Warhammer 40k : Space Marine Kayvaan

"With someone like you? Yes," Kayvaan replied matter-of-factly.

A long silence followed. Finally, Elizabeth broke it, her voice hesitant. "You heard what I said earlier. I failed because of fear. I couldn't fight. I just wanted to survive. Am I not deserving of contempt for that?"

Kayvaan shook his head. "Cowards die of shame," he said, his voice steady. "You didn't die. You charged forward. You fought alongside us. You've killed enemies, protected your comrades, and earned their loyalty. I've seen you on the battlefield, Elizabeth. You've done better than most men I've fought beside. If you're a coward, then what does that make everyone else?"

"But I—" Elizabeth began, but Kayvaan cut her off.

"No one's perfect," he said firmly. "Only the Emperor is without flaw. The rest of us mortals stumble. We fall to our weaknesses, to fear, to doubt. But what matters is what comes after. Do you stand back up? Do you keep fighting? Dwelling on past failures is pointless. We don't have the luxury for that. There's a battle ahead."

Elizabeth stared at him for a long moment before didn't know what to say.

Kayvaan leaned against the wall, arms crossed, and regarded Elizabeth calmly. "I don't know your past, and honestly, I'm not interested in it," he said bluntly. "What matters is how you deal with it. If you think your mistakes weigh heavily on you, then atone for them. Fix what you've broken through action, not tears."

Elizabeth kept her eyes on the fire, her voice soft and distant. "I know. Actions speak louder than words. I've heard that my whole life." Her expression darkened. "This enemy… it's stronger than anything we've faced, isn't it?"

"Judging by the Eldar rangers' reaction, I'd say it's formidable," Kayvaan admitted.

Elizabeth hesitated, her voice barely above a whisper. "Am I going to die?"

"Who knows?" Kayvaan shrugged. "On the battlefield, anything can happen. The Emperor protects, but I'm guessing He's pretty busy."

Elizabeth ignored his flippant tone. Instead, she spoke quietly, as if to herself. "If I die, I need you to do something for me."

Kayvaan tilted his head, studying her. "Tell me. I'll try."

She took a steadying breath. "Kill someone for me. Her name is Lysandria. It has to end."

Kayvaan frowned, his brow furrowed in thought. "Just a name? That's a pretty vague request. I'd usually ignore something like that, but… I guess I should at least ask: who is Lysandria? An enemy?"

Elizabeth stared into the flames, her voice carrying the weight of memory. "She was my captain when I first joined the Sisters. Back then, I was a novice, and they treated me like family—caring, protective, like true sisters. But during one mission, we faced a daemon far beyond our ability to defeat. In the chaos, three of them turned to me for help. I… I shot them. Two died instantly. The third, Lysandria, was taken by the daemon before my final shot could land."

"Taken by a daemon? She's likely dead by now," Kayvaan said flatly.

"I wish that were true." Elizabeth's tone was bitter. "But I don't believe it. If she were dead, it would be a mercy. If she's alive, she's likely under Chaos's control, suffering every second. If that's the case… it's my responsibility to end it."

"So, you want me to scour the Warp looking for her?" Kayvaan asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No," Elizabeth replied firmly. "But if I die, and you ever encounter her… don't hesitate. Kill her. Free her."

Kayvaan sighed, leaning his head back against the wall. "Fine. I'll promise, though the galaxy's a big place. The odds of me running into her are slim."

Elizabeth gave a faint smile, more to herself than to him. "The Emperor's will works in strange ways. There's always a chance."

Kayvaan snorted. "If the Emperor cared about this place, we wouldn't be stuck on this Emperor-forsaken planet."

The group rested for five hours, longer than usual, knowing the battles ahead would push them to their limits. When the time came, Kayvaan led Elizabeth and her squad toward their final target. Almost simultaneously, the Eldar rangers launched their own assault.

The battle in the massive tent was brutal but efficient. The Sisters of Battle, bolstered by Kayvaan's precise strikes, cut down the daemons with ease. Phosphor grenades lit the darkness, and bolter fire tore through corrupted flesh. The altar crumbled beneath their efforts, but once again, it was a decoy. "Another fake," Kayvaan muttered, scanning the ruins. "The real altar must be on the Eldar's side. No time to clean up—move out. Full speed to the final target."

Elizabeth frowned, keeping pace beside him. "Worried about the Eldar?"

"Of course. If they could handle Rosina, they wouldn't have sought us out. The dagger's at their throat, and they still came to negotiate. That tells me they're desperate."

"Do you think Khaine will protect them?"

Kayvaan shrugged. "Hope so—at least until we get there."

In the Eldar camp, Rosina's voice echoed through the shadowed tent. "Welcome, Syladria," she said with a mock bow, her voice laced with mockery. "I've been waiting. You're as slow as a human."

Syladria emerged from the darkness, her movements silent and deliberate. She stepped into the dim light, her sharp eyes scanning the room. Rosina stood alone at the center of the tent, arms spread wide, her radiant smile a stark contrast to the malevolence emanating from her.

Syladria's gaze hardened. That face, once beloved and admired, now filled her with loathing. The smile that had once brought comfort now felt like a sick mockery. "How can you smile?" Syladria hissed, her voice shaking with anger. "How can you stand there, smiling after slaughtering our people? After sacrificing their souls to your foul god?"

"Why not?" Rosina asked, her voice calm yet mocking. "Do you want me to cry and beg for forgiveness? Isa's tears may become Spirit Stones, but mine? They're useless. Life is full of pain, but if you face it with a smile, there's nothing to fear."

"Even after you've fallen?" Syladria asked through gritted teeth.

"Even knowing I was destined to fall," Rosina replied with an unbroken smile.

"It seems there's nothing left to discuss," Syladria said coldly. Her hands moved to the twin swords at her waist. She drew them with a precise motion, the blades gleaming in the dim light. The weapons, known as Mirror Swords, were works of unparalleled craftsmanship, elegant and deadly.

The hilts were adorned with intricate patterns, the blades slender and translucent like polished crystal. Light refracted through them, revealing hidden, flowing lines of spiritual energy that pulsed softly. The swords mirrored one another perfectly—every curve, every engraving identical, as though one had been drawn from the reflection of the other. The swords weren't just beautiful; they were designed to pierce through even the thickest armor, the spiritual energy coursing through them making steel and ceramite seem like paper.

But their beauty belied their lethality. The Mirror Swords demanded mastery over the deadly Way of the Howling Banshee. Without the skill to wield them, they were as dangerous to the user as to their enemy.

Rosina's expression finally shifted—astonishment flickering across her face. "The Way of the Howling Banshee?" she muttered. "Impressive. I didn't think you'd pursue such a demanding path. That swordsmanship is reserved for martial masters. How did you even learn it?"