Against Slaneesh

Kayvan's eyes narrowed. "I'm not familiar with you daemons at all."

She laughed, a sound both chilling and strangely familiar. "But I know you, Kayvan. I know every fragrant dream you've had, every bit of pain, anger, and resentment buried in your heart. Everything about you is laid bare before me. Can't you guess who I am? When you resisted the curse, I slipped into your soul. Everything since then has unfolded exactly as I planned, without a single misstep."

Her lips curled into a smile that sent shivers down his spine. "Some call me Salish. Others call me Shalish. To some, I am the Dark Prince, the one they name Slaanesh. But here, you should know me by another name—I am you. Just like two sides of the same coin, the curse of Chaos feeds me power, and the darkness within your heart is the soil where I thrive. I am you, Kayvan Shrike, and you are me. We are one and the same. I know all your desires, I feel your pain, your rage, and your joy. I mourn when you mourn, and I revel in your madness. We are not enemies. We are kin."

"You're saying you're my other side? That I have a daemon hidden inside me?" Kayvan's voice was steady, but his eyes were sharp, scrutinizing every word.

"There's a daemon hidden in everyone's heart, Kayvan. It just depends on how you name it. Desire is part of being human. Imagine a person without any wants or needs—someone who cannot love or hate, who doesn't feel the sting of jealousy or the satisfaction of victory. That person would be as cold as ice, emotionless and hollow. Could they even be considered human? What would be the purpose of their existence?

"You admire the so-called virtuous, don't you? But think about it. The Emperor you revere turned you into a killing machine, a tool for his conquests and grand ambitions. I, on the other hand, want to help you find your true self. To be someone who knows love, who enjoys life. To become… real."

Kayvan's jaw tightened. "Everyone has desires, but what matters is whether I control them or they control me. You're cunning, daemon, but you can't shake my resolve. When I guard my heart, everything is decided. No matter how much you talk, it changes nothing." He stepped forward, each stride deliberate as he ascended the crystal stairs leading to the throne. Bodies lay scattered on either side, and blood stained his boots, but he moved forward without hesitation.

The black-robed woman tilted her head, her smile widening. "How ridiculous. I already told you—I am you. How can you kill me? We are inseparable. Every time you pierce my chest with a blade, you weaken yourself. If I die, so do you!"

"Then we'll die together!" Kayvan roared, his voice echoing in the vast hall. He charged up the stairs, ignoring the golden treasures and lavish feasts that appeared in his path. When beautiful young women emerged to block his way, he didn't hesitate, his claws slicing through them like paper. Their bodies fell in pieces, staining the stairs crimson.

But then a familiar figure stepped into his path—a beautiful woman, her face so achingly familiar it stopped him in his tracks. "Kayvan! Please, stop!" she cried, tears streaming down her cheeks. "You're scaring me. I don't even recognize you anymore. Please, come back. Be the Kayvan who loved me."

Kayvan stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he sighed. "You do look like her," he said softly. "But you're not her." Without hesitation, he thrust his claws forward, piercing her chest. His sharp talons tore through her body with brutal precision, ripping her apart as blood and flesh rained down the stairs. Her severed head rolled to the ground, coming to a stop against a step.

Kayvan didn't even glance at it. He continued upward. The woman on the throne shook her head, her expression one of mock regret. "Look at yourself. You killed even your lover without a second thought. And yet you still think you're different from me? Between the two of us, who's more like a daemon now? Turn back, Kayvan. There's still time!"

Her words were cut short as Kayvan lunged. His claws plunged into her eyes, tearing through her skull with relentless force. Blood spattered as he dragged the blades downward, splitting her body from head to groin. Her form crumpled, torn apart like a grotesque work of art.

A chilling laugh echoed. "What a pity. I really didn't want to resort to barbarism, Kayvan. But you left me no choice."

The corpses scattered across the ground began to stir. One by one, they rose, their forms shifting until they all resembled her—Slaanesh. Each one bore a twisted weapon as they swarmed toward Kayvan. Yet, none could match him. He moved like a storm, his claws tearing through them in a whirlwind of silver. The air filled with the sound of ripping flesh and the clang of broken weapons. Dismembered limbs and pools of blood painted a grim battlefield as countless versions of Slaanesh fell, only for more to rise again.

The massacre dragged on, time losing all meaning. It became an eternal slaughter, a never-ending nightmare. No one could say how long Kayvan fought—minutes, hours, days. It felt like forever. To anyone watching, it seemed as though the earth itself gave rise to the dead, only for them to be cut down again.

When it finally ended, Kayvan stood atop the mountain of corpses, his steel claws glinting in the dim light, his body drenched in blood. He looked like a daemon himself, his eyes blazing with a fierce determination. "You'll never beat me, daemon!" he roared, his voice shaking the ground. "This is my mind, my soul, my territory! I am invincible here! I'm sick of your tricks—come out and face me!"

"You're insane," her voice hissed as she emerged from the mound of bodies. The once-elegant, otherworldly beauty on her face was gone, replaced by feral rage and bitterness. "You think you've won? You can't defeat me. I am you. I know your every move, every thought, every strength. How can a man beat himself?"

Kayvan raised his claws, his grin as sharp as the weapons he wielded. "Then show me how strong I really am."

Slaanesh smiled coldly, raising her hands. Her nails grew unnaturally long, gleaming like blades. "You're not smart, Kayvan, but I'll admit you're strong."

The air thickened with tension as they faced each other. They didn't need words—both knew that ordinary combat wouldn't decide this fight. They were too alike, each knowing the other's strategies and thoughts. So, they abandoned all subtlety, diving headfirst into brutal, primal violence.

They collided like forces of nature. Kayvan's claws punched through her chest, his fist gripping something inside as he pulled her close. At the same time, her claws pierced his ribs, holding him in an iron grip. Neither flinched. They locked themselves in a grotesque embrace, each tearing into the other without hesitation.

His claws ripped, sliced, and gouged, turning her flesh into shredded pulp. Her claws dug and tore with equal savagery, peeling muscle from bone in an attempt to dismantle him. They struck with fists, claws, knees, and even teeth, as though they were mortal enemies locked in a fight to the death. Blood splattered across the battlefield, staining their already ruined bodies.