Warhammer 40k : Space Marine Kayvaan

Joe rubbed his forehead, his thoughts jumbled. "So… let me get this straight. You're saying you're going to die, and I'll take over your body. And you're teaching me now so I can carry on in your place? Serve your Emperor or whatever?"

"Exactly."

"But no matter what happens, you're saying it's a bad deal for me? Whether I stay trapped or end up serving your Emperor, it's all unfortunate?"

"It's not just an Emperor as you imagine him," Kayvan said firmly. "Not some mortal ruler sitting on a throne. The Emperor of Mankind is our savior, our leader, our prophet. His power surpasses all gods. Without Him, humanity would never have risen to its current heights. The galaxy would have consumed us long ago. It's because of the God-Emperor that humanity still stands."

Joe shrugged, unconvinced. "Alright, our Emperor then. I get it. But back to my question: why would serving Him be just as unlucky as being trapped?"

"This is no easy task," Kayvan said with a weary but prideful smile etched on his face. "If you venture out in the future, you'll understand. As an Adeptus Astartes (space marines), we are powerful, perfect, and granted eternal life—but such gifts come with great sacrifices."

Joe froze, momentarily caught off guard, before shaking his head with a chuckle. "Are you serious? Why should I follow your orders like some puppet?"

Kayvan's smile vanished, replaced by a chilling calmness. "Because you're an outsider. You need to understand that with a mere thought, I could make you disappear in unimaginable agony." With that, he snapped his fingers. Instantly, Joe crumpled to the ground, his body convulsing as excruciating pain tore through him.

"I can make you feel torment beyond your wildest nightmares," Kayvan said coldly, watching Joe writhe. "So, it would be wise to learn respect and obedience. Now, get up. You've already squandered a thousand years; there's no time left to waste! Your first task is to read every book in this hall."

_________________________

Meanwhile outside, "How could this happen?" Alen's voice trembled as he stared in disbelief at the silver coffin before him. His captain , the one he had revered above all, now lay within it—a shadow of his former self. Anger surged through him, burning hot in his chest, but he forced himself to remain calm. "I need an explanation—one that makes sense. Otherwise..."

The servant standing nearby trembled visibly, his mechanical arm rattling against his side. "I-I don't know either. This is... bizarre. The lord shouldn't have changed after being placed in the altar, but... Please wait a moment. This might have happened before the rebellion. I'm just a new servant, sir. I'll need to check the records."

Before the servant could move, an elderly man stepped out from the shadows of the hall. "No need, Corida. You're not authorized to access those records," the man said, his voice steady but firm. He waved a dismissive hand, and Corida quickly retreated. The old man approached Alen, bowing slightly as a sign of respect. "Lord Alen, I am Eustace, Priest of the The Sanctum of the Honored Dead. I oversee everything here. How may I assist you?"

Alen's gaze remained fixed on the coffin. "I want to know what happened to the person lying inside. How did he end up like this?"

Eustace glanced briefly at the identification number on the silver coffin. "May I ask your connection to the lord in question?"

Alen didn't hesitate. "He was my captain. He always will be."

Understanding dawned on the priest's face. He let his gaze drift to the chest of Alen's armor, adorned with medals that gleamed in the hall's soft light: the Chaos Hunter Medal, Angel of Death Medal, Hellfire Silver Medal. Each one represented extraordinary feats—victories against insurmountable odds, triumphs in legendary battles, and countless foes vanquished. It was no wonder the servant had quaked in the presence of such a figure.

"If your captain could see what you've become, he would be proud," Eustace said softly. "But I must ask you to temper your anger and lower your voice. This is the The Sanctum of the Honored Dead, after all."

Alen nodded, fully aware of the solemnity and unyielding rules that governed this sanctified space. The Sanctum of the Honored Dead was no ordinary hall—it was a sacred reliquary of the Chapter's most revered heroes, those who had given everything in service to the Emperor. These were warriors who had slain xenos lords, turned the tide of impossible battles, or laid down their lives in acts of supreme sacrifice.

The remains of these heroes lay interred in ceramite sarcophagi, their surfaces adorned with purity seals, etched litanies, and the sigils of their Chapter. The walls of the hall stretched into shadowed infinity, each recess containing a crypt illuminated by the dim glow of flickering votive candles. Some sarcophagi bore the honored Crux Terminatus, signifying those who had once donned Terminator armor. Others were marked with the laurels of champions or the battle honors of campaigns long past.

For these heroes, death was inevitable—whether from incurable diseases or fatal wounds—but their loss was too great for the Empire to bear. Their talents, their wisdom, and even their genes were treasures that the Empire could not afford to lose. Thus, the The Sanctum of the Honored Dead was established. These coffins weren't mere resting places; they were advanced stasis chambers connected to a colossal temporal stabilizer. Time flowed so slowly for the occupants that they were nearly frozen in an eternal sleep. The hope was that one day, when the Empire's technology advanced far enough, these heroes could be revived and restored.

Eustace pulled out a data tablet, its surface lighting up with glowing text and symbols. He scanned the information carefully before speaking again. "You have the right to know about your captain's condition. However, I must warn you that this involves highly classified information. It is one of the Empire's most closely guarded secrets. I trust you understand the importance of discretion."

Alen's expression hardened. "I understand."

"Good." Eustace tapped the tablet, bringing up a specific document. He held it out toward Alen. "Take a look here—pay close attention to this signature."

Alen's gaze followed Eustace's pointing finger, and his jaw dropped instantly. He stood frozen, his mouth agape for what felt like an eternity. This battle-hardened hero, who had once stood unshaken against hundreds of Chaos soldiers, now wore an expression he had not shown in thousands of years—pure, unfiltered astonishment.

The sight left Alen speechless.

The Priest waited patiently, allowing Alen a moment to collect himself. Once Alen regained some composure, the priest continued, his tone grave yet steady. "What you see before you is an autographed photo of His Majesty, the Great Emperor. I trust you understand the weight of this revelation. Your captain, the revered Sir Kayvan, was personally examined by the Emperor himself. It was His Omniscient Majesty who revealed that what your captain suffered was not merely an ordinary wound but a curse of the most sinister kind."

"A curse?" Alen's voice trembled slightly as the word sent a chill through him. He struggled to process what he had just heard. "I-I don't understand. I was with my captain on the battlefield during that campaign. Afterward, they told me he was gravely injured, but no one ever mentioned a curse."