Warhammer 40k : Space Marine Kayvaan

Kayvaan studied the schematic, his mind imagining the grandeur of a sanctum aboard such a vessel. The Lunar-class cruiser, though considered a medium-sized warship by Imperial standards, was still an immense construct. Its sheer scale dwarfed anything conceived in human history before the Age of the Imperium. Aircraft carriers of ancient Terra would be but specks compared to its massive hull.

Judging by the layout and scale of the planned renovations, the cathedral would rival the grandeur of ancient Terran structures like the Cologne Cathedral, but its details far surpassed its terrestrial counterpart. Carved reliefs of the Emperor's triumphs, intricate stained-glass windows depicting saints and martyrs, and even a massive organ designed to fill the ship with sacred hymns were all part of the plans. However, the practical side of Kayvaan couldn't ignore the absurdity of such a project. On a warship, every meter of space was critical. More storage could mean additional munitions, vital supplies, or resources to extend the crew's survival in deep space. Instead, they were dedicating this prime space to a cathedral.

Kayvaan couldn't help but question the rationale behind it. Wasn't this a bit too extravagant? Perhaps "extravagant" wasn't even the right word. It felt outright absurd. Still, Kayvaan nodded without hesitation, masking his thoughts with a firm expression. "It shall be so," he said, his voice steady.

In the Imperium, unwavering reverence for the God-Emperor was not merely expected—it was absolute. Questioning such actions could be seen as heresy. Kayvaan knew this all too well. To question such a project, even internally, was a dangerous line of thought, a matter of survival. "Do you require anything further from us?" Kayvaan asked, steering the subject. "Are there capable Mechanicus artisans on Mars?"

Magos's lips curled into a faint, knowing smile. "Rest assured. If something cannot be achieved on Mars, then it cannot be achieved anywhere in the Imperium. The Red Planet is the home of the Adeptus Mechanicus, the finest minds and hands in existence. "That is good to know," Kayvaan replied, nodding. "I look forward to seeing the finished chapel. Please, continue."

"Of course, Lord Kayvaan," Magos said. "After the chapel, we'll begin augmentations to the apothecarion. It will be fully equipped for both combat surgeries and implantation rites for our warriors. Additionally, we're removing the dorsal macro-cannons on the lower deck to install four drop pod launch bays. Most wars among the stars inevitably require ground deployments, and these bays will allow for rapid insertion of strike forces to planetary surfaces.

Kayvaan nodded. "Ground deployments are the teeth of the Raven Guard. That will suffice." He paused before shifting slightly forward, his tone low but deliberate. "But what of the weapons? We require precision, Magos, not blunt instruments. Have you something to match our doctrine, or are you offering indiscriminate devastation again?"

The Magos's mechadendrites twitched in what might have been amusement as he slid a data-slate across the table. "I believe this weapon meets your requirements: orbital lance arrays capable of precise targeting and focused devastation."

"I believe this weapon meets your requirements: orbital lance arrays capable of precise targeting and focused devastation."Magos said, placing a data-slate before Kayvaan

.

"Focused devastation, you say?" Kayvaan leaned forward, scanning the schematic. "How accurate are we talking?"

"From lighting the candles on an altar to reducing a fortress three levels deep to molten slag," Magos replied with a faint smile.

"Acceptable," Kayvaan said, nodding. "I'll need four of these lance arrays and a launch platform integrated into the strike cruiser to deploy and retrieve them."

Magos's mechadendrites whirred as he etched the request onto his scroll. After a brief pause, he asked, "Forgive me, Lord Kayvaan, but may I inquire... what purpose will this weapon serve? Standard bombardments from the ship remain quite sufficient for most campaigns."

Kayvaan leaned back, his tone measured. "Standard bombardments lack control. Saturation fire has its place, but it's far from ideal for striking singular targets. A cruiser like ours cannot always hold an advantageous firing position. Worse yet, conventional bombardment allows the enemy to track our attack vectors back to their origin. This ship is newly commissioned, Magos, and we cannot risk its loss. These lance satellites, on the other hand, are efficient, expendable, and easily replaced. Should the enemy destroy one, it is of no great consequence."

"Logical," Magos conceded with a bow of his head. "The last task remaining is the refurbishment of the hab-blocks and leisure facilities: three training halls, a strategium, and a reserve hangar for auxiliary craft. Modifications will take two Terran months, with the servitors already engaged. That concludes my report."

"Well done." Kayvaan gave an approving nod. "Any other matters concerning the cruiser?"

Magos's optics dimmed slightly. "There is one thing, my lord. Protocol requires you to name the vessel."

Kayvaan sighed, fingers drumming on the desk. "Of course. Another name to conjure. Very well. Call her Ebony Shadow. That has a certain dignity to it. Now, what of Darius?"

"His gene-screening is complete," Magos replied. "A viable match has been found in the archives. Lord Darius meets all requirements for the operation, and surgery may commence once the cruiser is battle-ready."

"Excellent work, Magos," Kayvaan said, dismissing him with a nod. "You are dismissed. Go recharge—your cogitators deserve it."

Magos's joints hissed as he bowed, the faint hum of servos filling the silence. "Thank you, Lord Kayvaan," he said before departing the chamber.

Once alone, Kayvaan retrieved a thick stack of dossiers from his desk. These were profiles of veteran serfs and trusted Chapter serfs, hand-selected as candidates for the Ebony Shadow's command. Though the role held modest significance within the Chapter hierarchy, aboard the vessel, the chosen captain's authority would be as absolute as Kayvaan's own. Every crew-serf, servitor, and thrall aboard would obey without question, for the captain's word would carry the will of the Chapter Master. 

Kayvaan scrutinized each parchment, absorbing every detail, every mark of merit, and every pict-capture. Hours passed before he narrowed the selection to three. But names on a page were not enough—he would need to test them personally.

A creaking door disturbed his focus. Kayvaan looked up to see Darius stumbling in, his blond hair disheveled and his tunic unkempt. The acrid tang of amasec clung to him like smoke. "Have you taken leave of your senses?" Kayvaan's tone was sharp. "You reek of drink."

"Hic... who, me?" Darius slurred, straightening as if to feign dignity. "I wouldn't dare!"

"Clearly," Kayvaan said dryly, his brow furrowed. "Drinking alone now, are we? Didn't think to invite me?"

"You're always working," Darius said with a lopsided shrug. "Even if I had, you wouldn't have joined."

Kayvaan sighed, sinking back into his chair. "Fair. These days, my schedule allows little time for such indulgences. Jacob's demands see to that."

In the days before this life, Kayvaan had enjoyed many pastimes, none more so than his appreciation for fine food and drink. The culinary mastery of the Imperium was unparalleled, but here—among the stars—nutrient paste and ration packs were a bitter reminder of what he had lost. "To live for food is folly, but to eat without joy is heresy," Kayvaan murmured to himself, shaking off the thought.