Warhammer 40k : Space Marine Kayvaan

Inside the tent, the Daemons were in disarray. The explosion had sent shockwaves of panic through the crowd. Some Daemons, wounded but not dead, writhed on the ground, groaning in agony. Others staggered about, dazed and confused, while a few merely gawked, speculating wildly about what had just occurred. "Was that part of the show? A surprise performance?" one Daemon mused aloud.

"No way. That was a full-blown explosion! Half the idiots in the front row are dead!" another growled.

"Maybe it's punishment for the lack of applause earlier," a third Daemon speculated nervously. "The Golden Lion hates being booed."

The mere thought caused a ripple of fear to pass through the audience. Some began clapping frantically, desperate to avoid the lion's wrath.

"Bravo! More fireworks!"

"Beautiful display, truly artistic!"

"Let's have another big bang!"

The chaos reached a fever pitch until the lion itself roared. The sound was thunderous, distorting the very air with its raw power. The cacophony ceased as all eyes turned to the stage. "Silence!" the lion bellowed, its voice commanding. "We are under attack! Stay calm and—"

Kayvaan, crouched in his hiding spot, smirked and pressed the detonator again. The second explosion ripped through the tent with even greater ferocity than the first. Flames roared, painting the interior in hues of orange and red. Daemonic bodies were torn asunder, their flesh and ichor splattering across the grotesque walls of the tent.

Panic spread like wildfire. The golden lion's attempt at control was drowned in the cacophony of screams and wails. The once-confident Daemons now scrambled in terror, their bloodlust replaced with confusion and dread.

"We're under attack!"

"Where's it coming from?"

"Who dares?!"

But no answers came. The Daemons were blind to the source of their torment, their frustration mounting with every passing second.

Elizabeth's voice cut through the chaos over the communicator. "The second explosion was effective. The Daemons are scattered. Ready to advance."

Elizabeth's voice brimmed with delight as she pulled the trigger, her grin widening. "There's a little bird singing in my heart," she declared cheerfully. "Kayvaan, if you keep delivering battles like this, I'm pretty sure the girls will fall head over heels for you. Who could resist a captain like that? But you know what? I want more—I want this happiness to keep growing." Her shout rang out over the chaos: "Heavy weapons team, step forward! Set up and fire freely once you're in position!"

Moments later, the unmistakable roar of the Vulcan gun echoed through the comms. Even the power-armored combat sisters couldn't wield such a devastating weapon without care. They quickly secured a defensible spot, anchoring the massive cannon. Then, the storm began—a hail of bolt rounds slicing through the battlefield like a scythe. The relentless barrage shredded anything in its path, sparing no Daemon foolish enough to stand before it.

Meanwhile, inside the chaotic camp, some Daemons finally realized the danger outside. But their attempts to organize and counter were cut short—literally. Bolt rounds screamed through the air, drilling into their skulls with deadly precision before erupting in violent explosions. Amid the chaos, Kayvaan moved silently out of cover, his sniper rifle steady in his hands. Each pull of the trigger brought him a quiet satisfaction as another Daemon fell, their lifeless bodies collapsing amidst the carnage.

The Golden Lion's furious roar tore through the battlefield as he lashed out at everything around him. "Who did this? What miserable bastard dared ruin my performance?!" His voice was raw with rage as he turned on his own subordinates, clawing and striking at anything that moved.

This was an insult like no other. No one had ever humiliated him like this—slaughtering his followers, wrecking his grand spectacle, and dragging his dignity through the muck. It was a bitter irony, one he despised. He often played these very roles: the predator sowing panic among prey, turning his performances into grotesque mockeries of human order. Yet now, the tables had turned, and he was the one being toyed with—an ironic twist that cut deeper than any blade.

The Golden Lion had reveled in countless performances, unleashing chaos on terrified crowds and chasing them down like prey. But now, his own circus of Daemons was reduced to a panicked, mindless rabble, scattering before an invisible enemy that mocked him from the shadows. The fury in his chest burned hotter with every passing second. He couldn't deny the cause of this disaster. That damn unstable Warp gate was the root of it all. When his circus crossed into the Materium, they'd barely survived. The treacherous passage through the Immaterium had torn apart his strongest officers, leaving him with nothing but dregs—mindless, gibbering cannon fodder. Without his officers to keep order, the lowest of his kin ran wild, incapable of coherent action.

The Golden Lion had cursed the Warp gate as soon as he saw it, knowing the risks. And yet, by some cruel twist of fate—or perhaps the twisted favor of Slaanesh—he alone had survived intact. Most of his subordinates weren't so lucky. Their forms had been shredded by the unstable energies, their essence lost forever in the void. Those who made it through were broken, and the ones left behind were even worse: mindless imbeciles driven purely by primal urges. He grabbed a hapless, eyeless Daemon that scurried past him and, with a roar, ripped it in half. Blood sprayed over his golden mane as he snarled, "Who dares humiliate me like this? If you have any courage, come out and face me! Stop hiding in the dark like a coward!"

Outside the tent, Elizabeth felt the pressure mounting. Continuous firing had pushed several weapons to their limits, the barrels glowing red-hot. It was time to change tactics. "Flamethrower team, step forward!" she commanded, her voice sharp and clear. Two Sisters of Battle carrying the iconic flamers of the Adepta Sororitas advanced to the front lines. "When you're ready, light it up. Let these remnants of Chaos feel the Emperor's judgment. Give them a proper, fiery welcome."

Twin jets of golden flame roared forth, flooding the tent's entrance in holy fire. The purifying blaze consumed everything it touched, burning away the unclean and vile. Elizabeth watched the inferno with closed eyes, inhaling deeply as if savoring a fine wine. The screams of the dying Daemons mixed with the acrid scent of scorched flesh, a sickly-sweet aroma that made her shiver with dark satisfaction. 

There was no greater moment in her life than this—standing amidst the slaughter of Chaos abominations. Only in these brutal acts of destruction did Elizabeth feel a fleeting sense of fulfillment. Yet even in the euphoria, she knew the void in her heart would return, deeper and darker. It was a cruel cycle, an unending thirst for vengeance and blood that Chaos had carved into her soul. They had stolen her glory, leaving only emptiness behind. Now, she would spend her life repaying that debt in their blood. She thought briefly of Marcellia, her old comrade. "One day, I'll find you," Elizabeth muttered to herself. "I still owe you a bullet, and I won't miss this time."