Warhammer 40k : Space Marine Kayvaan

The atmosphere was a calculated trap. Exhausted from the day's punishing training, the soldiers found themselves in the warm room, seated comfortably, and lulled by the serene setting. It was as if every fiber of the environment was conspiring against their resolve. For most, it wasn't long before their pens slowed, heads drooped, and the irresistible pull of sleep began to claim them. Hogel, who had prided himself on being sharper than his peers, was no exception. His eyelids grew heavier with each passing second. The lines he scribbled turned to nonsense. His head drooped lower, and before he knew it, he collapsed onto the desk, succumbing to his exhaustion.

Hogel's peaceful slumber was shattered by an explosion of light. The sudden brilliance filled the room, as if a miniature sun had erupted within the confines of the hut. Hogel jolted awake, shielding his eyes from the blinding light. 

Around him, chaos erupted. Soldiers scrambled to their feet, knocking over desks and chairs. Some shouted incoherent excuses, claiming they hadn't fallen asleep. Others groggily reached for their pens, hastily scribbling nonsense to feign compliance. But Hogel, still half-dazed, noticed something others didn't. Amidst the chaos, dark shapes flitted through the windows, followed by a faint clink. He barely had time to react before another blinding flash enveloped the room.

Flashbang grenades. Instinct took over as Hogel threw himself to the ground. The light was followed by a deafening ringing in his ears. Before he could recover, the unmistakable hiss of gas reached his nose, accompanied by a stinging, acrid burn.

Tear gas. The serene classroom transformed into a scene of pure pandaemonium. Some soldiers, blinded and disoriented, stumbled into one another, swinging blindly in panic. Others, desperate for fresh air, clawed at the windows in futile attempts to escape. And yet, amidst the chaos, a few resilient soldiers clung to their papers, tears streaming down their faces, snot dripping freely, determined to write through sheer willpower.

The situation didn't improve. Instructors wearing gas masks stormed the room, wielding batons with merciless precision. The soldiers, already disoriented, were no match for the disciplined assault. One by one, they were subdued and dragged to the playground, where they were bound in an X-shape, arms and legs spread wide.

Hogel, his face streaked with tears and mucus, seethed inwardly. He blamed his comrades for the situation, convinced their incompetence had dragged him down. When the flashbangs first went off, he had resisted, managing to fend off two instructors in his tear-soaked haze. But his defiance only painted a target on his back. More instructors had swarmed him, and he was quickly overwhelmed. In contrast, most of his comrades had folded without a fight, crumpling like paper in the face of adversity.

As he hung in the cool night air, bound and humiliated, Hogel couldn't shake the gnawing thought that this entire ordeal was beyond comprehension. What could possibly justify such treatment? Kayvaan strode onto the playground, his hands clasped behind his back. His voice, though not loud, carried effortlessly across the assembled soldiers. "I remember giving you one simple rule," he began, his tone calm yet icy. "You were not to fall asleep. Those who did would face punishment. And as you can see, I keep my promises."

A soldier, emboldened by desperation, shouted, "Sir, I didn't fall asleep!"

Kayvaan stopped in his tracks, turning to face the soldier. "Oh? If you didn't fall asleep, then tell me—how did the instructors subdue you?"

The soldiers stood bound in the dim glow of the night, their bodies aching from the brutal surprise attack and subsequent punishment. The silence of the night was broken only by the occasional groan or cough. Kayvaan stood before them, his voice calm but carrying a weight of authority that could not be ignored. "There are too many instructors," one soldier muttered, his tone laced with bitterness.

Kayvaan's gaze snapped to the source of the complaint, his voice cutting through the darkness like a blade. "The instructors outnumber the soldiers in your room? That's your excuse? If you were awake, if you were alert, you wouldn't have been subdued so easily. The fact that you were tied up here means one thing: you failed as a group. Most of you fell asleep, and when the instructors attacked, you were caught defenseless. What's the point of arguing now?"

The soldiers had no response. Their defeat was as much a humiliation as it was a lesson. Kayvaan raised his voice, letting his words carry over the entire group. "Fine, let's move on. Your punishment begins now. Consider this an early introduction to torture training."

Kayvaan's boots crunched on the gravel as he approached Hogel. "Hogel!" he barked.

"Yes, sir!" Hogel responded, his voice wavering.

"Why do you have black eyes?"

"I knocked down two instructors, sir."

Kayvaan's expression shifted to a sardonic smile. "And you're proud of that? You're one man. What does it matter if you knocked down two instructors when, in the end, you're the one tied up here? The instructors are a team. They can adapt, support each other, and overwhelm you. Now, you unlucky guy, let me teach you a lesson you won't forget."

Kayvaan's fist struck Hogel's abdomen with precision, driving the air from his lungs. Before Hogel could even cry out, the second punch landed, forcing his body to convulse. He vomited violently, the contents of his stomach spilling onto the ground. Kayvaan sidestepped the mess effortlessly, his movements calculated.

"The dinner was quite sumptuous," Kayvaan remarked, almost conversationally. "I should have warned you earlier: don't eat too much during training. It makes you sluggish, and as you've just learned, you'll likely vomit it all up anyway." He punctuated his words with another punch, forcing more bile from Hogel's stomach.

The instructors followed Kayvaan's example, delivering punishment to the rest of the soldiers. The air was filled with the sound of fists meeting flesh and the retching of overfed bodies. Soldiers who had once considered themselves invincible now lay crumpled, their pride stripped away.

Kayvaan walked to the front of the playground, his hands clasped behind his back. His voice rang out, steady and cold. "Torture training, at its core, is simple. It's about familiarizing yourselves with the process. Your enemies will rarely show mercy. They won't leave you alive unless it serves their purpose. But even so, understanding what torture entails can give you the mental fortitude to endure it." He paused, letting his words sink in. "The goal isn't physical pain. It's psychological. They'll exploit your fear, your ignorance, your panic. The moment you break, you've lost. So tonight, you'll learn to overcome pain. You'll learn to endure. Because this is only the beginning. You'll face much worse in the days to come."

With that, Kayvaan offered a final parting shot. "Remember: pain is just an illusion of the senses. Overcome it with your will, and you will emerge stronger. Good night, gentlemen. I'll see you tomorrow."

The soldiers were left to crawl back to their bunks, battered and broken. Some lay motionless on the playground, too weak to move. Others dragged themselves back to the barracks, their bodies trembling with exhaustion. Sleep came quickly, but it was short-lived. Three hours later, the emergency assembly horn blared. The soldiers stumbled back onto the playground, their movements sluggish but determined. Another day of training had begun.