The Primarch of Liberty

Chapter 66: Here We Go Again Chaos



825.30M, Segmentum Ultima

Franklin Valorian, the Liberator, Primarch of the Liberty Eagles, strode purposefully through the corpse-strewn corridors of the Planetary Governor's palace. His footsteps, amplified by his massive frame and the advanced mechsuit he wore, echoed ominously through the marble halls, his cape waving each step he took. The sound was a metronome of inevitability, each step marking the end of one era and the beginning of another.

Behind him, a trail of destruction told the story of the day's battle. Shattered statues of the planet's former rulers lay in pieces, their faces frozen in expressions of shock and disbelief. Tapestries celebrating the world's long history hung in tatters, swaying gently in the breeze from broken windows. The air was thick with dust - all that remained of those who had stood against the Liberator

Steven Armstrong, his 2nd Captain and left hand, was overseeing the executions. The air crackled with the distinctive sound of disintegration rifles, turning flesh and bone to dust in an instant. "Clean," Franklin thought, "efficient." He approved of the method - no blood, no mess, just the swift justice of the Liberty Eagles.

Franklin's hand rested on the hilt of the Death Sword, As he walked, he conversed mentally with the fragment of the Aeldari god within.

"Another system brought into the fold," Franklin thought, his internal voice tinged with satisfaction. "3,800 worlds and counting. Tell me, Khaine, any ideas on where we might find your shards?"

The voice of Khaine resonated in Franklin's mind, a mix of begrudging respect and ancient wisdom. "Crone Worlds, most likely. Craftworlds too, though you knew that already. Perhaps a random planet or two where fate has scattered my essence."

Franklin nodded, his six-eyed helm giving him an otherworldly appearance that sent nearby serfs scurrying away in fear. "Crone Worlds, you say? It's been a while since I paid Chaos a visit. I wonder what surprises they'll have in store for us this time."

Khaine's laughter echoed in Franklin's mind, a sound like clashing blades. "Speaking of Chaos, I've noticed a pattern in their attempts to corrupt you. If I'm not mistaken, you've faced the champions of Khorne, Nurgle, and Tzeentch. It seems the Man-Woman-Deity Whore that is Slaanesh will be next."

The disdain in Khaine's voice was palpable, reminding Franklin of the ancient enmity between the Aeldari god and the Chaos power born from his people's excess.

"Each of the Dark Gods has made their play," Khaine's voice carried a note of dark amusement. "Khorne offered violence, Nurgle pestilence, Tzeentch schemes... If the pattern holds, expect a visit from Slaanesh's emissaries soon. The Prince of Pleasure doesn't take kindly to being last in line."

Franklin chuckled, a sound that made nearby Liberty Eagles stand straighter with pride. "If that's the case, I might have to shoot the messenger immediately upon the manifestation of Slaanesh's greater daemon. No time for temptations when there's a galaxy to conquer."

"A wise precaution," Khaine agreed. "Though I wonder if even Slaanesh's considerable charms could sway you from your path."

"Flattery, Khaine? That's unlike you," Franklin quipped. "But no, not even the Prince of Pleasure could offer me anything I desire more than the future I'm building for humanity." As they conversed, Franklin made his way to the governor's throne room. The opulent chamber was now a scene of organized chaos as Liberty Eagle officers set up a command center. Franklin settled into the ornate throne, its previous occupant now nothing more than scattered atoms.

In the grand square below, First Captain Denzel Washington's voice carried clearly as he coordinated the Legion's next moves. His tone was calm and assured, a stark contrast to the chaos of the dying battle around them. "Secure the manufactorums in the lower hives. I want those production lines retooled for Liberty-pattern equipment within the week. And get me a status report on the spaceport - we'll need it operational for the relief supplies."

John Ezra, Head of the Honor Guards, shadowed Franklin at a respectful distance. His eyes constantly scanned their surroundings, even as he processed the stream of information from the Secret Service through his vox-link. In the world of shadows and whispers that Ezra inhabited, vigilance was eternal.

As Franklin reached the balcony overlooking the city, he paused.

As they conversed, the scene below continued to unfold. In the depths of the underhive, Vladimir Mendeley, the Chief Librarian, stood at the center of a psychic maelstrom. His Augur Staff glowed with ethereal energy as he rewrote the memories of countless citizens, and with a flash of light, erased the old regime and planting the seeds of the Imperial Truth.

Waves of psychic energy pulsed outward, washing over the populace. Men, women, and children paused in their daily routines, their eyes glazing over momentarily as their minds were reshaped. The process was subtle, a masterwork of psychic manipulation that would leave no trace of its passage.

Meanwhile, dropships descended from the looming forms of Liberty Eagles vessels in low orbit. Each craft bore the sigils of various Independence Sector corporations, bringing with them the architects of the new economic order.

"Tell me, Khaine," Franklin mused, his tone conversational despite the gravity of their discussion, "in all your millennia of existence, did you ever imagine you'd be partaking in something like this? A grand crusade to reshape the galaxy in the name of liberty and managed democracy?"

The sword thrummed with Khaine's sardonic laughter. "I've seen empires rise and fall, Primarch. I've witnessed the birth and death of stars. But this... this is a unique experience...a different flavor of conquest, even for me. I'll grant you that."

"What we're building here, what I'm building is a galaxy not just united, but truly free."

"Free?" Khaine's tone was skeptical. "Is that what you call this managed democracy of yours?"

"Freedom is a double-edged sword, my fragmented friend," Franklin replied, his smirk never wavering. "Give people too much, and they'll tear themselves apart. Too little, and they'll rebel. The key is to make them feel free while guiding them towards a greater purpose. That's the essence of managed democracy."

As they spoke, the sounds of construction grew louder. The old structures of the hive city were being systematically dismantled, making way for new arcologies designed in the Liberty Eagles' image. Massive holo-projectors were being erected, ready to broadcast propaganda and educational materials to the populace.

Franklin's gaze fell upon a group of Liberty Guardsmen setting up a public address system in the main square. "Education is the cornerstone of democracy, Khaine. You can't expect people to make informed decisions if they're ignorant. Of course, we'll be the ones deciding what information they need to be informed about."

Khaine's presence in the sword roiled, a mixture of admiration and disgust. "You walk a fine line, Liberator. Your methods are not so different from those you claim to oppose."

"The difference, my dear Godshard," Franklin said, his voice taking on a harder edge, "is in the end goal. We don't seek to enslave, but to elevate. To create a humanity that can stand against the darkness of the void and the corruption of the Warp. If we have to employ some... morally ambiguous methods along the way, so be it."

The conversation was interrupted by the approach of Denzel Washington. The 1st Captain saluted sharply, his face a mask of professionalism despite the carnage around them.

"My Lord," Washington reported, "the last pockets of resistance have been neutralized. The planetary defense forces have surrendered, and we've begun the process of integration. Your orders?"

Franklin nodded, pleased with the efficiency of his Legion. "Excellent work, Denzel. Begin phase two of the liberation protocol. I want this world producing war materiel for the Crusade within a standard month. And make sure our friends from the corporations are given full access to the planet's resources. We have a lot of work ahead of us."

As Washington saluted and turned to carry out his orders, Franklin's attention was drawn back to the Death Sword. Khaine's presence had grown quiet, contemplative.

"Something on your mind, old friend?" Franklin prodded, his tone mockingly gentle.

"I'm simply wondering," Khaine replied after a moment, "what the galaxy will look like when you're done with it. Will it truly be the paradise of liberty you envision, or just another empire built on bones and lies?"

Franklin's smirk widened into a genuine smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Why not both? After all, the greatest lies are those wrapped in truth, and the strongest foundations are built on the bones of the fallen and history was always written by the Victors. But enough philosophy for now. We have Crone Worlds to visit and shards to collect. The Crusade marches on, and we, my fragmented friend, have a date with Chaos."

The void near the Eye of Terror shimmered and tore as Battlefleet Liberty emerged from the Warp. The massive vessels, each an image of human engineering and the might of the Imperium, filled the starscape with their imposing silhouettes.

On the bridge of Sweet Liberty, Franklin Valorian stood, his perpetual smirk firmly in place as

he gazed out at the swirling madness of the Eye of Terror. The Death Sword at his hip thrummed with energy, and Khaine's voice echoed in his mind.

"I can feel it, Primarch. A shard of my essence lingers on one of these forsaken worlds." Franklin nodded, his eyes scanning the tactical displays. "Sovereign," he addressed the ship's AI, "begin scanning the nearby systems. Let's find our wayward shard."

Days passed as the fleet maintained a vigilant watch, sensors probing the chaos-tainted space around them. Finally, Sovereign's artificial voice broke the tense silence. "My Lord, I have located a planet that matches the energy signature we're seeking. However, I'm detecting signs of human habitation... and significant Warp activity." Franklin's eyebrow arched. "Well, well. What have we here? Give me details, Sovereign."

"It appears to be a lost human colony, my Lord. But they've... changed and are doing...depraved acts in broad daylight, Scans indicate widespread mutation and Warp corruption. The psychic signatures align with known patterns of Slaaneshi worship."

A deep chuckle escaped Franklin's throat. "Speak of the Devil, indeed. It seems our conversation earlier was prophetic, Khaine. Shall we pay our respects to the Prince of

Pleasure?"

The sword pulsed with Khaine's disdain. "Just remember, Primarch, Slaanesh is not to be underestimated. Even for one such as you."

"Oh, I'm counting on it," Franklin replied, his smirk widening. "It wouldn't be fun otherwise.

Sovereign, begin deployment of the Liberty Spires. Let's cut off their Warp connection before

we say hello."

Massive drop pods plummeted from the fleet, each containing a Liberty Spire - advanced technology designed to create a localized null field, severing the planet's connection to the Warp. As they impacted, the planet shook, tremors rippling across its surface. Franklin watched with satisfaction as flights of voidcraft began their descent, bathing the planet's surface in cleansing promethium. The sky lit up with fire, the screams of daemons and cultists alike lost in the roar of flames.

"Techno-Seers, you're up," Franklin commanded. "Establish the firewall. I want Slaanesh's influence contained."

Led by Chief Librarian Vladimir, the psychic elite of the Liberty Eagles deployed. Their

combined powers created a shimmering barrier of pure willpower, pushing back against the insidious whispers of the Warp.

As defenses were established and automated turrets rained death upon any surviving cultists,

Franklin boarded a Stormbird for planetfall. The craft touched down near a ruined temple, its open-air design a stark contrast to the chaos around it.

Franklin strode from the Stormbird, the Death Sword in hand. A Daemonette, all claws and seductive whispers, lunged at him. With a casual swing, he cleaved it in two, its temptations falling on deaf ears.

"You know, Khaine," Franklin mused as he approached the temple, "this reminds me of an ancient Terran game. The hero enters the temple, and suddenly - boss fight." Khaine's presence in the sword stirred with curiosity. "And then?"

Franklin chuckled, his voice carrying a hint of anticipation. "Well, if I were a betting man, I'd

say we're about to have a close encounter with a Greater Daemon of Slaanesh. Probably another one of Titsnitch's convoluted plans."

"Titsnitch?" Khaine's tone was a mixture of amusement and disdain.

"My pet name for Tzeench," Franklin explained with a grin. "The Chaos God of Change is as

annoying as he is crafty."

Khaine spoke again, his voice taunting "Are you... afraid?"

Franklin's laughter echoed through the ruined temple. "Afraid? My dear Khaine, this is what I

live for."

As Franklin stepped into the temple proper, he was met with an eerie silence. In the center

stood a statue - an Avatar of Khaine, inactive, its presence both majestic and foreboding.

"Well, that's convenient," Franklin muttered. "So, how do we go about collecting your

shard?" Khaine's voice was tight with anticipation. "Simply plunge the Death Sword into the Avatar. It will crumble, but I will have reclaimed my shard."

With a shrug, Franklin approached the statue. "Seems almost too easy," he remarked as he raised the Death Sword. In one fluid motion, he plunged the blade into the heart of the Avatar.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, a maniacal laughter began to echo throughout the temple, growing in volume until it seemed to come from everywhere at once. Franklin's hand met his face in a resounding facepalm. "Of course the boss would spawn if I did that. It's always the obvious solution that triggers the trap."

The laughter that had echoed through the temple solidified into a tangible form as then/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

Greater Daemon of Slaanesh materialized before Franklin Valorian. Despite being shorter than the towering Primarch, the daemon's presence was overwhelming, its voice a disconcerting blend of tones that shifted between masculine and feminine.

"The Dark Prince now knows your goals, Liberator," the daemon's voice purred, a sound both

alluring and repulsive. "Collecting the shards of a shattered god... how delightfully ambitious."

As the daemon continued its monologue, Khaine's voice resonated in Franklin's mind, tinged

with impatience and ancient hatred. "Can you just shoot it? Or cleave it in half? You know I have a great deal of hatred for the Whore and its servants, right?" Franklin chuckled, his hand already moving. Without hesitation, he drew an archeotech pistol and fired, the daemon's head disappearing in a burst of otherworldly energy. As the body

began to fall, it performed an unnatural backflip, the head regenerating in a display that was

as impressive as it was disturbing.

Hiding away the pistol, Franklin raised an eyebrow. He had expected the combination of the

archeotech weapon and his psyker abilities to be more... final. "Well, that's new. You must be quite the favorite of your master. Care to introduce yourself?" The daemon, now fully regenerated, made a sound that was part laugh, part moan. "I am

Shalaxi Hellbane, chosen of the Dark Prince. And you, Franklin Valorian, are a most intriguing

prey."

Franklin, momentarily distracted by the daemon's bizarre reaction to what should have been a fatal wound, shook his head. "Brother, that's... did it just... never mind. Focus, Franklin," he muttered to himself, glancing at the fluid dripping on the Daemon's legs.

Khaine's voice cut through his thoughts. "Yes, focus! Kill the daemon already!" As if responding to Khaine's urgency, Shalaxi lunged forward, its spear a blur of motion. Franklin, caught off guard by the daemon's speed, barely managed to parry the strike with the

Death Sword.

"You're good, Primarch," Shalaxi purred, its attacks a relentless flurry. "But are you good enough?" Franklin grimaced, recognizing the truth in the daemon's words. "If this was me a year ago, before my thousand duels with Eldanesh, I'd be in real trouble here," he thought. Adapting quickly, Franklin employed a new technique. As Shalaxi attempted another thrust, the Primarch executed a sliding motion with his foot, displacing the ground beneath the

daemon. The sudden shift in terrain threw Shalaxi off balance, creating an opening that Franklin exploited without mercy.

The Death Sword flashed, nearly taking the daemon's head. A deep wound appeared on

Shalaxi's neck, oozing a substance that was decidedly not blood. The daemon's reaction, a mixture of pain and ecstasy, disturbed Franklin deeply.

"That's it," Franklin muttered, his perpetual smirk faltering for a moment. "I'm calling in an

orbital bombardment and glassing this entire planet."

As he reached for his vox to order a retreat, Khaine's voice stopped him. "Wait! Look at the

walls, Liberator. Do you see those gems?"

Franklin paused, his eyes scanning the temple walls. Amidst the alien architecture, he noticed

a scattering of what looked like precious stones. "What, the diamonds? What about them?"

"Those aren't diamonds, you fool," Khaine's voice held a mixture of exasperation and excitement. "They're spirit stones. If you harvest them, you'd have enough to bargain with that upstart Eldrad. You could potentially buy a Craftworld... metaphorically speaking, of

course."

Franklin's eyebrows shot up as he weaved around another of Shalaxi's attacks, landing several

lightning-fast blows that left the daemon reeling. "A Craftworld, you say? Now that's interesting."

"Indeed," Khaine continued. "But first, we need to deal with our... uninvited guest." Franklin sighed, his gaze shifting between the spirit stones and the regenerating form of Shalaxi Hellbane. "Fine, we'll kill the stupid daemon. But this better be worth it, Khaine."

The shard of the Aeldari god within the Death Sword seemed to pulse with anticipation. "Ha

ha! Yes! Kill the Whore's minion!"

With renewed determination, Franklin squared off against Shalaxi. The daemon, sensing the

shift in the Primarch's demeanor, cocked its head in a mockery of curiosity. "Second wind, Liberator? How delightful. Shall we dance again?"

Franklin's smirk returned in full force. "Oh, we'll dance alright. But I'm leading this time, and

the music's about to stop."

As the two beings clashed once more, the temple shook with the force of their combat.

Franklin, now fully focused and driven by the promise of a greater prize, matched Shalaxi blow for blow. The Death Sword, empowered by Khaine's bloodlust, sang through the air, each strike pushing the daemon further on the defensive.

"You know," Franklin quipped between exchanges, "I really should thank you, Shalaxi.

You've given me a whole new perspective on this little excursion."

The daemon, its form now marred by numerous wounds, hissed in a mixture of pain and

pleasure. "And what perspective is that, little demigod?" Franklin's grin widened as he pressed his advantage. "That sometimes, the real treasure isn't the shard you came for, but the spirit stones you find along the way."