Warhammer 40k : Space Marine Kayvaan

Kayvan didn't care for such flair. His battles had always been brutal and straightforward, fought on real battlefields. His focus was on killing the enemy as efficiently and quickly as possible. Unlike martial artists who sought to challenge themselves and grow by facing stronger opponents, Kayvan wasn't interested in tests of skill or endurance. He was a soldier, not a fighter—a warrior who fought for humanity's survival. If an enemy was too powerful to handle directly, that's what heavy weapons were for. Call in the artillery, wipe the enemy out, and move on.

Because of this, Kayvan had never bothered delving deeply into the art of defeating stronger opponents through superior technique. He didn't need to. He had always been the stronger one.

But now, things were different. Kayvan could feel the curse creeping through his body, eroding it bit by bit. His once-imposing frame, with its hardened muscles and formidable strength, was starting to fade. The Kayvan Shrike who could tear through enemies and wear power armor like a second skin was disappearing. In the not-so-distant future, he might not even have the physical capability to don such armor.

This realization gnawed at him, pushing him to seek solutions—not just for Joe's sake, but for his own survival.

What unnerved him even more than the physical decline, however, was the effect the curse was having on his soul. Unlike the agony he'd endured countless times in his life, the curse brought no pain. Instead, it delivered waves of bliss. It felt like sinking into a warm bath, every fiber of his being awash in soothing, intoxicating pleasure. The sensation was addictive, like a drug that promised heaven but demanded everything in return.

For Kayvan, this was far worse than pain. Pain was just another sensation to endure, something that sharpened his will and kept him alert. But pleasure? Pleasure threatened to dull his edge, to erode his resolve.

It was a battle unlike any he'd fought before. He was no stranger to struggles, but this constant temptation felt like fighting against himself—a seasoned addict wrestling with withdrawal. He had to keep his mind busy, his hands occupied. He couldn't afford even a moment of stillness, lest the curse drag him deeper into its abyss. He clung to his iron will, convinced that if he could resist long enough, the curse would weaken with his soul. Even as his strength faded, he believed his conviction would hold.

He studied everything: Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, renowned for its mastery of grappling and submissions; Muay Thai, the "Art of Eight Limbs," with its devastating strikes using fists, elbows, knees, and shins; Krav Maga, a no-nonsense combat system forged for real-world survival; Boxing, with its unmatched precision, footwork, and striking power; Karate, blending explosive strikes with disciplined technique; Judo, which turns an opponent's strength against them through throws and joint locks; and Kung Fu, that emphasizes fluidity, balance, and versatility in both offense and defense. 

"These techniques aren't completely useless," Kayvan admitted one day. "Fighting boils down to three things: strength, speed, and skill. Of the three, skill can sometimes turn the tide in a fight. But without strength and speed to back it up, skill alone has its limits. With strength and speed, though, you barely need skill at all. Mastering advanced techniques takes too much time for too little payoff, especially for ordinary people."

Joe. listening intently, couldn't help but ask, "So, have you mastered them yet, captain?"

Kayvan shook his head. "I understand the principles, but I'm far from mastery. I can teach you, though. Given enough time, you'll figure it out."

He continued, "The essence of martial arts, at least in your country, lies in the mastery of force. It's about harnessing the full power of your body in an instant and striking the enemy at their weakest point. That's the core of techniques like inch force, soft force, and redirection. In war or combat, it's always the same—use your strongest blow to hit the enemy where they're weakest."

Kayvan's tone turned wistful. "But it's a shame…"

"What's the shame?"

"These techniques are impressive, no doubt, but they'll never see widespread use. Skills like these are meant for the weak, for those who need every edge to defeat a stronger opponent. The strong don't rely on tricks—they just need to become stronger. That's why our empire's warriors have no use for such things."

The days passed in a blur of practice and study. Kayvan and Joe devoted themselves entirely to the training. Despite his initial skepticism, Joe began learning what Kayvan considered the least useful skill of all: single-soldier unarmed combat. To Kayvan, losing one's weapons in battle was almost unthinkable. If it came to that, death was likely imminent, and unarmed combat wouldn't save you.

But still, they trained. It was a way to fill the hours, to keep the curse at bay for just a little longer. And for Kayvan, it was a means to leave something behind—a legacy of skill and survival in a world that seemed determined to take everything from him.

Joe had always been deeply interested in this course. When the fourth round of lessons concluded, he surprised everyone by achieving outstanding results. After the last class, Kayvan patted Joe on the shoulder with a smile and said, "I have nothing more to teach you. You've been the slowest learner among all my students, but in the end, you've become the best. Don't interrupt—just listen. In truth, I owe you my thanks. Because of you, even in these dark times, I've managed to hold onto my humanity. You've kept me from succumbing to despair. And now, I can leave this world without regrets, knowing that even if my soul fades, you'll carry on my name and serve the empire. You've given me the courage to make this decision."

Joe's expression shifted as Kayvan continued. "It's time for me to say goodbye, once and for all. From now on, you are Kayvan Shrike. Honor this name, and never bring it shame."

"Lord Shrike, you—"

"Stop," Kayvan interrupted, his smile bittersweet. "What's that look on your face? Don't be sad. In this world, those who leave aren't necessarily the unfortunate ones, and those who stay aren't always the lucky ones. I've lived too long, fought too many battles. Now, it's time for me to face my final challenge, against an enemy more powerful than anything I've encountered. I've run from this fight for too long, but no more. This battle has always been inevitable."

Kayvan's gaze turned stern as he added, "Remember, when the time comes, just watch. No matter what happens, do not intervene. This fight belongs to me alone. May the emperor guide you, and may he grant me his protection."

With those words, Kayvan raised his hand, opening a shimmering door in the void. He stepped through without hesitation, vanishing from sight.