Kayvan didn’t care for such fir. His battles had always been brutal and straightforward, fought on real battlefields. His focus was on killing the enemy as effitly and quickly as possible. Unlike martial artists who sought to challehemselves and grow by fag stronger oppos, Kayvan wasn’t ied is of skill or endurance. He was a soldier of the Adeptus Astartes, not a mere fighter—a warrior who fought for the survival of humanity and the will of the Emperor. If an enemy was too powerful to handle directly, that’s what heavy ons were for. Call in the orbital bombardment, unleash the wrath of their arsenal, and move on.

  Because of this, Kayvan had never bothered delving deeply into the art of defeating stronger oppos through superior teique. He didn’t o. As a Raven Guard Space Marine, enhanced by the Emperene-seed, he had always beeronger one.

  But now, things were different. Kayvan could feel the curse creeping through his body, eroding it bit by bit. His once-imposing frame, augmented by the sacred rites of the Meicus and the gene-crafting of Corax, was starting to falter. The Kayvan Shrike who could tear through enemies and ower armor like a sed skin was disappearing. I-so-distant future, he might not even have the physical capability to don such armor.

  This realization g 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 dee, however, was the effect the curse was having on his soul. Uhe agony he’d endured tless 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, intoxig pleasure. The sensation was addictive, like a drug that promised the Emperrace but demanded everything iurn.

  For Kayvan, this was far worse than pain. Pain was a panion of every Astartes—a tool of focus, a sharp reminder of their purpose. But pleasure? Pleasure threateo dull his edge, to erode his resolve.

  It was a battle unlike any he’d fought before. He was ner tles, but this staatio like fighting against himself—a veteran of tless campaigns wrestling with a foe that could not be killed. 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 g to his iron will, vihat if he could resist long enough, the curse would weaken with his soul. Even as his strength faded, he believed his vi 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 bat system fed for real-world survival; Boxing, with its unmatched footwork, and striking power; Karate, blending explosive strikes with disciplieique; Judo, which turns an oppo's strength against them through throws and joint locks; and Kung Fu, emphasizing fluidity, bance, aility in both offense and defense.

  “These teiques aren’t pletely useless,” Kayvan admitted one day. “Fighting boils down to three things: strength, speed, and skill. Of the three, skill sometimes turide 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 advaeiques takes too much time for too little payoff, especially for ordinary people.”

  Joe, listening ily, couldn’t help but ask, “So, have you mastered them yet, Captain?”

  Kayvan shook his head. “I uand the principles, but I’m far from mastery. I teach you, though. Given enough time, you’ll figure it out.”

  He tinued, “The essenartial arts, at least in your try, 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 teiques like inch force, soft force, and redire. In war or bat, it’s always the same—use your stro blow to hit the enemy where they’re weakest.”

  Kayvan’s tourned wistful. “But it’s a shame…”

  “What’s the shame?”

  “These teiques 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 oppo. The strong don’t rely on tricks—they just o bee strohat’s why our warriors have little use for such things.”

  The days passed in a blur of practid study. Kayvan and Joe devoted themselves eo the training. Despite his initial skepticism, Joe began learning what Kayvan sidered the least useful skill of all: single-soldier unarmed bat. To Kayvan, losing one’s ons in battle was almost unthinkable. If it came to that, death was likely immi, and unarmed bat 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 gaxy that seemed determio take everything from him.

  Joe had always been deeply ied in this course. When the fourth round of lessons cluded, he surprised everyone by achieving outstandis. After the st css, 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 bee the best. Don’t interrupt—just listen. In truth, I owe you my thanks. Because of you, even in these dark times, I’ve mao hold onto my humanity. You’ve kept me from succumbing to despair. And now, I leave this gaxy withrets, knowing that even if my soul fades, you’ll carry on my name and serve the Imperium. You’ve givehe ce to make this decision.”

  Joe's expression shifted as Kayvan tinued. “It’s time for me to say goodbye, ond for all. From now on, you are Kayvan Shrike. Honor this name, and never bring it shame.”

  “Captain, you—”

  “Stop,” Kayvan interrupted, his smile bittersweet. “What’s that look on your face? Don’t be sad. In this gaxy, 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 entered. I’ve run from this fight for too long, but no more. This battle has always beeable.”

  Kayvan’s gaze turern as he added, “Remember, wheime es, just wato matter what happens, do not intervehis fight belongs to me alone. May the Emperuide you, and may he grant me his prote.”

  With those words, Kayvan raised his hand, activating a teleport homer lio the Raven Guard's strike cruiser. A shimmering light enveloped him, aepped through without hesitation, vanishing from sight.