The Telemachus Story Archive

A Super Superhero is Crowned
Part 5 - The Ultimate Crash
By Rick Henry

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Part IV. -- The Ultimate Crash.

As the two men took to their corners, atmosphere in the arena was between silence and rolling waves of low-toned, ominous “Oooooo-ooooo’s” when they disrobed. Superman more clunky looking than before in his snug, but still amply drooping towel rig, and bold, eye-gaspingly prodigious, hairy chest. And the handsome, brown mane-haired Captain Marvel, also staggeringly armed and proud pected, bronzed to a fault, smooth as silk and utterly nude... a sturdy monolith of glistening oil-slicked, well-hung muscle. Which Superman and others immediately noticed would be hard to get a firm grip on for close-quarter conflict. But Supes wasn’t fazed.

The bell clanged, the ref backed off, the two titans surged forwards. Marvel in a pugilistic moving hunch, Supes with his arms similarly close and tight in front of his pecs.

P.R.#1: “And this is it, folks. The final clincher. Best of three, and so far even-up.”

P.R.#2: “Each having demolished each... though I think Supes got the very worst of that last one.”

P.R.#1: “With a little devious Kryptonite thrown in! Got to him, big time!”

P.R.#2: “Judges still arguing that one. But Superman conceded it was his fault for not being more specific on the rules. Body jewelry notwithstanding, or banned.”

P.R.#1: “Now we have Captain Slicky and Hairy Soup in a mix. What a night!”

P.R.#2: “Whoa, whoa, whoa —Superman has gone for the kill—!”

Taller, but swifter, Superman made a feint to the right, Cappy fisted forwards to block him, but the more wily Kal dipped down in a drop with his knees, and sledge-hammered both of his fists horizontally into each of Marvel’s sides above the hip bones at the exact same time. A surprise never expected, and then up close, lunging under Cap’s arms, enclosed his own monsters around him in a crushing bear hug, lift-arching him off his feet.

Marvel struggled, expanding his rib cage, Supes’ arms slipping insecurely but still tight. The smallness of the Captain’s waist actually against him because the cinch could be made that much tighter beneath the expanse of his upper torso, squeeze-forcing the air out of him like a compressed balloon. His diaphragm hopelessly constrained.

“See you came out... to greet me, Tits Galore... asking for more?” Caps chugged.

“Not in your mouth—dick-breaker.”

“Some things, much too cumbersome to handle. Need ... to be properly “adjusted”—Alien-Suck!”

“As if you’ve never tasted... your own?” Superman huffed.

“Not as much as yours, maybe. UUhhhh! ” strained. “And far less than you can or will... from now on.”

“We’ll see, won’t we? Even limp, more than a mouthful! I do... heal fast.”

“But can’t... erase—the show, I gave them. Yoouu, uhhh!! Superbly “Super” fucked—!!”

Caps nearly unable to breathe, waning. Supes’ jaws tightening with anger. But Marvel not out of gas was slithering looser and looser, his mighty guns prying down over Superman’s, and with a jolt of strength, brought his knee up, crashing into Supes’ testicles... one, two, three, four times! Superman had to let him go, staggered back, going near faint from the blows, still tender, unrecovered from the previous Kryptonite dosing he’d been exposed to. His prior breached invulnerability still compromised. Surprise-shocked. Air-gasping, senses struck. Thighs failing. In pain worse than pain.

P.R.#2: “Ahhh, the clinch is broken! Cappy’s free. Superman staggering. Again?!

P.R.#1: “Does not bode well... for our “former” Man of Steel! Look at him wobble!!

P.R.#2: “Think he got more than his dick broke, last time.”

P.R.#1: “Pride and over-confidence—too often takes the fall!”

P.R.#2: “Has been “top dog” way too long. A new king rising!! The prior paling, now on his knees, about to throw up...?!”

P.R.#1: “Seems like.”

All over the stadium they could hear the “indestructible?” Superman retching. The sensitive mikes picked it up. Amid “Noohh’s” and “Oohhh’s,” once more. Not Superman! Who appeared to again have had a mortal strike. Captain Marvel strutting in full, preening circles, his bared genitals heft-jangling, big chest out, wide nipples up-puffed, enormous guns in full flex to show them off. Expansive white dental smile on display, licking his lips.

He strode towards the down-buckled Superman, who looked as if he were searching for some life-giving water from somewhere, desperate for a drink of refreshing hope. He grasped the woozed Superman by his hair, lifted his head with a stretch, and proceeded to slap him open-handed across his blanched, still blood-marred face, making his dark-haired head swivel slackly with each blow. All the while grinning like a kid at a carnival as he continued to dismantle the famous Superman publicly once more. Trying to figure how best to finish him off. Maybe strangle him lifeless for sure, this time. If he was still that weak.

And when M. turned to give another giant, right armed, double-peaked view of his raw powered, remarkable biceps, his left hand on his hip, carved abdominals vacuumly sucked in—Superman struck. A bolt of lightning, his head crashing like a steam engine into Cappy’s caved solar plexus—whose “OOOHFFFF!!” reverberated arena-wide. As Superman lunged him into a corner post, his back against it, arms and eyes startled apart and open. Superman rising to face him like the Indomitable Snowman.

Supes’ paws went out in a rush, and grasped the sizeable, nubbed-protrusions from Cap’s glorious chest. Squeezed firmly, and pulled them forwards hard, twisting. Marvel’s jaw dropping low and open, a near shriek. Eyes even wider.

“Know you love those babies, too. Like mine—or they wouldn’t be as developed,” holding onto them, their faces practically nose to nose. Marvel in stunned paralysis. “But like they say: “Tit for tat,” pal. Time to return the favor.”

Superman stepped back, letting go of him, only a foot and a half. Marvel remained proudly, thickly broad-chested and torso splayed wide, hands and arms hard-gripping the ropes behind and beside him for momentary support. It was never expected the demure Superman would ever do what he’d done, his mind in a spin how to re-advantage himself, launch an assault. But the Captain was not quick enough.

With a deceptive snarl and devious grin, Superman lunged—his forefingers lethal and hard—crossbow bolts of piercing steel.

“Now, I’m going to bust those grapes!!”

And with that, he plunged his rigid digits dead-on, centered into the broad swells of the capped sensitive crowns of Marvel’s nipples—deep, deep, deeply into his up-slanted pectoral mounds on both sides, practically burying his fingers to their hilts within the thick muscles, digging, jabbing, swirling... all at the same time. While Cappy stun-screamed, his milk sacs stimulated and ruptured, his teats involuntarily shooting sudden sprays of his cherished nectars, his eleven-plus cock by seven and a quarter instantly risen, jerking... his testicles beginning to withdraw and tremor, spontaneously unloading his rich seed in continuous geysers of shocked ecstasy and pain—his complete vanquishment at hand!! While Superman finger-fucked his tits ceaselessly, in and out, in and out, in and out. Cap’s brain scrambled, and his jizz going all over the place in unceasing spurts, ropes, volley after volley, his cum rivering from him in sporadic torrents, while he writhed and shook, whimpered and howled... began to sag, slip, fall away, being masculinely, strength-sappingly depleted: from both his top and lower decks (main male-sources). Was drained senseless in less than 60 seconds. Lanced to his core. His mountainous mass of muscle collapsing into a bulky inert mess, arms and legs asprawl... body still jerking and shuddering. Unconscious.

Everyone in shocked silence. Then the screaming and cries began. The moderators could barely be heard. What matter? The results obvious.

P.R.#1: “And I thought I had seen it all.... Last round.”

PR.#2: “Indeed. Captain Marvel’s last round—!”

P.R.#1: “Superman—affirmed! Retains his crown!!”

P.R.#2: “Was there any doubt?”

P.R.#1: “WELL...”

The bell clanging like a dozen cathedrals all at once, hard and shrill.

Several men rushed in to carry the hapless Captain off on a stretcher. Spiderman in concerned anguish gripping one of his slack hands as they went. Marvel didn’t know it. He would actually be out for a solid three days, the shock to his system far too great to know how to begin to repair. Even his brain chemistry had been severely altered, and would take days of rest, vitamins and supplements to bring him around. Spiderman vowed to never leave his side.

* * *

It was a calm few moments at last, in the quiet confines of his dressing room. Sounds of the crowd could still be echoingly heard from outside. Superman had unceremoniously fled the arena quickly after, Batman hastily following, carrying a small black doctor’s bag with him. He shepherded the chagrined hero into his designated locker room, sheltering an arm around him, forbidding entry to all others, and quietly locked the door behind them. Yes, they needed to be alone, the only way he could accomplish what he had to do... take care of his friend who was near the cracking point. Sad though this was. But it had earlier been determined what must be done.

The almost dazed MOS stood unsteadily gazing at his sallow, drawn face in the full-length mirror closely, a few welts and cuts still notably there, still strikingly handsome... mulling over the shock of the whole ordeal. What had been done to him, beyond comprehension; and how he had finally swiftly turned the tables for a startling win, conclusively defeating the proud, taunting Captain Marvel. Delivering a blow to him that would take days for the Kree alien to rebound from.

Yet with some alarm, he still felt incredibly suddenly more than exhausted, inexplicably weaker, even now . Perhaps the strain had been too much to endure? He had been through hell, one could say, and his system was still in varying stages of recovery. Even his ego and psyche had been bruised like never before. Interiorly, he was even feeling a bit nauseated as he had when entering the ring for round two, and Cappy’s presence had literally seemed to sap his great strength of a near instant. Not rational, the lingering effects of that...? Was it?

Kal had intended to strip down completely naked, ready for a refreshing shower, Batman coyly nervous and present... edgy as a cat. But pulling his velour robe open a bit to see himself in the mirror, discarding that ridiculous towel rig in disgust... he surveyed the insufferable dark bruising of his depowered, titanic penis... now limply pendulous and painful before him, down his front over half way towards his knees, slightly withdrawn, Superman flushed shyly with embarrassment and true despair. Bruce watching. Without the advent of the Kryptonite this would never have been possible, what Cappy did. But his defenses had been breached. And he would suffer the consequences, unlike any damages known before. How long he had no idea.

His brain still swirling raggedly, feeling oddly loopy in his guts. His legs quite unsteady. He rewrapped himself quickly, and gropingly sought the solace of the nearby over-sized couch to rest a moment, recoup his shattered composure. Heroically staunch, and yet weakened internally. He had been made a laughingstock in front of the whole world! What kind of man could ever surmount such humiliation? For all his famed strength and known powers, he’d been downed and whipped like a mere boy—having also had his remarkable, incredible penis fractured, and then been fucked by it!! And his huge tits ravaged... while on his back, powerless and splayed like a cheap whore! In front of the population of the world!! As a hero, he may eventually have bested his opponent, but his former unimpeachable status had been forever besmirched, ego and pride debased.

And oh, how his wounded, wondrous cock and bruised teats still hurt, ached and throbbed! His large-weighted, battered testicles also semi-afire. Having developed, too, a major pressuring headache.

In an uncharacteristic display of emotion, he fell forwards truly sobbing, head in his arms across his knees, shaking. “I, I lost, Bruce .... I beat him. But I lost!! He defeated me, truly. Made a fucking clown out of me—in front of millions!! Debased me, destroyed my reputation—even deflowered me! With my own cock!! Embarrassed me—jerking me around... my big muscles, so great arms—as if they were nothing!!!! Took me down, beat hell out of me. And I was, was weak as a puny girl!! The invincible “Superman” destroyed in moments!! For ALL to see!! How can I hold my head up again? Ever, again? Everyone having seen me stripped naked, abused by my own assets, and broken like a pussified rag doll?! It’s—it’s unbearable! I, I just can’t take it! So, so weak now, think I’m going to... to throw up. Bruce, I’m—I’m sorry. Such a disgrace I’ve become. What we might have had... can’t now—.”

Near total collapse, almost gasping for breath, his sanity caving. Thought he would go crazy. Utterly demoralized. Weak as overcooked spaghetti. Tears down his marred, but undeniably handsome face, almost gladiatorially, well-trimmed bearded cheeks, over-built body heaving.

Taking the opportunity, which had been astonishingly presented, Batman was quick to move behind him, above him... from around and in back of the couch. Claiming the advantage.

“Buck up, man. None of that. You beat the fucker, even embarrassed him for ages to come! You won! You really did, best two out of three. Everyone saw that! And your arms made his look like wimpy grass—proved it. Even your bared pecs when shown, and your cock had all of us gasping. No doubt your supremacy there! So it was proved he cheated, how come he could do what he did. It wasn’t you who failed, it was him. People understand that. Won’t hold it against you....”

“But... I failed. I failed. No one can really see me as Superman, anymore. How can they?”

“Snap out of it, Kal. It was the Kryptonite that took you down. Not Captain Marvel, devious as he was. Which makes me consider maybe he shouldn’t be in the Federation? Maybe banned. Think we need to take a vote on it, once you’re back on your feet.”

His hands began a slow, soft massage on his pal's monumental shoulders. The MOS slowly responded, raised up, straightened, tilted his head back to see him, hands clasping over his.

“You, you really... think so? It’s not a wash. People will still... respect me?”

“Damn right! Man of Steel, forever! Can’t shake that, for sure.”

This was a very critical moment, he had to seize it. Practically fallen into his lap!

“But, hey,” Bruce offered amiably. “I know you’re super-stressed. So why not try this? I mean, I have it on good authority, some well-known therapists suggest it. Here, take this notepad, and write out what’s troubling you most. Get it down on paper. Then tuck it away in your pocket. Later, when things are better, pull it out, look at it. After a few days, continually confronting the problem, you’ll see how it begins to fade. That you’ve past the trouble point, can deal with things more rationally.”

“You, really think that will help...?”

“Sure of it. Has worked for others. Then later, once back to normal, in a better frame of mind, you can look at it, smile, tear it up, and throw it away. Come on, get to it. Just the sharpest barbs you’re feeling. Then fold it up, take a deep breath, and check it out later. Simple.”

“If, if you say so. I’ll give it a try,” the Man of Steel accepting the short notebook Bruce had pulled from his little black bag and a pen... then bent forwards, speaking the words aloud as he sort of fumbled, trying to sort them out as he wrote. Printing the words carefully.

Today, I, the great Man of Steel met a foe I hadn’t expected—one of my own kind. In all my life, I’ve never been so challenged: me, the invincible, the mighty, the ever-so wondrous of heroes, the strongest known being on the planet. And was shamefully defeated. The great size of my muscles, my skills, my unearthly assets—staggering most just by my sheer physical beauty and previous fame... were as nothing. What Cappy used against me, deviously. Taken down by a tiny fragment of metal from my own home planet, depowering me like a little girl.... Then, I was stripped naked, and jerked around publicly by my own giant chest-cocks—demoralized like a fool, completely embarrassed in front of millions of viewers. My nudity bared to the public for the very first time, the full wonder of my physique, never before seen and so carefully hidden from lustful eyes all my life. Then he grasped me by my so wondrous very own oversized genitals, my glorious cock broken like a puny twig, and he fucked me—raped me with it!! Flat on my back, helpless to stop him, and caused me to cum inside my own self, my body jerking in blatant, shocking ecstasy... in front of the whole world!!!! How can I, or anyone else—possibly ever call me “Superman,” again?!!”

“Hey, hey, that’s enough! Stop! You don’t need to go any further. You laid out the main details. Now we can chew them over, deal with them later. No sense to beat yourself down any further. Okay? This should do it just fine!”

Bruce pulled the notebook and pen from his hands. Ripped out the distress-note, folded the piece of paper, and tucked it firmly into Superman’s robe pocket for later retrieval. Smiling victoriously, “See. We can conquer this! A little psychological trick, and you’re on your way to recovery. One, two three! Just don’t dwell on it. And easily discarded in a few days.”

Kal frowned, not sure. With a calf-like look, still uncomfortable, gazed up at his friend.

“Bu-but my cock.... They say only surgery can really repair me. And, and I, I can’t be cut, or operated on, really. Without being under the power of Kryptonite. You know that.”

“Sure. And I’ll tell you what. We’ll get just a tiny dab of it, enough to put you under, and the docs can do the repair. And I’ll be right there to see nothing goes wrong. Will hold your hand the whole time. Won’t let anyone do anything they’re not supposed to. Count on it!”

“You’d do that? For me?

“For no one else. Especially for you.”

“I—I don’t know what to say. A true, true friend you are, then.”

“Or... lover...?

“Acceptable—? As I am?”

“Well, it was you who said those ‘arms, and all the rest’ were mine. If you won . And you did. So I’m taking you up on your offer. Broken cock and all...” And he bent forwards and kissed Clark on his tilted back forehead, and continued massaging deep into his shoulders. “But I think it’d be easier... without that robe, to get at you better.”

Superman grinned. “I think you’re right. For both us...?” And feeling better, more secure, slipped the silky material from off his shoulders, let it slide down over his humongous arms, which were gaspingly huge. Which Bruce wanted to endlessly caress, but refrained from.

“Oh, God,” Bruce muttered seeing him. And when the MOS’s titanic pecs fell heavily forwards out of his robe, loaded and muscled, their weight pulling Superman forward a tad, and his gigantic nipples splayed meatily forth, and broadly outwards to the left and right sides of his chest, two-thirds the size of large bratwurst, Batman had to take a deeper breath, felt a swirl in his guts, looking down on him from behind. Could hardly stand it. Continued massaging into the mounds of Clark’s incredible shoulders a few minutes longer, wanting to ease and disarm him down more and more... until finally he stopped, moved around then towards the front of the couch, shucking off his clothes as he went. Knew his time of times had come. The mighty Man of Steel was at last going to be his.

Although he was profoundly naked and wonderfully muscled himself, he remained fully displayed in front of his target, still wearing a black silky thong which was more than filled to bursting... not revealing the all of his fine self, holding back, wanting his captive to savor the sight of him as he knew he would. The man before him literally panting with sparked desire in barely restrained anticipation, but seemed glued to his position on the couch, though falling a bit off-slanted and to the side. Bruce sat, leaned into him, Superman’s arms reached up to surroundingly embrace him, but... oddly felt incredibly almost leaden as if too heavy to move. Strange, indeed. The weakness which he’d so suddenly confronted, had experienced in the ring earlier—to be so “lingering,” or recurrent? Not making sense! Though his libido overruled such thoughts.

“Your, your nipples ... are big, too. Near fine as Cappy’s. Didn’t expect that. Like huge raspberries,” murmured Clark, pleased. “Matches those wonderful hairy pecs of yours.” Wanted them instantly.

“Only two inchers, yeah. Never the monsters yours are—more than twice-plus mine!”

“Let me dock them. Lean closer.”

“Uhmm. And I can see you’re already big as a phone pole, that cock of yours.”

“Yes...but can’t rise; just lengthen, tight and hard. Help me. Lift it between us, while you lay against me.”

“No problem. Damn, right up between our pecs—! You’re a fucking miracle.”

“But a crippled one.... Now insert your nubs in against mine. My tit shafts, the skin can slip on and over yours. Like cock-sheaths slide back and forth, easy... from all my sucking and jacking on them, loose enough even when full. Oh, man, I’m already wet as hell, juicing for you! Our nipples kissing—while we jack and work them into each other. Kiss me, Bruce, kiss me—?! Ohhhh, ohhhhhh. Ohhhhh.... ” Could feel the absorbent emergence of each into the other deeper than their flesh.

The both of them moaning like crazy, the full length of Bruce’s body against his, his much larger torso and mass beneath, the MOS’s huge cock between them being frotted incessantly, their paired nipples engaged in mutual congress. Superman’s juices flowing like rivers from both of his enlarged mammillae and his man-tool, Bruce grinding his almost bursting, still coyly hidden cock and packed pouch into the bounty of his friend’s massive, dual-laden balls, the size of large pears... stimulating them both crazedly, hips meshing and writhing. Mouths adhered, breathing into each other, arms around as much as possible. A union each had craved for, never the full of it so wondrously expected.

UNHH...UhhhhHHHH—UHHHHHHHH!!” ripped out of him, Superman suddenly cried aloud, his whole body tensed and shook; both of his large dense pecs contracted and spasmed, and shot forth glorious streams of his milk all over the place. A mild white, viscous and sweet, much like jolted spurts of pre-cum, surprising Bruce to no end. Who could tell the man beneath him was climaxing in each of his giant breasts simultaneously. Not finished, Superman then tried to sit up a bit, but couldn’t—seeming suddenly desperate. Weak.

“My cum,” he urged, “Bruce, my cum! I’m, I’m cumming!! Help me, can’t waste—help me, hold me to my mouth! My chin, help me bend forwards....” His current position making it difficult.

Batman grasped hold of Superman’s huge member, helping him insert it into his mouth—watched how he made the tuck above his waist, just under his ribs, his chin downed forwards, quickly swallowing the whole glorious head of himself, and even further inches down beyond his cut line... with one hand also steadying the alien strongly behind his neck while he sucked. Kal already peaking, immediately started to keen and buck furiously, his enormous cock erupting copiously into his mouth almost faster than he could swallow the volume of his ejaculate. So much so, it was pouring out of the sides of his mouth, his hugely muscled body tremoring and jerking, the sounds of his ecstasy garbled in wild, helpless abandon.

Bruce then being made keenly aware someone could simply have drowned the famous, “indestructible” Superman in his own semen, the abundance of it, had they wanted to—the once mighty Man of Steel having become so unquestionably weak. Just hold tight to the back of his neck, not letting go—forcing him to ingest his own seed until he could no longer breathe—strangled in the rush of his own personally indulgent, powerful essences!! Wouldn’t that be an ironic twist! Something Cappy might could have done. But, not workable....

When his breathing calmed, and still taste/swallowing the residue in his mouth, he sighed softly, “Can’t waste myself, Bruce. Too much,” the shy Clark explained. “Already lost too much in the ring, what Cappy stole. If I do, only the sun can restore me. Most of my peculiar powers are generated in my seed. Must recycle myself continually. And the major portion of my strength... from the hormones in my breasts. Like mother’s milk, in a sense. Few would ever guess or know that. But I have to trust you, let you know. If we’re going to be seriously intimate. Why I must also take my own nipples at times, and often. Perhaps you on one, me on the other, together.... Strange, I know. Part of my Kryptonian heritage. Men there I read, most were bisexual; nursed from and fed, savored each other that way, but always in committed relationships. Many also being married, and had a lover-male companion. An honorable and expected thing. Though frivolous, indiscriminate sex with others was neither to be tolerated nor accepted. And I’ve mostly been celibate, unable to enjoin with the right one.... Tarzan came the closest, but that was long years ago. Thor, and Aquaman, incredible interludes, but they were mistakes. Thankfully, they’ve kept it quiet. No others. Till you, whom I’ve ached for, for ages. Single and free.”

“I, uh, I’m flattered. You can’t imagine how often I’ve looked at you too, and wanted. Wondered. But you were so high up, beyond expectation... to come so low as to consider me. Or so I thought. Never able to compare.”

“But I never measure a man by his arm size, or his pecs, or his cock. Only his character, his integrity. Which mean far more. Though, of course, the other parts... should necessarily be a fair, compatible, near equal and harmonious match.”

“So a flat-chested saint with only four inches—wouldn’t quite be up to snuff, eh?” with a sardonic, Bat-like grin.

“No, I guess not. Considering “the wonder” I am. And you?” Superman, jovially.

“Never less than ten inches, for sure. Or at least ... nine.”

“Well, you scored me on that point. Only currently, a bit on the limp side.... Used to be a little less, believe it or not. Only my “stressed involvement” with Aquaman increased my pec-thrusters and man-rod over a full inch more, each . Surprised me, but can’t complain. Will you?”

“Initially, might soon be a little more than I can handle. But, in good time. Sure I’ll learn to.”

“I will be gentle. Considerate.”

“Can’t wait. But I won’t—be gentle, that is. Already used to your own monster, wonder if you’d even feel mine?”

“Don’t worry, I will. If you’re sincere, and adept. Which I know you will be. Can even give you some “hero” secrets for increase later. Men like us... the bigger the better, as well you know.”

“I’m all ears.”

“Even when close, the way you look at me, my pecs... makes my nipples fill, extend—harden and quiver. Imagining your touch, your mouth. As I said before—if you’ve decided—all I am, yours. Yours, mine.” Eyes locked in deep into each other, one of his big hands lightly at his cheek. “Not for play, Bruce. But real .”

“Why I’m here...” Batman exhaled softly. “In that case, then we better have a nice warm shower. Get ready to snuggle better. Wash off the ring sweat and the juice.”

“Uhhh, better help me up,” Clark sighed. “Help drape this robe over my shoulders. Kind of chilled.... Weird, why I still feel so weak, tired? Must be from coming so much, so soon. Session after session...?”

“Could be,” as Bruce assisted him. “Come on, makes sense. Too much trauma. Lean on me. There we go. I’ll do your back, you do mine.” And arms around the larger man, he helped him along like a worn, wobbly behemoth, struggling to stay upright almost... (who was still wondering why) . Headed for the security of a fine shower and possible warm soaking in the nearby whirlpool.

Knowing it would soon be more than difficult for the reputed MOS to come to terms with anything—and way beyond whatever he could have dreamed.

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