Warhammer 40k : Space Marine Kayvaan

Syladria didn't answer immediately. Her fingers tightened on the hilts of her swords, and her eyes beneath the banshee mask glimmered with sorrow. The mask itself depicted a crying face, its exaggerated lines capturing grief and despair.

The Banshee, a mythical figure in Eldar lore, was both a harbinger of sorrow and death. Her wail heralded misfortune and could even sever souls from their Spirit Stones. "Why?" Rosina pressed, her tone sharpening. "Why choose the Way of the Howling Banshee?"

Syladria's voice was heavy with anguish. "You should know," she said, the weight of her words hanging in the air.

Rosina smirked, her tone turning mocking. "Ah, such a foolish question. But your answer is even more foolish. Who are you mourning, Syladria? Me?" Her laughter echoed, sharp and cruel. "You don't need to mourn me. You'll hate me soon enough—hate me more than you can imagine. Because in this game, you're the unfortunate one, not me."

"There's no point in wasting more words," Syladria said, her voice steady. "Draw your blade, Rosina. Let it decide."

"Very well." Rosina stamped her foot, releasing a surge of psychic energy that rippled through the room. A long blade embedded in the ground leaped into the air. She caught it effortlessly, the blade settling at her waist. But instead of unsheathing it, she brought forth another weapon: a Shadow Weaver.

Syladria's eyes narrowed as Rosina hoisted the heavy firearm. Her lips curled in contempt. "Typical," she muttered under her breath. "A duelist bringing a gun to a swordfight."

Rosina's laugh was cold and merciless as she raised the weapon. The Shadow Weaver was no ordinary firearm. Its emitter glowed faintly, and the weapon thrummed with psychic energy. The first shot tore through the air as Syladria darted sideways, rolling to avoid the deadly blast.

The shadowy filament hissed as it struck—not Syladria, but an empty corner of the room. The coiling energy revealed an invisible figure as it collided. An Eldar ranger, cloaked in the void, cried out as the monofilament threads ensnared him. His stealth shimmered and failed, his form becoming visible for a fleeting moment before the threads constricted, slicing through him with merciless precision.The ranger's body shattered grotesquely, as if sliced into countless fragments. Blood sprayed across the ground as his remains crumbled like a collapsing tower. The scene was over in an instant, leaving only silence in its wake.

The Shadow Weaver, a fearsome Eldar weapon, unleashed its unique attack. Unlike human firearms or the common star darts of the Eldar, the Shadow Weaver ejected a polymer of organic metal. These microscopic, razor-sharp monofilament threads formed an intricate web that entangled its victims. Struggling only tightened the web, slicing flesh with excruciating precision. Within moments, the trapped enemy was reduced to a pile of blood and shredded remains.

Rosina knew exactly what Syladria was attempting. The plea for a sword duel was a trap designed to coax her into abandoning her ranged advantage. Syladria's plan was to delay and distract her until the rangers could take optimal shooting positions. However, Rosina was neither naïve nor unprepared. She wasn't insulted by the tactic—on the contrary, she found it amusing. She allowed the rangers to complete their setup, knowing she would still dictate the battle's course.

The combat began. "Blood spills like rivers, fury rises as storms, death awakens with the cry of Khaine, and war calls to the soul!" Rosina sang the ancient Eldar war song as she moved. Her movements were graceful and rhythmic, like a dancer on a stage. She twisted, leapt, and spun, dodging attacks with uncanny precision. Psychic energy bolts, glowing like starlight, shot at her from all directions, but none found their mark. Each arrow missed her, as if she could predict their trajectories. Even as she evaded the rangers' volleys, Rosina taunted them.

"Rangers who have strayed from the Path, do you feel it? The blood beneath your feet, the rage in your hearts, the death closing in? And the war… the war you cannot win. Do you feel the power of Chaos coursing through this land? Do you feel your own futility?"

"Rosina!" Syladria's voice cut through the din. The banshee mask distorted her words, amplifying them into a shrieking wail that reverberated across the battlefield. She leapt high, her twin Mirror Swords glinting in her hands. "You bastard!"

The mask's psychic sound wave shattered the air. The Banshee Wail, a signature ability of the Screaming Banshees, was an attack on the mind itself. It resonated in the brains of its victims, inducing terror, paralysis, and even physical collapse. Against an unprepared foe, the effect was devastating. Most enemies froze in place, unable to resist as the Banshee dispatched them with surgical efficiency.

But Rosina was not unprepared. Though she staggered for a brief moment under the psychic assault, she recovered almost immediately. That momentary lapse, however, was enough for the rangers to exploit. One of them loosed an energy arrow from a carefully calculated angle. The glowing projectile streaked toward Rosina, its trajectory perfect. At the same time, Syladria descended from above, her Mirror Swords poised to strike.

It seemed as if Rosina was trapped. Syladria's deadly blades were aimed for her neck, while the arrow sped toward her back. The Eldar rangers held their breath, certain they had secured victory. 

But Rosina smiled. With fluid precision, she hurled the Shadow Weaver at Syladria. Simultaneously, she reached for the long sword at her waist. In a single, smooth motion, she drew the blade—the Great Sword Executioner. This weapon, as revered and lethal as the Mirror Swords, shimmered with a power that rivaled the elegance and deadliness of Syladria's blades.

Syladria didn't hesitate. Her swords moved as one. The first blade slashed down, cutting the Shadow Weaver in two and sending the pieces flying. The second came diagonally, aiming to strike Rosina's exposed flank.

Rosina's long sword met the descending blade with a sharp, crystalline clang. The impact reverberated through the air as the weapons collided. Both fighters were now fully engaged, their spiritual energy surging through their blades.

Syladria gritted her teeth, pouring her rage and sorrow into every strike. The delicate beauty of the Mirror Swords belied their destructive power, and Syladria wielded them with deadly precision. But Rosina was no less skilled. The Great Sword Executioner moved with her like an extension of her body, parrying each strike with uncanny ease. "You've improved," Rosina admitted, her tone light yet mocking. "But you'll never be strong enough to defeat me."

"You talk too much," Syladria spat, launching a relentless flurry of attacks.

Blades clashed in a dazzling display of skill. Sparks flew as spiritual energy coursed through the weapons, illuminating the dark battlefield in bursts of brilliant light. Each strike was a test of strength, precision, and will.