#the warsmith

[handedsanitiser]

That one shower with Falk:

Good Ending

Barban Falk/Kydomor Forrix

Contents: shower scene, past child prostitution, inexperience/hesitancy, hugs, no kissing on mouth!, size difference, neural port play, frotting, premature ejaculation (?), sensual blowjob, smiles :)

Here's to the core story

And here's to the three endings:

Forrix declines

Forrix accepts (Bad Ending)

Forrix accepts (Good Ending) <- you are here

_________________________________________

He was in control. Falk's posture did not portray an ounce of betrayal, and while he could not describe why, he could sense the complete lack of malicious intent. There might be a ploy still, not by Falk but by more insidious 'brothers' blinded by pride of themselves over the good of the Legion.

"And one told you to act this way, Falk?" His voice, softer than usual portrayed a chance, no matter how small that Falk may agree to this. "You're the only one who knows of this, my Lord. I intend to keep it that way."

Forrix did look around for good measure and found nothing suspicious about the halls, no loudhailers, nothing. "Close." Various clicks could be heard thereafter; Falk could only assume that he'd just activated the lock down mechanism only top staff and higher Warsmith could access. "The Grand Battalions 1 through 5 will be redirected to the nearest shower from here." Forrix swallowed hard, for Falk's large statue still intimidated the part in his hindbrain that just won't stop churning false distress signals. He'll have to get used to even being in such proximity with someone who wasn't one of the most powerful psykers around.

Falk was just a large body. A swirl of competency that may bring him very far one day. Forrix had gored and torn to shreds countless beings that were several times that of Falk with the adamantine blades of his power claw. So why was this one part of his mind trying to reject the chance of his life?

This was when Falk's arms, equally as mighty as Forrix' found their way around his superiors highly scarred mid back and his neck, tense even for an Iron Warrior. "As much as considering each recompense of our action is in our Legion's advantage..." Falk pulled on Forrix, enough for a suggestion of a hug, not enough to lock him in his arms. Forrix was in control.

"... I feel that this requires a lot more intuition. Partially exchanging our wills to each other." "Ground rules, Falk." interrupted Forrix, trying his best to not ease into Falk's thumb circling a neural port that happened to sit nearby. "No penetration. Just for this, I will treat you as an equal to myself. This way, no one will bear the disgrace and all of it's consequences should any rumors spread." The towering Iron Warrior only blinked at Forrix' declaration. Oh, he did want to tell the First Captain that his mere hands, maybe even his unarmed presence would likely have been enough to ease the yearning. That Falk would've gone by most of Forrix' wishes anyway because his primary aim was his former mentor's ease.

And so, Falk closed in on Forrix, lightly pressing his head on the taller one's chest and leaning back just a little to feel more of his bulk against his. "Understood. You will tell me to stop should you need to." Forrix didn't say, but his arms couldn't stay like this. They needed to feel him too. They shifted so they could hold each other in equal measure, small shudders going through both of them when a certain warmth washed over them that had nothing in common with the heat flushing their cocks. Hands started roaming all round their increasingly damp backs, Forrix' breath tickling the trail of chest hair Falk allowed himself to grow. Perhaps this was the actual reason why Forrix agreed after all - the care in getting another one off, considering all parties accepted. If he stayed within this feeling however, he would start to have himself swallowed by memories of him having done the same to the boys he had to manage in his childhood. He could not allow that to happen, let alone having Falk take up his role completely. The objective was to make Falk climax and then never talk about it again. And so he let go, his hand tipping it's way to Falk's hip bone.

"I won't keep you waiting, Falk." Quickly, he spat into his hand, quickly bringing it to the other Iron Warriors impressive girth. "Do you like it?" Forrix didn't answer to this open-ended question, giving slow pumps to the stem of his shaft while swallowing. "Unusual to be the smaller one." admitted Forrix, feeling his foreskin make way for his flushing tip and rising length. Falk chuckled a little, having half expected a jab at him being so nonchalant, daring and perhaps stupid because of his massive cock. "You are the wiser of us, so it's only logical for you to look more sophisticated." That brought Forrix a smirk he could not surpress. "At least you did not call me delicate. That would've been a grave mistake."

"Even inscenuating that would be an insult to you, First Captain." Falk leaned both over for a kiss with him looming over, only for Forrix' amusement to halt to a close, body rigid. Nothing needed to be said here, for Falk just discovered one of the things to avoid: towering over." I'll kneel for you." said the lower ranked Warsmith, removing Forrix' hand from his cock to do so. "After all, this is worthless if I merely use you to calm my erection." Besides, even though parts of him, those ready for combat at any time tried to persuade him that he was opening himself to fire, but there was none.

Forrix did give a dissatisfied grunt, but managed to catch himself in the present again. At first he wished to dismiss Falk because of the non zero percent chance that kneeling in front of him was an affront. But sarcasm he found none and this may have been scarier. For all the technicalities of stimulating the human body he compartmentalized every second something touches even his power armor, he remembered how terrible he was at kissing, how even the thought of it made him tense. He could not break this experience down into components that couldn't hurt him, for it was supposed to be a gesture of great intimacy. In other words, he would've been a terrible kisser. Assuming Falk had no skill to speak of either, Forrix came to a compromise both could accept. " Anything but my lips." Forrix took a few large breaths, running his sight across Falk's questioning steel blue eyes, his thighs and muscular stomach flexing to keep him kneeled, how the dark brand mark, proud sign of belonging to the Iron Fleet twisted with each movement of his pale skin, how good he looked for the first Captain...

"Come here, then." Before Falk could add the honorific he forgot in the relief of his superior having caught himself from despair, Forrix' hand already was about to stroke his length again, pressed himself against Falk's thigh and breathed onto his neck. The dampness of his skin mostly washed his own scent away, but Forrix still could decipher the countless hours of training, strategizing and drilling his Battalion to greatness. "Do not worry about that."

An odd sense of pride swelled up when he began to mouth and run his remaining hand onto Falk's crease of mighty neck muscle and powerful windpipe. This promising scout he'd been drilling into a fine line Astartes, only for him to rise nearly as metereoically as Forrix once did was now a Warsmith. The First Captain didn't know why, but he needed Falk to know that he found his development beyond acceptable. Falk's breathing indeed became labored, huffing whenever Forrix left a mark near the next neural port. A sensitivity discovered, although it should have been obvious that the added nerve bundles optimized for making their power armor feel like a second skin would have had this effect, even when currently closed. Oh, how he would exploit that.

As time went on, Forrix began using Falk's thigh as his current seat, grinding his and Falk's cocks together as best as he could while burying himself in the crease of the other's curly pecs. He had the giant leaking and he had the giant break his heavy breathing to moan in a higher voice than would be expected. The flurry of kisses his superior graced him with was satisfying a mere percentage of the yearning he had for the intimacy denied since his commitment to become an Iron Warrior. But it was satisfaction nonetheless. Forrix was periodically circling each neural port he could get his roughened hands upon, grinding harder whenever he felt up the port's plasteel walls. But though Falk seemed to be somewhere in between taking great attention to his doing and being helplessly blissed out, he just would not cum. The kisses became more hickeys and bitemarks and the relative gentleness of his fingers was replaced by an urgency that did not hurt him. "You better... cum already, Falk. Or am I not good enough for you now-" Forrix' grunts almost instantly phased into a mixture of a whimper and a feral growl as the tension inside him snapped and he shot rope after rope all over. Falk just had to dig one finger deep into his neck neural port, stirring the most sensitive augmented bundles of nerves into almost an overload of what Forrix had felt.

How interesting, thought Falk, wishing he'd been able to continue just a bit longer, but overall, he did see the results he wanted. Forrix' eternal frown had disappeared almost completely, his eyes seemed relaxed and his tense muscles on the neck seemed to twitch wildly before calming. This was the closest thing to bliss Falk could've hoped for in the First Captain. This face would've been enough for him to easily, albeit slowly get to his own climax.

"This wasn't... necessary..." panted Forrix while attempting to weigh down Falk which of course did not work in the way he wanted. And so, he stood, a string of cum connecting Falk's thigh to his tip and did the unthinkable - not only kneeling down, but sitting down on his lower legs. Right in front of Falk's aching length, looming somewhere in between rising and hanging from the sheer weight of it's flushed state. Forrix' hand could barely grasp it's girth, opting to... start to lick the underside of Falk's cock whilst holding it's weight from the base. Falk gasped as his superior attempted to get into a rhythm of stroking and mouthing on his cock. There was just so much space to work with, sucking greedily on the undersides meaty bulge, tracing a finger alongside the beautiful veins on his cock, tasting just some of the precum that finally started leaking out... Little did Forrix wish to realize that what he saw as finishing their mutual masturbation was actually him enjoying himself in the challenge that was Falk's hard to reach peak. Oh, Forrix was giving it his all here and Falk saw it in the determination in the First Captain's diluted eyes, felt it in having his balls handled with unrivaled care and attention by one hand, stem of his cock stroked in a tighter and tighter grip by the other. "This... ah... ain't necessary either, Chaplain..." Instead of him stopping and reminding Falk of his rank, Forrix gently let his lips, surprisingly soft and flushing red rest on its matching, leaking tip. And then the First Captain smiled.

"Action and consequence, Falk." Forrix couldn't stop smiling whenever he gazed across his larger counterpart's heaving chest into the gaze he never thought he wanted to see. Falk was completely under his mercy, he made him into such a leaking mess. And yet Falk wouldn't budge, wouldn't even push the eagerly giving superiors head to get himself off faster. Falk wanted this, truly, the salt couldn't obfuscate the taste of gratitude Forrix let simmer on the tip of his tongue.

The oversized young blood should leak out even more of this feeling, mused Forrix when he began sucking Falk's cock for real. He was truly happy with being in a position that would otherwise be seen as inherently submissive; the sheer girth he had to work through only adding to the image others would have of him. But Falk wanted this, and he wouldn't be enough of a fool to not obfuscate that they ever shared an evening section as homeronikoi. This wasn't submission to Falk, in anything, Falk had submitted to Forrix' touch a long time ago.

Finally, finally the First Captain felt in control of what could've took a left turn instantly. And he would reward his newly appointed Warsmith greatly for his consideration, courage and awareness of the situation.

It felt good to please someone when he did it out his own free will, after all.

_________________________________________

I'm happy. Are you happy? I'm happy.

That's the music in my head rn (made my own Sonic CD hahahahaha lol

@primarchpenissucker @auroracoriolis @bbrokenbback @bunny-fair @cyb3rangel1 @lime-bucket @caiusmajor @ambient-screaming

[riemann-zeta-others]

the Warsmith why are you so thirsty for other men's seeds 🤨

[deplorablebeast]

2021 vs 2024

Redrew one of my old favorites- how things change over time! wowie!

[lordsofmedrengard]

Iron Warriors Tactics

Courtesy of the Index Astartes article, lifted from the 40K wiki.

In summary, strategically and tactically the Iron Warriors are one of the more advanced Legions, and are in the top third of well-supplied Legions - arguably the best supplied one of them all (possible contenders being BA, AL, S, SoH, DA, UM and IH - many of them are noted for the quality of their gear rather than the ease it was manufactured or requisitioned with, with little mention of artillery or munitions).

The Iron Warriors follow a simple method. They commence battle with a sustained artillery bombardment, utilizing every weapon at their disposal. The basis of this is a complex fire plan in which every weapon is directed with utmost care at the optimum target, for maximum effect. Where possible, the Iron Warriors will coordinate with Traitor Titan Legions to add to their own considerable firepower. This emphasis on artillery and mechanized warfare means that Iron Warrior forces often fare best in siege warfare and armored advances on enemy territory.

Where possible, field fortifications will be used. Iron Warrior doctrine includes extensive use of fortifications to occupy the maximum number of opponents while using the absolute minimum number of troops. This in turn keeps the bulk of the Iron Warriors Marines fresh and available for assaults, and allows them to achieve superiority elsewhere.

When an Iron Warriors force launches a planetary assault, they begin with an intense orbital bombardment (be it nuclear, plasma, viral or chemical) which could pressure the enemy into surrender without a single Iron Warrior having to land on the surface.

However, stronger, well-defended worlds are unlikely to surrender so readily. If the planetary bombardment is indecisive, a landing force will be launched from the Iron Warriors' fleet. The first wave of atmospheric fighters, gunships, and bomber craft will saturate landing zones and launch raids on enemy bases and supply lines.

All efforts are made to demoralize and weaken the enemy to the point of destruction before any troops are landed. Sometimes, however, this hammer-blow approach is unsuitable and instead the Iron Warriors will resort to covert insertion of select Iron Warriors on-world to scout and secure a landing zone in a surprise assault, preferably while also eliminating as much of the enemy's defensive capability as possible.

Once the first wave has caused sufficient damage to enemy defenses (or secured a suitable landing area), a second wave is launched. This consists of construction craft, heavy transports and bulk freighters, carrying supplies, prefabricated fortifications, heavy machinery and construction personnel to the surface. The heavy craft used in this wave are large, well-armored and equipped with formidable defensive weaponry, but still require support in the form of escort flyers from the first wave.

Upon landing, the second wave will compound the damage caused by the orbital bombardment and bomber attacks with a secondary artillery barrage, scattering any enemy forces trying to mount a defensive effort in the area. The larger transport and freighter ships land first, their crews immediately disembarking and beginning the construction of walled trenches, bunkers, living quarters and artillery positions, the latter of which are then filled by the massive weapons brought in by the artillery ships. Selected Iron Warriors with incredible logistic skills will direct this complex and dangerous operation. By the time the third wave is launched, the landing zones will be a dense midden of fully-stocked fortifications.

The third wave is made up entirely of troop transports and orbit-to-ground drop pods. The troops deployed will consist of several hundred Iron Warriors Chaos Space Marines backed up by a vastly greater number of lesser troops. Iron Warriors armour will also be deployed at this time. Having occupied the newly-built ground fortifications, the commanders will proceed to plan out the destruction of the remaining enemy forces. Over a period of time ranging from months to mere hours, this formidable Iron Warriors incursion will then engage in a series of lightning-fast strikes, armored advances and carefully-laid sieges, until no enemy resistance remains.

Siege warfare follows a very simple but effective set of general tactics. When a breach has been forced in the enemy defences it will initially be probed by veterans and infiltrated, then the gap will be pried open with firepower until a storming force can be unleashed. These storming forces are based around fast-moving heavy armor which can move instantly from relentless barrage to lightning-fast advance. Breaches are then widened until the defenses are shattered. For the key moments in battle when a position absolutely must be taken, the Iron Warriors adopt an ice-cold ferocity that is comparable to that displayed by the Blood Angels or the World Eaters, but only when the moment is right and never for longer than necessary.

In combat, Iron Warriors are terrifyingly adept at both ballistic warfare and close-range melee bloodshed, and use a mixture of the two to slaughter opponents in vast numbers. The typical Iron Warrior is armed with a powerful Bolter, Plasma Gun or other such ranged weapon, as well as a close-combat Power Sword or Chainsword.

The Iron Warriors place a great deal of importance on heavy weaponry of all kinds, for they value the tools of destruction far more than flesh and blood. Their Havocs are famously clinical killers, blasting apart keystones and buttresses to bring down fortifications, or sniping enemy officers from afar as they try to restore order.

The Iron Warriors have a special association with the Obliterator cult. They have extensive access to the hulking combination of armor, weapons, and Marines, more so than any other Traitor Legion, and the first observance of Obliterators was among the Iron Warriors.

The Iron Warriors are expert sappers, engineers and miners and have acquired a formidable siege train of specialist equipment over the centuries. This includes Termite tunnelers, a Leviathan transport, Dreadclaw assault boats adapted for planetary landings and a large assortment of Imperial-built artillery. These are used very sparingly and are maintained and guarded by the Iron Warriors' 1st Company. Additionally they have a number of Corvus assault pods which allow them to make use of any supporting Traitor Titans as siege towers. The Iron Warriors are so frequently supported by Traitor Titans that some Imperial experts have asserted that they are part of the same formation.

[handedsanitiser]

'Forrix was in heaven. Unfortunately for him, he was an atheist.'

I think it's pg enough to not have to have a content label, soo here we go.

left: Barban Falk, middle: Kydomor Forrix, right: Thio Ruimelo (oc). Genes are crazy, they even seem to affect the sm after elevation XDD

Ruimelo is big cause he's old and Barban is just falking it (hawking it? idk he's named after a big predator bird for some reason)

[handedsanitiser]

That one shower with Falk:

The Neutral Ending

Kydomor Forrix/ Barban Falk

Contents: shower scene, erections, rejection, post traumatic responses, masturbation, maladaptive coping mechanisms, mentions of torture and gore, post-child prostitution

Here's to the core story

Here's to all three branches of the story

Forrix declines <- you are here

Forrix accepts (bad ending)

Forrix accepts (good ending)

_________________________________________

He was in control. And that meant that he was able to uphold the principles his genesire had given him from before he even became an Astartes, from before the Primarch was even discovered by the Emperor.

And these were to never let anyone touch him in the manner he had been ever again. The erection he had surely was more of a nervous response at having someone attend the shower there.

"If you won't tell anyone of this" said Forrix, trying to stand and focus on the equally intimidating steel blue of Falk's.

"then nothing will happen to you, Warsmith. However, I decline." Forrix showed no tremble, no sign of nervousness and the confidence he needed to exude as if he were clad in full armor.

Without a word, his younger battle-brothers gaze faded, as did Forrix metaphorically. Without a word, he did as promised though and retreated to the very last shower of the halls. The faint pour of a shower head's stream could be heard as Forrix began to wash himself, thoughts drifting to battles his men from the First Grand Battalion had fought, how ferocious Zakayo's close quarter squad was on a mission against ork infested swamplands.

All to distract from the boner still growing. If he deemed it fit to do so, he would've torn it into shreds and had a melta gun take it's place, so that everyone lusting after him would experience their rightful annihilation. And so, he pumped himself in his hand, as close to a fist as possible. Falk couldn't watch. Any other Iron Warrior would not come her at this time, as Forrix did also manage the Fleet's general schedule.

He had to be ready for another report anyways, so he hoped this aching feeling would finally subside if he released himself. In times like these, when this ache became unbearable without having to thrust it away, his compensation was especially brutal slaughter, torture even. It did bring him a twisted firm of joy to have someone so small, so unprepared for a being ten times their strength, a hundred with his power armor slowly break down under the meticulous hands of his power claw. And it was even sweeter if it was a high-ranking official getting bludgeoned and torn by him. It wasn't a method of instilling terror, for no one would ever see his gruesome butchers work - it was simply to see the eyes of those who violated him close because of him. To have them plead for mercy because of him. That no matter what, he was in complete control of this person, up to the way they die.

He didn't manage to wash his hair that night, something most Iron Warriors even didn't know he had. And he also wouldn't manage to pick up on the surprisingly complex murder mystery written by some woman from that xenos infested planet Meru.

He was in control. But why did this ache return in the worst times then? If he was in control, why did he wish to rip his genitals off in the hopes that his body would understand that he did not want to be touched?

Only the next logistical report or call from the Lord of Iron himself could bring him back from the spiral of thoughts and feelings too ingrained to just will away.

After all, he could pretend he was in control, when in reality he only managed things and adhered to someone higher. At least, Perturabo was worthy of such obedience and faith. At least he took him in and made him into something other than a normal man.

_________________________________________

Sneak peek of the bad ending (should I bear to finish writing it cause... it feels like consent into dubcon at best):

"No matter what I do, you will keep stroking your grotesque cock. Now get on your knees, Barban."

Well well, thx 4 reading if you made it thus far! Again I'll pick up those who reblogged or liked the core story and the ideas eluding to it (I don't like having a permanent tag list, sorry):

@auroracoriolis @cyb3rangel1 @primarchpenissucker

One and a half endings to go.

And a lot of sleeping cause I caught a cold. True spring is approaching and my body apparently does it's own little spring cleaning qwq

[handedsanitiser]

I expected much off this book but not weaponized ableism that's contraproductive to boot. Oh and internalized geneseed racism.

The crack of metal sounded and Honsou cursed silently as he saw the ponderous form of Brakar Polonas, one of Forrix's senior engineers, step around the mine, marking its position on a light-proofed data-slate. The venerable warrior walked with an awkward, limping gait, his left leg a bionic replacement. It seemed this augmentation also made him incapable of moving quietly. It was a calculated insult by Forrix to send Polonas, letting Honsou know that his information was only trustworthy if accompanied by verification. It was just another entry in a catalogue of carefully measured insults to his prowess. He just hoped Forrix's clumsy insult didn't get them all killed.

Honsou getting a tongue lashing from The Warsmith afterwards

'No, my lord,' said Honsou quickly, 'I merely thought to offer a suggestion as to-' 'You are young and have much to learn, Honsou. Your inferior mixed blood holds much sway over your thinking and it saddens me to see that you have not learned from your betters. You think like an Imperial.'

and finally Forrix being an insidious cunt

Honsou bit back an angry retort, seeing the satisfaction Forrix took in yet another of his public humiliations. He should be used to the insults and slaps in the face his polluted blood brought him, but it was almost too much to bear when he knew in his gut that he was right.

- Storm of Iron

it's probably just cause I'm mixed but Honsou is slapping me in the face with how much of a (very grimdark) mixed kid experience he's having. What kind of mixed? Any works tbh cause no matter the dynamics there's toxic elements in all peoples, races, ethnicities that can and will fuck people, including mixed ones up. I genuinely wish him to just go renegade and be a menace to all and not try to fit into the community that obviously only wants him for his labour greatly 'cheapened' by his heritage and-

[handedsanitiser]

That one shower with Falk

(Barban Falk/Kydomor Forrix)

Contents: shower scene, power dynamics, size difference, past child prostitution, boners, flirting (?), eluding to smut

Additional note: Here, Forrix is not from Terra, but from Olympia.

Here's to the three endings (all containing smutty to some degree):

Forrix declines

Forrix accepts (bad ending)

Forrix accepts (good ending)

_________________________________________

The communal showers were a place Forrix would rather avoid when it was chalk full with space marines talking to each other, occasionally even washing each others backs to get the gunk out of the neural ports there. They did resonate rather badly with his body, and the closest thing to terror followed him whenever he heard footsteps from the nearby changing rooms.

This day, he wasn't so lucky as to shower alone.

"Hey, First Captain ~" cooed a self-assured voice from far above his head. It was a newly appointed Warsmith, a true giant of a space marine and... weirdly invested in his superior. Forrix knew Falk from when the warsmith was but a scout, and he but an admittedly fast rising chaplain. Falk had always towered over the slightly smaller than average Iron Warrior, instinctively knowing that Forrix seemed to be intimidated by his frame.

"Warsmith." Forrix tried not to look at his former student and curled his toes just so in order to not have his nerves run wild enough to shamefully retreat.

"You do deserve your new position as First Captain as well, my Lord." Falk gave a sly smirk before beginning to rinse his body, sighing just slightly in relief of his pale, dry skin getting some moisture.

If Forrix saw that gesture, he would've left or reminded Falk of his place. His mind definitely was churning about all the things Falk might do to him if he let him invade his safe time to shower. Falk should be punished for that. And yet, he did not do anything wrong.

"First Captain, you're on half mast." Forrix at first didn't understand what kind of inscenuation for what that would be, but Falk pointing at his cock made it obvious. Damn Olympia, thought Forrix, seriously contemplating to hide his erection like a little boy would. It certainly would not be the first time he felt like he had to. No. He was elevated from that and he will look at Falk to see for a weakness, a... massive, pulsating length not quite able to get up, most likely because of it's weight.

"So? You're twitching already."

Forrix tried to hide his disgust at the most obvious physical sign the massive Iron Warrior dared to show, and Falk had that same smirk, now that his superior finally started to look at him, albeit with a look he'd rather change from this hint of terror into complete bliss.

"I'll give you two options, First Captain." Falks voice, smooth like an unworn body glove almost seemed to reverberate through Forrix' neural ports, directly into his nervous system. No. No way. No way that he still wasn't able to get rid of what had ruined his boyhood. Why would he do this? What was wrong with him? He was panting now, body tense, mind ready to drift off into a state where he could bear the oncoming violation.

"I will go to the very end of the showers and will seize my little game with you." A game!? Yes, of course it must've been one of Falk's teases about such a high ranking space marine being shorter than average, less interested in bloodshed than average and generally more reserved and book-ish even outside his duties.

"Or" continued Falk, gazing at him as if to coax Forrix to look the new Warsmith in the eye.

"Or I'll take care of you. Truth is; I haven't truly lost my sexual drive. If you must kill me for this truth, do so after you've washed yourself."

The First Captain couldn't believe what he just heard. This was... possible? He then thought about the dreams he had where he was the one in control. Where he would dominate someone like Falk who made him and most Iron Warriors look like mere scouts in comparison. The Warsmith did look handsome with his short, ink black locks and the promise of a beard shaven off just a few days ago.

However, Forrix had fought long and hard, sometimes even with his own fists to replace the image of a disgraced bum boy taken into Perturabos forces out of sheer pity. Toramino still bore a few scars out of this determination and the audacity at making him, the most well-known victim of child prostitution in the entire fleet should warrant the kind of reprimand Falk would have a hard time recovering from. He should threaten him with the loss of his rank. He should send him into a penal company, doomed to have most of their men die in a single stage of surging by sheer calculation.

But then again, Falk did give him an out. It was Falk retreating should Forrix not want this. And even if the younger Astartes should be foolish enough to attack him, Forrix was more experienced and way more wary of everything than a towering, to many intimidating figure would.

He had the advantage. He was in control of this.

_________________________________________

To the three endings (not written yet, link will be there when I'm done)