[NSFW] An Unplanned Alliance, Chapter 3: Servitors and Sororitas

    The chapter serf who had accompanied Cato Sicarius was an odd fellow. A young adult, on the far end of that little cusp between boy and man, had long, densely packed curls cut in a straight rim just below the ear, with neatly trimmed bangs framing his square, boyish face in a crisp rectangle of dark, bobbing hair. Guilliman eyed him with curiosity, observing the almost bird-like bouncing, tilts of the head, and rapid bursts of erratic blinking.
    “Father,” Cato said, “You have transgressed against every value that our Creator instilled in us!” Guilliman sighed, looking over to the maid servitors struggling to scrub away the aftermath of his encounter with Yvraine.
    Guilliman paused, and then spoke measuredly, “You speak of values that our… The Emperor instilled in ‘us’, yet you have not had his will instilled in you, nor did I instill it in you, nor did anyone no more than five generations separated thereby. You know little, truly, of our ‘Creator’s’ values.” Cato Sicarius, typically so focused and self-serious, was shocked, an expression of absolute disbelief on his face.
    “Father, I understand your confidence in your understanding of the Imperial Truth, but I feel confident enough in my understanding of it to say that the Imperial Truth does not sanction so much as associating with Xenos, let alone copulating with them, arrogant though it may be for me to say so,” Cato said, his eyes narrow, his face contorted into a grimace behind his thick brunette beard. Guilliman stood from his chair, his full height on display.
    Looking down upon his son, more than a meter shorter than him, Guilliman said, “My Father’s uses of his preliminary Webway project were not so far off from my current dalliances with Yvraine. You would do well to begin expanding your horizons as well.” He then gestured towards the exit of his study. The Head of the Victrix Guard stormed off, his odd serf in tow. Guilliman sighed, shook his head, and marched off between his bookshelves.
...
    As the elevator Sicarius rode in descended towards the belly of the Macragge’s Honor, he was overwhelmed with distress and shock. Father… consorting with Xenos?! The Emperor, too? Cato shook with fury, confusion, and disgust, as the elevator shot down into the sunlight of the nearby star, its glory glinting off the innumerable spires of the immense flagship. The shuttle bay he was headed to was on the underside of the ship.
    My own father! The thought disgusted him, yet the shape of the Aeldari he had seen leaving his father’s quarters was difficult to expunge from his mind. The way she moved, her flawless, perfect skin, the way that her corset held back her breasts in the same way that a wavebreak held back a tsunami…
...
    The transport’s doors opened deep beneath the hive’s surface, into a realm of bootleg Auxilia bars and pipe labyrinths lit only with red emergency lumens. He marched along, trying to ignore the flashbacks to the warp that plagued him night and day. He came upon his favored “bar”, if you could call it such, and ducked to enter, its entirety crammed within a nest of rockrete and ancient adamantine support beams.
    The bartender looked up, and gasped when he saw the immense transhuman who entered. To him, it had been fifteen years since he’d seen Cato. With the expanded lifespan of an Astartes, it felt like he’d been absent for just a few months.
Cato sat cross legged on the floor in front of the low rockcrete bartop, as he always did. The establishment was empty, save for an old woman and a pair of dock workers, each sitting several spaces apart. Cato addressed the bartender and asked, “Do you still have my usual?”
    The bartender nodded in reverence, his head much balder than Cato remembered, and reached under his bar, saying, “You’re about the only damn thing in the galaxy, besides the Tyranids, who’d want to drink this, m’Lord.” His hands emerged clutching an enormous bottle of Fenrisian ale. Sicarius grinned and said, “Hardly, Bartholomew. My cousins in the Space Wolves consider it a delicacy.”
    The bartender shook his head as Cato took the bottle and opened it with an empty bolter magazine. “What could possibly drive a being like you to drink this way?” Bartholomew asked. Cato just shrugged and took a strong gulp from the bottle. He drank for some time, chatting away with Bartholomew, even as the night wore on and the other patrons emptied out.
    Around midnight, two giggling sororitas entered the bar. They were hospitaliers, if Cato read their loungewear uniforms correctly. The knight of Macragge let his gaze linger on the girls’ tastefully exposed bodies. After a few seconds of leering, he’d caught their attention. Being almost seven feet tall with the handsome and noble features of the Ultramarine gene seed certainly made him easy on the eyes.
    The braver of the two tittering sororitas, the one with the heftier bust and thicker hips, leaned over, tapping his titanic hand. Cato looked, and saw her waving at him like a schoolgirl waving at a teacher she fancied. She was a fair woman, with soft features and large, light grey eyes, their shining allure expertly framed with dark eyeliner. He sighed, and looked back to his almost drained bottle of Fenrisian ale.
    The bolder sister spoke up, saying, “M’Lord, my name is Sister Maria, and this is Sister Arabella. We were curious if, perhaps, we could buy you a drink. You seem to be running low.” She was a pale-skinned platinum blonde with a haughty, husky, smoky voice that rolled over his senses like the warmth of a roaring fireplace on a cold winter’s night.
    Arabella was taller, thinner, and darker skinned than Maria. She smiled softly and gently brushed a strand of dark red curls behind her ear, flashing her bright green eyes at Captain Sicarius. She wore a gold tinted eyeshadow, and he found looking away from her to be difficult.
    Cato felt a great pressure weighing upon him, that old, primal feeling that his marine indoctrination had taught him to circumvent. He smiled and said, “I’m not sure what you could possibly buy me that might bring about the effect you two seem to desire, but I’m always open to receiving some of the famed care of the Adeptus Sororitas.”
    Arabella giggled, her hand covering her mouth, and Maria said, “Wonderful! Bartholomew, can we get two bolter bitches for m’Lord?” The drinks were quickly made, and Cato downed the sweet cocktails as though they were shots. Maria giggled excitedly, leaned towards him, her arms pressed together on either side of her abundant endowment, and gleefully declared, “I sincerely hope those aren’t the only two bolter bitches that wet your mouth tonight!” Cato grinned.
    Well, father clearly cares not for promiscuity… The Master of the Watch thought, and he leaned close to the sisters. “Ladies,” he said, “I see you are healers, and I would ask assistance from you in remedying an ailment I am afflicted by.”
    The girls giggled harder than before, and Maria said, “Oh, m’Lord, we’d love to!” Her eyes drifted down his loose robes as she replied, and seemed to fixate upon the bulge between his thighs. His Talassarian Tempest Blade stiffened slightly in response to her attention, and his grin widened.
    “I’m glad you girls understand my predicament,” he said, “so, lead the way to your, ah... clinic.” The girls nodded enthusiastically. Cato stood, feeling the fringes of intoxication tickle his mind as he ducked out through the door, and each of his hands slid down to the sister’s lower backs as they walked through the underhive.
    His balance was being impeded by the Fenrisian ale, though his reactions were still far beyond that of a baseline human. I should have eaten before partaking in the wolf sauce, he thought, as the official drink of the Space Wolves hit harder than he’d expected.
    By the time they arrived at the convent, the ale had fully taken hold of The Knight Champion of Macragge. He loudly boasted of his conquests in war and sang the war hymns of the Ultramarines, his sonorous baritone impressing and captivating his companions.
    As he entered the convent, he noticed a large population of Auxilia and Sororitas in the convent’s main hall, a longue strewn liberally with pillows, cushions, blankets, and water pipes.
    Arabella and Maria wasted no time, and began to disrobe him. Maria tugged at his toga, pulling his shoulder strap loose, and Arabella pulled it down from his shoulder. As Arabella unwrapped the garment from the mighty chest of Cato Sicarius, defender of Ultramar, Maria took a low chair, placed it before him, kneeled upon it so that she could reach his member, and she took his flaccid length in her mouth, pushing her face into his crotch, his entire cock sliding down her tight, warm, wet throat.
    Arabella let his garment fall to the ground, revealing the body of a God, then began pulling hers off as well. Maria continued to fellate him, her long, extraordinarily dexterous tongue blessing his mighty ultramember with a magical massage even while her head bobbed back and forth, her hands planted firmly on his lower stomach, feeling his abs with the interest and systematic exploration of an archaeologist, all the while his titanic features and Maria’s astounding oral drew stares, whistles, catcalls, moans, and lewd offers.
    Something was bothering Cato, a little niggling thought gnawing away at the back of his mind, but he couldn’t place it, and he lost track of the thought as Arabella came up behind Maria, slowly stripping the warrior-nun’s toga, revealing the woman’s whorish body, built for pleasure, bit by bit. Finally, Maria’s massive breasts fell free from her robe, and Cato’s greatstaff was fully erect. Cato's head rolled back, his eyes closed, and he exhaled slowly, softly growling with pleasure.
    After another minute or so of unbelievable oral stimulation, Maria withdrew his cock from her mouth, swallowing as she did, the contraction of her throat shaking Cato with a wave of pleasure. The pair of sisters pulled him by the hands to a staircase in the far corner of the room. They descended the spiral staircase, through a large brig filled with numerous repentant sinners being lashed, bound, and thoroughly fucked.
    “I didn’t realize such methods were part of the penance process, Sisters,” Cato said, looking around as the pair guided him through. “It is a practice designed around giving the reformants positive reinforcement for good behaviors, and we’ve found that sexual intimacy is an excellent reward,” replied Maria.
    Cato grinned and said, “Well, I’m no heretic, but I feel that I’ve behaved well as of late, am I to be rewarded?” Arabella let out a loud cackle, her hands covering her mouth as Maria replied, “You certainly will be given great gifts tonight, but I think the ones truly getting rewarded tonight shall be Arabella and I.”
    The trio descended down another short set of stairs and burst through a pair of massive double doors at the bottom, stumbling into a kingly suite, the air thick with smoke and intoxicating incense. Two more nude sisters, these ones with cleanly shaved and oddly ridged heads, were kissing each other passionately on a luxurious four poster bed in the center of the room.
    Maria closed and locked the doors behind them as Arabella gently pulled Cato towards a lounge seat, where she lavished his sicario with love from her exquisitely long tongue, warm mouth, and delicate hands.
    After a while of this foreplay, Maria gently but firmly pushed Arabella aside and trapped Cato’s hefty cock between her bountiful breasts, running her seemingly prehensile tongue around the inside of his foreskin as she stroked her breasts along his shaft, her plump, black painted lips close behind her tits, as Arabella sat behind her rubbing her clit, such that Maria moaned pleasingly with Cato’s power sword buried in her throat.
    Cato’s gene seed poured forth after some time, filling Maria’s mouth and throat. She dutifully and enthusiastically swallowed, licking his cock clean with her fantastic tongue. Arabella then mounted Sicarius, seated upon his mighty chainsword with her back towards him.
    She leaned fully against him, gyrating her hips as she slid down the full length of his member. “Please,” the soft-spoken sister whispered, her teeth shiny and sharp, “Please give me the Emperor’s blessing…”
    Cato needed no more encouragement to begin thrusting away, his face buried in Arabella’s neck, biting and kissing her, his right hand pressed to the side of her face, his thumb in her mouth, and his left hand fondling her petite breasts.
    Maria, meanwhile, poured kisses and love upon Arabella’s clit and Cato’s balls as he furiously plowed Arabella, his hands moving south to grip the chitinous armored plates embedded in the luxuriously soft skin of Arabella’s hips for more leverage, as though he were drilling for a healthy father-son relationship with his cock.
    He glanced at the bed, admiring the skullcap ridges and two foot long tongues of the other two sisters as Maria’s own extravagant tongue wrapped around the base of his shaft. One sister had produced a golden cylinder which vibrated forcefully, and she was using it to please the other laying beside her on the bed.
    Arabella was no match for the intense combination of Maria’s lashing forked tongue and Cato’s throbbing shaft, just a touch thicker and longer than her forearm; she came, hard, moaning loudly, which turned into a clattering clicking noise that came from her deep in her… throat…
    Wait…
    “GENESTEALER SCUM!” roared Cato, throwing Arabella off his cock, leaping to his feet and punting Maria away with a sickening crunch as her rib cage caved in, his brain clouded by the organic poisons drifting from the incense trays. The two false sisters on the bed drew hidden laspistols with superhuman alacrity, but they were simply not fast enough.
    By the time they had brought the pistols to bear and squeezed off their first few snapshots, Cato was already holding Arabella by her throat, interposing her between him and the bedborne traitors. Their las fire tore Arabella to pieces, blowing chunks of superheated flesh away as tissue closer to the point of impact flash-boiled and exploded.
    Cato hurled the corpse of Arabella at her former sisters, bowling them both over and knocking the pistols out of their hands. The Grand Duke of Talassar charged forward, gripping the frame of the four poster bed and flipping it over, trapping the women beneath, spraining joints and putting hairline fractures all along their skeletal structure.
    Cato whirled around at the sound of boots stomping down the stairs. He waited a few seconds, listening, crouched like an apex predator ready to spring. Six traitors came upon the door, and just as they were about to breach the room, he charged.
    His body weight shattered through the doors, and he threw himself outwards, barreling through four former guardsmen and crushing the other two behind the heavy wooden doors.
    Cato crushed a third prone traitor’s skull with a single furious stomp. He swung a hammerfist around, shattering the fourth traitor’s jaw and breaking his neck. Cato’s follow-through swing flung the body away.
    The fifth traitor tried to bring his lasrifle to bear after righting himself, but Cato took hold of the sixth damned bastard and used his unwilling body as a cudgel to bludgeon his armed comrade to death with.
    The last traitor, whom Cato was holding aloft by his head, was still alive and struggling, so the Ultramarine squeezed, crushing the fool’s head like a ripe melon held between a Sister of Silence’s thighs.
    Cato tossed the body aside like a fruit’s pit as one of the two trapped fallen sisters tried to wriggle free of the upended bed frame. Cato grabbed one of the doors, having been knocked off two of its three hinges by his brutish might, and he ripped it free from its last restraint. The traitor screamed as Cato brought it down on her skull.
    He lifted the broken bed frame and dragged the last surviving traitor out by her badly broken arm. He threw her against the wall and kicked a laspistol over to her. She looked at it with panic, and then Cato spoke, his overwhelming presence manifesting into a voice that rumbled like the engine of a Land Raider.
    “Repent,” he commanded. The former sister’s hand moved over to the laspistol. Taking it in her shaking hand, she pressed the barrel to her temple, and Sicarius watched as she ventilated her own skull.
    He picked up the dislodged door, tucked it under his left arm, and turned on his heel to march up the stairs into the dungeon above, his cock swinging freely as he did. Summiting the flight of stone steps, he was greeted by a cadre of cultists.
    Five (mostly) human men clutching stubbers and autoguns flanked a trio of former sororitas, terribly mutated by the foul xenos taint that permeated this place. Behind them lurked the hideous, chitinous, six limbed form of a genestealer patriarch, the tip of its spiked tail rattling beneath its torso, and its substantial tongue flicking about as it tasted the air.
    The central sister was entirely nude, and had the markings of a sister superior. She would have been stunningly beautiful, a mature elegance clinging to her shapely form, had it not been for the two insectile, scythe-like appendages which extended from her back. She smiled and spoke, “Dear brother, what a mess you have made! I understand your shock, it's quite natural, but I believe your reaction here was just unaccep-”
    Her sentence was cut off as Cato leaped at her, closing the five meter gap so quickly that none but the patriarch had time to react, and even it could do little more than flinch as Sicarius slammed the edge of the door into the treacherous sororitas’ head with such force that it was turned into an unrecognizable pulp.
    The turned sister standing to Cato’s right lashed out at him with her second set of arms with lightning speed. Cato blocked one slash with the door, but a clever feint on the part of the genestealer primus opened him up for a slash across the bicep. Sicarius roared with fury and swung the door flat at her, sending her flying into a nearby wall with the stomach churning sound of broken bones. She screamed in agony, her body all but shattered.
    As though they had been shaken awake by the force of the impact, the armed cultists came to their senses and started firing on Sicarius, who held the door up as a shield. Though not enormously effective at stopping the bullets entirely, the fragmented aftermath of the impacts against the thick wooden door had lost enough energy that they became mostly a nuisance for him, rather than a threat, leaving shallow craters where they should have penetrated deep within his flesh.
    The third sister backpedalled and raised her hands in a fabulous display of witchcraft, desperately attempting to summon the powers given to her as a genestealer magus; a ball of black fire shot forth from her fingertips.
    Upon parrying her attack with the door, Cato quickly realized that he would soon not have much door left to protect himself with, so he flung the broken remains at a pair of cultists who should have done more spacing drills, an issue they would not get the chance to recognize, a cruel realization of their failings burning through their minds like a wildfire as their lungs filled with blood and their ruptured organs began to fail.
    The genestealer patriarch charged Cato as he closed on the magus, her hands once again signing the arcane sigils of black magic. Cato held firm on his path towards his psyker prey, waiting until the very last minute to dodge the bloodthirsty beast as poorly aimed panic-sprays of lead slugs meant for Cato squashed and ricocheted off it's incredibly thick hide. The beast barreled past the Ultramarine and tumbled into the magus, knocking her off balance and disrupting her spell.
    The three remaining cultists lobbed another volley of fire at the space marine who was now no longer hidden behind their patriarch. Sicarius, always a clever combatant, dove forward, rolling into a crouch, dodging under their fearful automatic bursts of gunfire. Standing up as he leaned into an uppercut that fully destroyed a man’s skull, the genehanced warrior juked aside, narrowly avoiding a bayonet to the throat.
    Cato grabbed the barrel of the autogun, just in front of its magazine well, and tore it from the cultist’s grip, using it’s affixed bayonet to stab the other remaining gun-bearing cultist in the chest as he struggled to reload his gun. The cultist whom Cato had relieved of his rifle was felled with a swift knee to the stomach, his body failing as his kidneys and liver ruptured.
    Another bolt of witchfire was hurled towards him as the spear-like tail of the patriarch lashed out for his head. Cato dodged both, doing an awkward duck and scoot to slip under the joint assault, but his overconfidence got the better of him as he stepped directly into the slashing arc of the primarch’s claws, which cut deep across Cato’s stomach.
    Fury fired through the synapses of the son of Guilliman, and he rolled past the patriarch, grabbing the discarded, heavily damaged door off the ground. Spinning to face the beast, he lunged and swung the door down across the skull of the patriarch, breaking his improvised bludgeon in half. Enraged, Cato sidearmed the remainder of the heavy debris directly into the chest of the magus, sending her to the ground in a broken heap. Cato brought his hands up in front of him, prepared to engage in fisticuffs with the patriarch.
    The alien bastard had other ideas, however, and it tried to skitter away. Sicarius roared with indignation at the cowardice of his foe, and grabbed the beast's tail, pulling the creature off its feet. The scion of Talassar planted his foot at the base of the captured appendage and twisted his body, putting the entirety of his gloriously bioengineered strength into wrenching the prehensile limb from the xeno’s despicable frame.
    Skin, muscle, sinew, and chitin tore as the patriarch unleashed a horrible wail of pain, and the tail was ripped free, dragging the abomination’s spine out with it. The star child’s head was pulled partially into its torso and its shoulder blades were broken in on themselves, the spine making a sickening, meaty pop as each vertebrae tugged free of the alien’s destroyed body.
    Cato dropped the unseated tail and surveyed the room. He finished off the few cultists that were still clinging to life with the butt of a stubber, and then tossed the busted rifle aside as he ascended the stairs to the main floor.
    It seemed like every traitor that had been lounging in carnal bliss on the floor above was now pointing a lasgun or stubber at Cato as he came up the stairs. He looked around the room, drenched in viscera and grinning like an idiot, and loudly declared, “This entire experience has been very illuminating already, so I’d appreciate it if you’d all put the flashlights down, now.” There was a moment of dead silence.
    Then a lasbolt zapped past his head and he dropped prone behind the lip of the stairwell as the air above him was swiftly replaced with sharp beams of deadly light and small chunks of lead.
    A grenade bounced over the edge of the stairwell, and Cato caught it, standing up for a fraction of a second to deftly hurl it beneath the feet of the clustered traitors with the precision of a sniper before ducking back down behind cover. Screams followed by a loud blast gave way to silence.
    Cato risked a quick peek over the edge of his cover, and a pair of lasguns sounded off, blasting chunks out the floor in front of his face and the wall behind his head. He crouched back down and tore an ornate metal railing out of the wall. The former Brother-Captain of the second company of Ultramarines launched himself atop the ledge with his powerful thighs, and landed in a crouch, his twisted wrought iron cudgel in hand.
    A single traitor still drew breath, seated against the wall and brandishing akimbo lasguns. Half his right leg and most of his face had been blown off by the grenade, and he was surrounded by the shredded and maimed bodies of the other cultists.
    The heretic squeezed both triggers and two streams of automatic lasfire lit up the room. Cato hurled the railing like a javelin as an unaimed withering hail of las bolts fired from the hip tore through everything but Sicarius. The Ultramarine’s improvised spear impaled the traitor through his sternum, and the defiled convent fell silent.
…
    Sicarius stood across from Marneus Calgar, Chapter Master of the Ultramarines and Lord Commander of Macragge, seated in an enormous stone throne in the fortress-monastery on Macragge. Calgar was immense. He always had been large, even for a space marine, but his large frame had only grown more towering after he crossed the Primaris Rubicon. He glowered at Cato, his permanent frown bent into a perturbed grimace.
    “I, Cato Sicarius,” the Head of the Victrix Guard began to say, before Calgar cut him off. “Enough, Sicarius. You have been nothing but trouble since your return from the Immaterium. When it was just womanizing and whoremongering, I could turn a blind eye. When you turned to drink to quell those cursed memories, I pretended that I had not seen it. But this? Going on a bender that ended with a shootout in a genestealer brothel?” Calgar shook his head. Cato Sicarius swallowed hard, and opened his mouth to speak, but Calgar raised his hand, and the former second company captain’s protest died in his throat.
    Calgar’s burrowing gaze felt like a battery of lascannons aimed at his very soul. “Yes, you did destroy the cult,” the Chapter Master said, “after almost twelve hours of intoxication and consortment with xenos. You let your guard down, and you were poisoned with dampeners of the mind, chemicals that could only take effect when your Preomnor and Oolitic glands were overloaded with that damnable Fenrisian ale. You weakened your own defenses, allowing them to dull your mind and preventing you from seeing the obvious threats that stood before you.” Calgar’s voice was growling with frustration and disappointment.
    “Had you just entered the convent, your behavior could have been forgiven,” the Lord of Macragge continued, “but it was not simply a firefight, nor a drunken brawl. You copulated with the cultists, and had you been killed or converted, they could have taken the gene seed you spilled down their throats back to their Tyranid masters. Your complete disregard for the protection of our geneseed is the primary distinction between your dalliances with xenos, and our father's more tolerable transgressions.” Cato had frozen, as though stillness and silence would allow him to hide from the consequences of his actions.
    “Have you any defense,” Marneus continued, “or shall we conclude this trial?” Cato Sicarius’ eyes were cast down upon the ground, and he shook his head. Calgar nodded solemnly and said, “Then you are banished from the Ultramarines, Cato Sicarius of Talassar. Our father wishes to speak with you before you are sent off-world. A shuttle waiting outside will take you to him.” Cato Sicarius turned and left the throne room, and Calgar sighed, shaking his head.

_____________________________________________________


    Hey guys! I know you're used to seeing a shitpost about Roboute's exotic taste in women here, but I just wanted to thank all of you for reading my fic so far, whether you found my work through the Warhammer Smut subreddit, @DrunkRembrancer’s discord server, or my Twitter. This fic has blown up really fast, with over 2400 combined total pageviews on Chapters 1 and 2, all of which was garnered over the last four days. I’m amazed and thrilled that so many people are enjoying my work. 
    Today’s chapter was a little bit more experimental, for lack of a better word, since I’m looking to expand the roster of characters I have available in an effort to pre-empt stagnation. Over the last 24 hours I have deliberated and debated over whether or not to run with this chapter, which I had essentially completed in its entirety within a few hours of uploading the last one, because it’s far lighter on smut, heavier on violence, and features some pretty dark implications (after all, Cato was not sober or right of mind when he was seduced by those genestealer cultists, and that raises questions about whether he was really able to give consent, especially once he started inhaling that brain-numbing incense at the convent). 
    That being said, I’ve decided to publish it anyways because it is ultimately a work of fiction, and I feel confident in the story threads I’m setting up with this chapter. I’ve been fascinated by Cato Sicarius’ troubled return to the canon ever since I first heard about his traumatizing Warp experience, and I figured it’d be a great narrative device with which to frame a redemption arc, as well as provide a more complex and troubled deuteragonist than Guilliman. Plus, it’ll give Guilliman some interesting motivations and complications for me to play with. 
    It also gives me a way to have a loyalist space marine out and about, plowing hot alien babes across the milky way without needing to write Guilliman as a cheating womanizer or a non-committal manwhore. 
    Anyways, please let me know how you felt about this chapter, since it’s a deviation from the norm I have established so far. If it’s something you guys find unappealing, tell me so I can course-correct and shift back over to a plot that focuses exclusively on Guilliman and Yvraine, without side characters. 
    Next chapter will feature Guilliman and Yvraine. It’s a wholesome dinner date, Robu tells dad jokes, and Yvvy gets her brains dicked out. You’ll love it, I promise. 
    Stay safe, stay inside, and enjoy! I’ll have Chapter 4 out in the next day or two to help keep you occupied during this shitty, shitty quarantine. Once again, thank you all for the support and positive feedback.