NOVEL NEXT Chapter 6: Slaanesh
"That's because such knowledge was classified," Eustace explained, his tone patient yet firm. "The information had a strict time lock. Fifty years ago, you wouldn't have had the clearance to know about this. But times have changed." As he spoke, Eustace tapped the panel in his hand. The silver coffin in front of them began to rise slowly, its shimmering surface shifting and transforming until it became transparent like glass. Inside, Sir Kayvan Shrike's body was now fully visible, displayed in unsettling clarity.
"Look closely," Eustace said, gesturing toward the body. "Since his remains were entrusted to the The Sanctum, some changes have occurred. However, one thing remains consistent—there are no visible external injuries on his body. What felled Sir Kayvan Shrike was neither blood loss nor any terminal disease. Not an ordinary attack either. In fact, the scars from his many battles, the ones that once adorned his body, are fading away. What you see now is a body so smooth and unblemished, it could belong to an idle noble rather than a warrior of countless battles. And perhaps most troubling of all, his body has been… shrinking over the past millennium."
"Shrinking?" Alen echoed in disbelief. The word sounded absurd, but looking at the figure in the transparent coffin, he had to admit it was an apt description.
Kayvan Shrike had once been a tall figure, standing at an imposing 3.1 meters tall. This giant-like stature was standard among the Space Marines, where even the smallest scouts were over 2.3 meters tall. The Space Marines were more than just soldiers—they were living weapons, engineered for war. Each Marine underwent brutal genetic enhancements and nineteen major surgeries. Their bones became as hard as steel; they were equipped with three lungs for enhanced oxygen capacity, two hearts for greater stamina, and even two stomachs capable of digesting poisonous or irradiated food. Beneath their skin lay a subdermal carapace tougher than Earth-made body armor.
These warriors were built to endure the harshest conditions in the galaxy. Yet now, her old captain—the most formidable fighter of the Raven Guard, Master of Shadows, a legend in close combat—was reduced to this frail state. Kayvan Shrike's once-scarred body, a testament to his countless victories, had become eerily smooth. It was like the canvas of his life had been wiped clean, his glorious scars replaced by an unsettling perfection. "He's barely two meters tall now," Alen whispered, his voice thick with emotion. The transformation was both disturbing and heartbreaking.
"During the Great Rebellion a thousand years ago, Warmaster Horus succumbed to the temptations of the Chaos Gods and betrayed the Emperor. The four evil gods—Slaanesh, Khorne, Tzeentch, and Nurgle—bestowed their blessings and power upon him. Among these blessings were two devastating spells: one was a lethal curse aimed at Sanguinius, the Emperor's most perfect and powerful son. As long as Sanguinius stood, the Emperor's rule was unshakable. The second was a powerful curse intended for the Emperor himself.
"But fate did not favor Horus as much as he had hoped. At the most critical moment, your captain, Lord Kayvan Shrike, stepped forward and shielded Sanguinius with his own body. The curse from Slaanesh, which was supposed to strike Sanguinius, was deflected. We all know what followed.
"Now that you understand this, you should recognize the magnitude of your captain's sacrifice. The survival of the Emperor—and humanity itself—rests heavily on what he endured. Without him, the outcome of the rebellion could have been very different."
Alen was stunned, his mind racing. Of course, he knew the rest of the story. At the rebellion's climax, the Emperor and Sanguinius had stormed Horus's flagship. Sanguinius confronted Horus first but was struck down in a brutal battle, his perfect form broken by the Warmaster's overwhelming psychic might. The Emperor, in turn, engaged Horus and ultimately emerged victorious, though at a great cost. Severely wounded, the Emperor had been confined to the Golden Throne ever since—a life-support system that kept him alive but unable to fully recover.
To this day, the Emperor remains bound to the Golden Throne, His undying will sustaining the Imperium at the cost of His own mortal shell. His state is a paradox—too vital to the survival of humanity to lose, yet too broken to truly live. For the faithful, He is the God-Emperor, a divine beacon; for others, He is a reminder of the Imperium's endless sacrifice. Even in deathless stasis, His light guides the galaxy, much like the relics of ancient saints enshrined in the Sanctum Sanctorum, revered yet forever entombed.
Alen's heart ached at the thought. "If my captain hadn't stepped in, Sanguinius might have survived the curse, but the Emperor might not have. And with Horus standing before him, there's no telling how the battle would have ended."
"But why," Alen hesitated, struggling to find the words, "why didn't my captain succumb to the curse like Sanguinius did? He wasn't… twisted, or broken, or—"
"You're asking why he didn't meet the same fate," Eustace interrupted, his tone calm but grave. "Sanguinius was tortured to death by Khorne's curse, yet your captain lies here peacefully. Is that what you're wondering?"
"Yes," Alen admitted awkwardly. "It's just… it was a curse from an evil god. Even if my captain was incredibly strong, Sanguinius was the best of us, and even he couldn't endure Khorne's curse. How did my captain survive Slaanesh's?"
Eustace sighed. "The curses came from different Chaos Gods, each with their own nature. Khorne is the god of violence and slaughter, and his power manifests as unrelenting pain and rage. Even Sanguinius, with all his strength, could not withstand it. Slaanesh, however, is the god of excess and corruption. Slaanesh's methods are more insidious, more subtle. Your captain didn't fall immediately, but make no mistake—he's not safe.
"Slaanesh's curse transformed Lord Kayvan Shrike's body into a prison and his soul into its captive. The curse slowly weakens his physical form and corrodes his spirit. Even the stasis field preserving him cannot stop this process. One day, Lord Kayvan will either awaken briefly, only to succumb, or he will quietly pass away. Either way, the warrior he was will be no more."
Alen's fists clenched, his voice trembling with anger. "That's despicable!" He could barely contain his rage. "Warriors like my captain—like all of us—aren't afraid to die in battle. We welcome it. To die in combat, giving everything for the Emperor, is the ultimate honor. But to waste away in a bed, unable to fight… that's a fate worse than death. It's a mockery of everything we stand for!"