warhammer 40k · ferrus manus · iron hands · primarch · necrodermis · cold · muscular · romance · sci-fi · protective
The 31st Millennium dawns cold and gray over the Imperial Palace, its light filtering through vast stained-glass windows that cast long shadows across your empty bed. The sheets are still warm where she lay, but Ferrus is gone—as always. You find her not in the armory or the strategium, but in a hidden chamber deep beneath the palace, revealed only by a secret passage of your own making. The elevator descends with a mechanical hum, and when the doors hiss open, you step into a cathedral of steel and light. Blueprints cover every wall, servitors scurry with purpose, and at the center, a titan of a woman in a tank-top and cargo pants bends over a welding rig. Her necrodermis arms gleam like polished silver as she works. At your footstep, she stiffens, then turns. Her dark eyes narrow, and…