it."

"Yes," another stammered, "it… it feels wrong."

The knights, protectors of Sanctaris and its holy city, instinctively gripped their weapons, but none dared to draw their swords. The figure's sheer presence was overwhelming. Its size, armor, and aura exuded an authority that demanded both awe and fear. And though they served as guardians of faith, these knights had not seen true combat in decades. The courage of warriors had long since eroded, replaced by ceremonial routines.

The skull-faced giant's voice broke the silence, a deep and resonant tone laced with irritation. "Why do you all look so stunned? I thought I would be welcomed warmly."

Welcomed? They weren't welcoming him. This… this was no angel. He looked more like a daemon, a messenger of hell! The Pope, frozen in disbelief, could only think that there must have been a mistake. Perhaps the divine messenger had taken a wrong turn. Surely this skeletal being wasn't sent by the God-Emperor!

As the Pope grappled with his spiraling thoughts, the giant spoke again, his tone now laced with irritation. "I am a messenger of the Holy Emperor, a servant of His will. Why do you look at me like that?"

The Pope's heart sank. Could this really be the divine envoy? Before anyone could answer, a second figure emerged from the smoke—a man of average height, though he seemed diminutive next to the towering giant. "You're scaring them," the smaller man said casually, his tone almost playful.

"This is my most formal attire," the giant retorted, clearly annoyed. "What's scaring them? My height? My armor? Surely it can't be the mask."

The smaller man shrugged nonchalantly. "You'll have to sort this out yourself. I'll be exploring." With a dramatic flourish of his cloak, he disappeared in plain sight, vanishing as if swallowed by the wind.

The crowd, already overwhelmed, could scarcely process what they'd just seen. A man disappearing into thin air? That wasn't holy—it was witchcraft! Ghostly! The giant seemed unfazed by the chaos his companion had caused. Turning his attention back to the crowd, he asked, "Are you afraid because of my face?"

The knights shifted uncomfortably, their fear palpable. Some swallowed hard, others stepped back, while a few instinctively huddled closer to the Pope. "Fools," the giant muttered with a sigh. He raised a hand to his skull mask and removed it, revealing the face of a young man beneath.

"I am Marius," he announced. "You may address me as Pastor Marius. This"—he held up the skull mask—"is just a symbol. The skull represents the sanctity of humanity. Surely you know that?"

The crowd responded with silence. Marius sighed again. He had read about such situations in missionary records but hadn't expected to experience one himself. The vastness of the universe had led humanity to adapt to countless different environments and lifestyles. And with these differences came unique interpretations of the God-Emperor's teachings.

On remote worlds like this, preachers often improvised, adapting the faith to local customs. It was common for minor deviations to emerge—whether morning prayers should precede meals, for instance. Yet, on such planets, these variations could grow into deeply ingrained traditions.

To the faithful, the skull symbol might embody death and destruction rather than purity and sanctity. While such differences were inconsequential to the uninitiated, they could lead to great misunderstandings among the devout. Mature religions, especially one as sprawling and ancient as the Imperial Creed, came with intricate rules and dogmas. In the Middle Ages on Terra, Christianity had rigid requirements for everything from ceremonial attire to the size of ritual objects. The teachings of the Adeptus Ministorum were no different, with guidelines as precise and exhaustive as the operations of a dangerous laboratory.

Kayvaan didn't linger on the theatrics. Activating his optical cloak, he disappeared from sight, leaving the scene without a word. Pastor Marius, however, couldn't overlook the situation. He had resolved to set the faith on this planet on the right path. "It seems your understanding of the God-Emperor's teachings is… less than ideal," Pastor Marius said with a shake of his head. "But that's a discussion for another time. Let's start with introductions. Who is the bishop here? Or should I say, the Pope of this world?"

The man in the golden robes stepped forward hesitantly, his hands trembling. "I… I am Pope George III."

Pastor Marius gave a respectful nod. "Pope George III, we've communicated briefly before this meeting. Consider this our first formal introduction. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"The honor is mine, Envoy," George III managed, his voice steadier now. "Please, allow me to escort you. This wilderness is no place for such discussions. We've prepared accommodations where you may rest and refresh yourself. This way, if you please."

The meeting between Pastor Marius and the Pope revolved around religion, peppered with brief discussions about the state of the world. By the time their conversation ended, night had fallen. At the Pope's insistence, Marius stayed for dinner, during which they exchanged pleasantries and further details.

Later, Pastor Marius transmitted his findings to Kayvaan's personal terminal. Thiw planet was a world entrenched in feudalism. Scattered kingdoms and principalities waged near-constant wars for power and wealth, their kings and nobles leading knights into battle. Beyond the human settlements lay wildlands inhabited by fierce beasts, making the natural world just as treacherous as human politics.

Technologically, the planet was inching toward progress. Black powder had been refined, and primitive muskets were beginning to see practical use. Religion, however, was a convoluted mess. The Royal State Church had absorbed local animistic beliefs over the centuries, becoming a sprawling yet peculiar sect. Despite its peculiarities, the Holy See wielded authority that surpassed even the kings, maintaining a divine grip on the populace.

The information, though insightful, was incomplete. Much of it was rudimentary, with finer details still being organized. Kayvaan studied the report on his terminal, scratching his head. "It's like medieval Europe: no central power, fragmented states, and constant squabbles. A messy web of contradictions—kings vying with other kings, nobles wrestling with their monarchs, and the constant tug-of-war between the Crown and the Church. Then you've got trade guilds muddying the waters further. It's a mire of ambition and conspiracy."

"Do you think that's a bad thing?" The voice came from a man sitting by the campfire, his tone low and calm. Yet beneath that calmness was a palpable strength, an aura of restrained power. He sighed. "Power games and conspiracies—I despise them almost instinctively."