NOVEL WEB Chapter 77: Nightmare
Elizabeth nodded, her expression grim. "Agreed."
Kayvaan turned to Hilsa. "Set up sentries. The team will rest for two hours before we assault the Daemon clowns in the center. Elizabeth, have you reached the Eldar? What's their status?"
Elizabeth closed her eyes, her breathing steadying as she entered a trance-like state. For a fleeting second, Kayvaan felt as though he glimpsed a fragment of another reality—a place beyond mortal comprehension. A faint flash of light passed through her body, and then she opened her eyes. Only a second had passed.
"The connection is stable," she reported. "Communication is clear. The Eldar are facing the same issue we are. The Daemons have hidden their altar as well, and they can't determine which is real. Like us, they have no choice but to attack each one in turn."
"So that's it," Kayvaan said, his voice heavy with resignation. "We push through one by one. The enemy's concentrated, prepared. We charge in, kill everything, and destroy whatever they're protecting. Then move to the next. Rinse and repeat." He clasped his trembling hands together and shook his head. "What a stupid plan."
Elizabeth caught the slight tremor. "You're shaking. Are you afraid?" she asked, her tone laced with doubt.
Kayvaan let out a dry laugh. "Afraid? Me? Astartes know no fear," he replied, forcing a grin. "No, I'm not scared—I'm excited. This will be my first battle against Daemons since… well, since my last one. That fight was where I fell. Back then, we didn't understand these creatures. We didn't bother to. We were invincible—or so we thought. We believed that if we didn't falter, not even the Chaos Gods themselves could defeat us. "But Daemons…" His voice darkened. "They're different. You can't block them with armor alone. The fight isn't just physical—it's spiritual, mental. If I could choose, I'd face them on a battlefield I understand. A clash of steel and fire. I want to see how their blood splatters when we finally take them down. Instead, we're forced to do this—rushing in blind, hacking through whatever stands in our way. It's crude, it's reckless, and it's stupid. But," he added with a faint smirk, "it's also effective."
Elizabeth's gaze sharpened. "You'd do well to guard your thoughts," she said coldly. "We don't fight for entertainment. We fight for duty—to fulfill the Emperor's will."
Kayvaan laughed—a deep, genuine laugh that echoed through the room. "Don't worry, Inquisitor. I haven't lost my mind to bloodlust. This is just who I am. In the past, we spread faith through slaughter. Now, we sing hymns to the Emperor with the blood of our enemies. Times have changed, but the battlefield hasn't. We came, we killed, we conquered—and that will never change."
Elizabeth frowned but said nothing. Kayvaan's words were flippant, but she knew better than to take them at face value. His true belief was simpler, harsher. For him, fighting wasn't a means to spread truth or glorify the Emperor—it was an end in itself. Victory was all that mattered. There were no prayers, no fiery sermons, no stirring speeches. Only the drive to fight and an unshakable faith in victory. And somehow, when Kayvaan spoke, it was impossible not to believe him. His presence alone seemed to make triumph inevitable.
Kayvaan turned to Hilsa. "I'll take first watch. Let the others rest. This place isn't kind to anyone, especially Elizabeth. Make sure she's ready for what's coming. She'll need all her strength soon." Elizabeth smiled faintly, for once holding back her sharp tongue. She sank into a chair, exhaustion finally catching up to her. The room fell silent as the team settled in.
This wasn't a scene one could find in an interrogation room or written in the crisp pages of a field report. In times of peace, soldiers cloak themselves with courtesy, smiles, and layers of pretense—hiding the harsh reality of what they are to avoid harming others unnecessarily. But here, on the cusp of battle, all illusions were stripped away. Kayvaan stood bare, his polished exterior shredded by the grinding teeth of his unspoken ferocity. In this moment, Elizabeth had a peculiar thought. 'This man', she mused, 'was born for the battlefield. There, amidst chaos and carnage, he was most at ease.' His every word, every movement reflected an authenticity she rarely saw. Here, Kayvaan wasn't a commander or a soldier; he was simply himself—a predator in his natural habitat.
Oddly, this version of Kayvaan exuded trust. The eerie spiral staircase, the oppressive atmosphere, the unknowable tension of facing Serapheas—all seemed to dissipate in the warmth of his hearty smile. It wasn't his physique—Kayvaan lacked the broad chest or chiseled features of a stereotypical warrior. It was his demeanor: calm, clean, and reassuring, like the world after a cleansing summer rain.
Elizabeth couldn't help but accept his offer of rest. She shed her armor, wrapped herself in her cloak, and lay down on the worn sofa. Within moments, her exhaustion took over, and she drifted into a deep sleep. Kayvaan, stepped out of the room. Gently closing the door, he began his patrol.
Inside the room, Elizabeth slept soundly, her breathing steady. Yet the rest she sought eluded her entirely. As her mind drifted, her defenses slipped, allowing old nightmares to creep in. Perhaps it was the unnatural tension of this place, or the release of stress after constant vigilance. Whatever the cause, her subconscious betrayed her, dragging her back to the origin of her fears. She dreamed of the sea, its waves receding to reveal a breathtaking underwater world. For a fleeting moment, she felt wonder—but then the waves returned, crashing down with violent ferocity, sweeping her away.
The nightmare engulfed her. She was no longer in the room but back at the beginning, where it all started. It was early morning. The sunlight filtered through half-drawn curtains, dancing lightly on Elizabeth's lashes. The world was unnervingly silent. No footsteps echoed on the streets. No engines roared, no birds chirped, no dogs barked. It was a silence so absolute that it pressed against her ears, oppressive and suffocating.
But amidst the silence, two sounds reached her. The first was chewing—wet, visceral, and unnervingly loud. It was the sound of bones cracking, flesh tearing, and blood pooling. The second was faint crying, carried by the wind. A mother and her daughter, sobbing quietly in despair. Elizabeth wanted to open her eyes to see. 'Don't open your eyes!' a voice screamed in her mind, panicked and insistent. 'Don't look!' But the Elizabeth of the dream didn't hear. Her curiosity gnawed at her, and her eyelids fluttered open.