Download App
9.35% The Primarch of Liberty / Chapter 15: The Ghoul Stars Crusade

Chapter 15: The Ghoul Stars Crusade

Franklin Valorian stood before his assembled officers, his face a mask of determination tinged with amusement. The command center of the Sweet Liberty hummed with activity as holograms displayed the ongoing battle on the planet's surface.

"Alright, ladies and gentlemen," Franklin began, his voice carrying easily across the room. "We've got ourselves a time-bending xenos problem. And here I thought today was just going to be another Tuesday."

A ripple of nervous laughter spread through the assembled officers. Denzel Washington, standing at Franklin's right hand, raised an eyebrow. "Sir, how do we combat an enemy that can reset time?"

Franklin's eyes twinkled. "Well, Denzel, we're going to have to out-think them. Sovereign, give us a rundown of what we know."

The AI's melodious voice filled the room. "The Mimics appear to operate on a hive mind structure. The Alpha Mimics, when killed, trigger a temporal reset, allowing the hive mind to adjust its tactics. The reset affects the planet but not our orbital assets."

"So," Franklin mused, stroking his chin, "we're dealing with a xenos species that's basically save-scumming reality. And here I thought that was just a bad habit in strategy games."

He turned to the assembled Egg Heads, his team of scientific geniuses. "Alright, brains trust. I need options. How do we counter time manipulation?"

Dr. Elara Chen, head of bio-engineering, stepped forward. "Sir, we might be able to develop a temporal stasis weapon. If we can capture the Alphas instead of killing them, we might prevent the reset."

Franklin's face split into a wide grin. "Now that's what I call thinking outside the temporal box! Get on it, Doc. I want prototypes ready yesterday... which, given our current situation, might actually be possible."

As the Egg Heads hurried off to their labs, Franklin turned back to his military officers. "Alright, people. Until we get our fancy new toys, we're going to have to outsmart these overgrown clockworks. Sovereign, analyze their tactics. I want to know every move they make before they make it."

The AI's response was immediate. "Analyzing, Primarch. The Mimic hive mind appears to be experimenting with various strategies. Current tactic: mass assault"

Franklin's eyes narrowed. "They want to play the numbers game? Let's show them why that's a bad idea against the Liberty Eagles. All units, prepare for Operation Lawn Mower!"

Down on the planet's surface, the Liberty Eagles and their accompanying Guardsmen formed up into tight, defensive formations. As the swarm of Mimics approached, looking like a tidal wave of metallic death, the defenders remained calm and steady.

Franklin's voice crackled over the vox. "Remember, boys and girls, today we're gardening. And these weeds need some serious pruning!"

At his signal, the Liberty Eagles unleashed hell. A wall of energy weapons fire erupted from their lines, each shot finding its mark with unerring accuracy. Heavy Pulse rifles, plasma cannons, and more exotic weaponry turned the approaching swarm into a maelstrom of explosions and vaporized xenos matter.

The Guardsmen, their weapons may be less advanced but no less deadly, added their firepower to the barrage. Pulse Rifles on overcharge setting cut swathes through the Mimic ranks, while heavy weapons teams unleashed storms of plasma and melta fire.

Franklin Valorian stood at the forefront of the battlefield, a towering figure of devastation. His Quad Rotary Miniguns, mounted on both arms, unleashed a relentless barrage of high-caliber rounds, turning the advancing xenos into mere ash and cinders. Each minigun spat a twenty-thousand rounds per minute, carving through the Mimics with ruthless efficiency.

As Franklin advanced, he commanded the air around him to erupt in fiery chaos. Smart missiles streaked from launchers integrated into his Power Armor, exploding in front of him with devastating force and leaving smoldering xenos remains in their wake. The battlefield was littered with the remains of those who dared to oppose him.

"Come on, you ugly bastards!" Franklin roared, his voice booming above the cacophony of battle. "Is this the best you can do? I've seen scarier things in my breakfast cereal!"

The roar of his voice was punctuated by the opening of smart missile pods on the sides of his armor. Two massive Railguns, mounted on his shoulders, materialized and discharged with apocalyptic power, adding their deadly fire to the onslaught. The precision and destruction of the railguns ensured that even the toughest xenos were obliterated before they could get close. (He's got a Helmet so no hearing problems)

As the swarm tactic failed spectacularly, Sovereign's voice came through once more. "Primarch, the hive mind is adjusting its strategy. New tactic detected: precision strikes against command elements."

Franklin grinned. "Trying to cut off the head, eh? Well, let's see how they like biting on ceramite and energy shields."

The Mimic forces shifted, smaller groups attempting to infiltrate the Liberty Eagles' lines and take out sergeants and officers. But the Astartes, their reflexes superhuman and their armor impenetrable to the Mimics' attacks, made short work of the would-be assassins.

Each Astartes was equipped with personal energy shielding, a technology far beyond anything the Mimics had encountered. When a Mimic grunt burst from the ground beneath Sergeant Titus of the 3rd Company, it found its attacks sliding harmlessly off an invisible barrier.

Titus grinned beneath his helmet. "Nice try, ugly," he quipped, before unleashing a blast from his heavy pulse rifle that left the Mimic in pieces.

Across the battlefield, similar scenes played out. The Mimics' attempts at decapitation strikes were met with impenetrable defenses and lightning-fast counterattacks.

Denzel Washington, his twin blades flashing, cut down a group of Mimics that had managed to get close to a Guardsmen command post. "I believe," he said calmly as he flicked ichor from his blades, "that this particular tactic has also failed."

As the battle raged on, the Egg Heads worked feverishly in their orbital labs. Finally, Dr. Chen's voice came through on the command channel. "Primarch, we've done it! The temporal stasis lances are ready for deployment!"

Franklin's face lit up. "Now that's what I call service! Alright, people, new objective. Capture those Alphas!"

The new weapons were quickly distributed among the Liberty Eagles. The stasis lances, looking like sleek, high-tech harpoons, hummed with temporal energy. As the Astartes engaged the Alphas, they fired these weapons with pinpoint accuracy, encasing the larger Mimics in bubbles of frozen time.

Franklin watched the proceedings from his command post, Sovereign providing constant updates. "Sir," the AI reported, "we're seeing a marked decrease in tactical adaptations from the hive mind. It appears to be losing its ability to reset the timeline."

"Excellent," Franklin nodded. "Now, let's find the big boss. Sovereign, any ideas where this hive mind might be hiding?"

After a moment of processing, Sovereign responded, "Analysis of geological scans and Mimic movement patterns suggests a high probability of the hive mind being located in the deepest mine shaft on the planet."

Franklin's eyes gleamed with excitement. "Well then, looks like it's time for some spelunking. Denzel, you're with me. Let's go introduce ourselves to the puppet master."

As Franklin and his elite team descended into the depths of the planet, the battle above continued to rage. But with each Alpha captured, the Mimic forces became more disorganized, easier to predict and counter.

Finally, after what seemed like hours of descent, Franklin and his team emerged into a vast underground cavern. And there, pulsing with an otherworldly light, was the Mimic hive mind. Its form was a massive, triangular pyramid of biomass, tendrils of energy connecting it to the rest of its kind.

"Well, well, well," Franklin announced, his voice echoing in the cavernous space. "Looks like we've found the CPU of this whole operation. I've got to say, I expected something a bit more... squiggly."

The hive mind, sensing the threat, lashed out with tendrils of energy and swarms of guardian Mimics. But Franklin and his team were ready. They fought with practiced precision, their weapons cutting through the xenos defenses like a hot knife through butter.

As Franklin battled his way closer to the central mass, an idea struck him. "You know," he called out to Denzel as he vaporized another group of Mimics, "if we could harness this thing's temporal abilities, we might never lose a battle again!"

Denzel, ever the voice of reason, replied between sword strokes, "Sir, with all due respect, messing with time rarely ends well."

Franklin laughed as he dodged a tendril of energy. "Oh, come on, Denzel! Where's your sense of enterprise? Besides, think of all the paperwork we could avoid if we could just reset whenever we made a mistake!"

Finally, after a grueling battle, Franklin stood before the pulsing core of the hive mind. With a mighty swing of his power fist, he plunged the stasis lance deep into its center.

"Sorry, pal," he quipped as the temporal energy began to engulf the massive entity, "but your free trial of reality manipulation has expired."

As the hive mind froze in time, the remaining Mimics on the planet suddenly went inert, collapsing like puppets with their strings cut. The battle was over.

In the aftermath, as the Liberty Eagles secured the planet and the grateful population celebrated their liberation, Franklin stood looking at the frozen hive mind, now safely contained in a temporal stasis field.

"You know, Sovereign," he mused, "I can't help but wonder what my old man would say about all this. Think he'd let me keep it as a souvenir?"

The AI's response was tinged with what almost sounded like amusement. "I would not recommend it, Primarch. The potential for temporal disruption is significant."

---------------------------

From the command bridge of the Sweet Liberty, I gazed out at the vastness of the Ghoul Stars. The name I'd given this eerie region of space seemed more apt with each passing day. We'd scoured the Mimic-infested system, capturing four of their hive minds for study back in the Independence Cluster. Part of me was excited about the potential of harnessing their temporal abilities, but another part - the part that sounded annoyingly like Denzel - warned of the dangers of messing with time.

"Sovereign," I called out, "status report on our progress in the Ghoul Stars."

The AI's melodious voice filled the bridge. "Crusade progress at 37%, Primarch. Eighteen worlds brought into compliance, twelve xenos species encountered and neutralized, three habitable worlds undergoing terraforming."

I nodded, a smirk playing on my lips. "Not bad for a few months' work. Any interesting xenos to report?"

"Affirmative," Sovereign replied. "Scans indicate a new xenos presence in the nearby system. Preliminary data suggests a crystalline-based civilization with advanced stealth technology."

My eyebrows shot up. "Crystalline, you say? Well, that's new. Set course for their system. Let's introduce ourselves."

As we entered the system, I got my first look at these new xenos. Spindly limbs, vile faces, elongated and inhuman - definitely not winning any beauty contests. Their fortresses were something else though, sheer walls of glimmering crystal that seemed to defy gravity.

"Well," I mused aloud, "looks like we've found ourselves some Cythor Fiends. That's what we're calling them, by the way. Someone make a note."

We attempted diplomacy, of course. I'm not some trigger-happy maniac, contrary to what some of my more stuck-up Imperials might think. But when their response to our hails was to open fire with weapons that somehow slipped past our advanced scanners, well, that made the decision easy.

"Alright, folks," I announced to my fleet. "Looks like the Cythor Fiends chose violence. Let's oblige them."

The next few weeks were a whirlwind of battle. The Cythor Fiends put up a good fight, I'll give them that. Their stealth tech was impressive, managing to throw off even our advanced scanners for brief moments. But in the end, it wasn't enough. World by world, we pushed them back, glassing their planets and rebuilding them in the image of the Imperium.

Then we came to their capital world. A mid-range gas giant, blue from orbit, resembling the ancient Terran planet Neptune. We designated it 9836-18 "Grave Core," the 18th world of our Ghoul Stars Crusade. And boy, was it a tough nut to crack.

Our standard Exterminatus weapons barely scratched it. Whatever the Cythor Fiends had done to this planet, it was resistant to a degree I'd never seen before. After days of bombardment with no significant progress, I knew it was time to bring out the big guns.

"Sweet Liberty," I ordered, unable to keep the excitement from my voice, "fire main cannon. Target that Neptune wannabe in front of us."

I watched with a mix of awe and anticipation as the flagship's prow split open, revealing the Graviton Singularity Cannon. It was a beast of a weapon, it could open black holes everywhere.

"Graviton pumps primed, anti-matter streams stable," Sovereign reported. "Targeting Cythor Fiend's Capital World."

I took a deep breath. This was always the fun part. "Fire."

The pulse of dark energy that erupted from the cannon was a thing of terrible beauty. As it struck the planet, reality itself seemed to warp and twist. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, with a silent flash that seemed to momentarily dim the stars themselves, a miniature black hole sprang into existence at the point of impact.

The gas giant shuddered, its surface beginning to fragment as the irresistible pull of the singularity took hold. Chunks of the planet were torn away, spiraling into the voracious maw of the black hole. Within minutes, the entire planet was consumed, leaving nothing but empty space where it once stood.

I let out a low whistle. "Now that's what I call problem-solving. Sovereign, make a note: Graviton Singularity Cannon, highly effective against stubborn gas giants. Might want to tone down the yield next time though. We don't want to accidentally erase a whole system."

As the dust (or rather, the lack of dust) settled on our campaign against the Cythor Fiends, I couldn't help but reflect on our progress. We'd brought eighteen worlds into the Imperial fold, neutralized a dozen xenos species, and were in the process of terraforming three new habitable worlds for humanity. Not bad for a few months' work in this eerie corner of the galaxy.

But there was still so much to do. The Ghoul Stars were vast, and who knew what other threats or wonders we might encounter? There were whispers of even stranger xenos lurking in the depths of this region - creatures that defied classification, that bent the very laws of reality.

--------------------------

The compliance of the lost human colony had been swift and, for the most part, enthusiastic. Franklin Valorian, Primarch of the Liberty Eagles, strode through the opulent halls of the planetary governor's mansion, his towering frame dwarfing the local dignitaries who scurried around him.

"Well, this is going swimmingly," Franklin mused aloud, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. "I was half expecting pitchforks and torches, but instead we get a welcome parade. Not that I'm complaining, mind you."

John Ezra, head of Franklin's Secret Service, walked silently beside him, his stern face betraying no emotion. His eyes, however, constantly scanned their surroundings, ever vigilant for potential threats.

As they approached the Duke's private chambers, Franklin's enhanced senses picked up the metallic scent of blood. His jovial expression hardened instantly. "John, something's not right."

Ezra nodded curtly, drawing his weapon. "Agreed, sir."

With a mighty kick, Franklin burst through the ornate doors, only to be greeted by a scene of carnage. Bodies lay strewn about the room, and in the center stood a grotesque figure hunched over a fresh corpse, tearing into its flesh with inhuman ferocity.

The creature that had once been the Duke turned to face them, its burning eyes fixating on Franklin. Its form was a nightmarish fusion of human and alien, with a fine beetle-like carapace covering parts of its mottled skin and bone talons extending from its fingers.

"Well," Franklin quipped, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "I've seen some extreme makeovers in my time, but this takes the cake. And apparently, several people too."

The creature lunged at Franklin with inhuman speed, but the Primarch was faster. With a fluid motion, he dodged the attack and brought his power fist crashing into the monster's chest, sending it flying across the room.

"Open fire!" Franklin commanded, and immediately, his Secret Service unleashed a hail of energy bolts upon the creature. The thing that was once the Duke was shredded under the barrage, its remains splattered across the blood-stained walls.

As the echoes of gunfire faded, Franklin surveyed the scene with a grim expression. "Well, that's one way to decline our invitation to join the Imperium. John, make sure this mess is cleaned up and notify Dr. Chen. I want to know what in the Emperor's name we're dealing with here."

Ezra nodded silently, already moving to carry out the orders.

Days later, as Franklin oversaw the initial stages of planetary terraforming, an alert came through from Dr. Chen. The Primarch's face darkened as he listened to her report.

"Sir, the creature appears to be immortal. Its cellular structure is unlike anything we've ever seen. It's regenerating even now, despite being reduced to, well, ground beef."

"Immortal, you say?" Franklin mused, his voice tinged with disbelief. "Well, that's inconvenient. Any ideas on how to permanently deal with our undying friend?"

Before Dr. Chen could respond, alarms blared across the compound. The creature had returned, tearing through the civilian population with savage glee.

Franklin's eyes narrowed as he caught sight of the monstrosity heading straight for him. "Oh, look who's back for seconds. I'm flattered, really."

The creature, sensing the largest prey, lunged at Franklin with terrifying speed. But the Primarch was ready. With lightning-fast reflexes, he raised the prototype stasis lance and fired.

A burst of temporal energy engulfed the creature, freezing it mid-leap. Franklin grinned, a mix of triumph and mischief in his eyes.

"Dr. Chen," he called out, "I think we've found our solution. Prep the nearest solar ejection pod. Our friend here is about to get a very, very close look at the local star."

As the stasis-locked creature was loaded into the pod, Franklin turned to John Ezra, who stood stoically nearby.

"You know, John," Franklin mused, "it's really amazing how the term 'immortal' loses its weight when you throw a motherfucker into the sun."

Ezra's expression remained impassive, but the corner of his mouth twitched slightly. "Indeed, sir."

With a thunderous roar, the pod launched, carrying its monstrous cargo towards the system's star. Franklin watched it go, a satisfied smile on his face.

"Well, that's one problem solved," he declared. "Now, let's get back to bringing this world into the Imperial fold. And maybe invest in some better background checks for our planetary governors. I hear 'not being an immortal alien monster' is a great qualification these days."

"Sovereign," I called out, "make a note in the compliance protocols. Step one: Check for any weird alien artifacts that grant immortality but turn you into a monster. Step two: If found, apply liberal amounts of sun."

As we turned our attention back to the planet's compliance, I couldn't shake the feeling that we'd just scratched the surface of the mysteries hiding in the Ghoul Stars. But that was okay. After all, unraveling mysteries (and occasionally throwing them into stars) was what we did best.


Chapter 16: Returning Home

The void between galaxies stretched before the Battlefleet Liberty like an endless ocean of darkness. At the helm of the mighty Gloriana-class battleship "Sweet Liberty," Primarch Franklin Valorian stood, his imposing 15-foot frame dwarfing even the tallest of his gene-sons. The Ghoul Stars Crusade had concluded with a resounding victory, the capital planet of the Cythor Fiends reduced to nothing by the power of Sweet Liberty.

Franklin gazed upon the distant pinprick of light that was the Andromeda Galaxy. A smirk played across his lips as he considered the vast expanse of unexplored space.

"Well, boys," he announced to his bridge crew, his voice carrying a hint of amusement, "I reckon we've gone far enough. Time to head back and see what other trouble we can stir up in our own backyard."

As the fleet began its long journey home, Franklin made an impromptu decision. "Let's take the scenic route," he declared. "We'll skirt the edge of the Milky Way. Who knows what we might find?"

Days turned to weeks as the Battlefleet Liberty cruised along the galactic rim. It was during a routine scan that a young officer called out, "My Lord, we've detected a system ahead. Initial readings suggest... a human civilization."

The void ships of Battlefleet Liberty emerged from the starless expanse, their sleek, triangular forms a stark contrast to the Gothic architecture typical of Imperial vessels. At the helm of the Sweet Liberty, Franklin Valorian gazed upon the Istvaan System with keen interest.

"Well, well," he mused, a wry smile playing on his lips. "Looks like we've stumbled upon a piece of the past, boys. Let's say hello, shall we?"

As the fleet approached, the comm channels crackled to life. A cautious voice spoke, "Unidentified vessels, this is Istvaan Control. Please state your intentions."

Franklin leaned forward, his charismatic voice filling the channel. "Greetings, Istvaan Control. This is Primarch Franklin Valorian of the Imperium of Man. We come as friends, representatives of a united humanity seeking to reconnect with our lost brothers and sisters."

There was a pause, then a reply tinged with hope and disbelief. "Primarch?...is that some sort of rank?" the voice asked.

Franklin chuckled "Sort of, like a General"

"United Humanity? Is The Men of Iron Rebellion is over?"

Franklin's eyes twinkled. "Indeed it is, my friends. Humanity has weathered the storm and now seeks to rebuild. We'd be honored to meet with your leaders and share news of our progress."

Within hours, Franklin found himself in a grand meeting hall on Istvaan III, facing a panel of wide-eyed administrators and officials. He cut an impressive figure, his towering frame and noble bearing commanding attention.

The grand meeting hall on Istvaan III buzzed with anticipation as Franklin Valorian strode in, his imposing figure drawing all eyes. He flashed a disarming smile at the assembled leaders.

"Esteemed council of Istvaan," he began, his voice rich and warm, "I can't tell you how thrilled I am to be here. It's not every day we stumble upon a thriving human world."

An elderly woman, introduced as Councilor Mara, leaned forward. "General Valorian, your arrival is... unexpected. We had thought ourselves alone in the galaxy."

Franklin chuckled. "Oh, far from it, Councilor. Humanity is vast and resilient. We've weathered the storm of the Age of Strife, and now we're rebuilding."

A younger man, Councilor Thax, interjected, "But your ships, they're unlike anything we've seen. How is this possible?"

"Ah, observant!" Franklin's eyes twinkled. "We've been fortunate enough to preserve much of our technology. It hasn't been easy, mind you, but necessity is the mother of invention."

Mara's eyes narrowed slightly. "And this... Imperium you mentioned. What exactly is it?" She knew what an Imperium meant.

Franklin spread his hands. "Think of it as a grand alliance of human worlds. We're united in purpose, but diverse in governance. The Emperor - a visionary leader, I might add - provides guidance, but each world retains significant autonomy."

"A confederation, then?" Thax asked, hope evident in his voice.

"In many ways, yes," Franklin nodded. "We've found that a balance between central leadership and local rule works best in these trying times."

Another councilor, a stern-faced man named Varnus, spoke up. "And what of individual freedoms? Democracy? We've seen some rather unsavory things in an Imperium throughout History."

Franklin's expression turned serious. "Ah, the eternal question of liberty versus security. It's a delicate balance, especially when facing the threats that lurk in the void." He paused, then continued with a wry smile, "Let me ask you this - is a man truly free if he lives in constant fear of alien invasion or worse?"

Varnus frowned. "That doesn't quite answer the question, Primarch."

"Fair point," Franklin conceded. "The truth is, different worlds within the Imperium handle governance differently. Some maintain traditional democratic systems, others have adapted to more... streamlined approaches. But the core principles of human liberty? Those we strive to uphold everywhere."

Mara interjected, "But surely there must be some universal laws?"

Franklin nodded sagely. "Of course. The protection of human life is paramount. We have strict policies against certain dangerous technologies and practices that could threaten humanity as a whole. But day-to-day governance? That's largely up to each world."

Thax leaned in, curiosity burning in his eyes. "And how does one join this Imperium?"

Franklin's face lit up. "Eager, aren't we? I like that! Joining is a process of mutual agreement. We're not in the business of forcing worlds into the fold. We offer protection, resources, and a connection to the broader human family. In return, we ask for loyalty to the Imperium's greater goals and some contribution to our shared defense."

Varnus, still skeptical, pressed further. "And if a world wishes to leave?"

For a moment, a shadow crossed Franklin's face, but it was gone so quickly one might have imagined it. "Now why would anyone want to leave such a grand endeavor?" he said with a laugh. "Our goal is to make membership so beneficial that leaving would be unthinkable. We're building something magnificent here, something that will stand for millennia to come."

As the questioning continued, Franklin deftly maneuvered through each topic, always ready with an anecdote or a clever turn of phrase to assuage concerns and stoke excitement.

When asked about the more militant aspects of the Imperium, he sighed dramatically. "If only we lived in a galaxy where words alone could solve all conflicts. Sadly, there are threats out there that understand only the language of force. Our military strength is a regrettable necessity, a shield behind which human culture and progress can flourish."

Hours passed, and as the meeting drew to a close, Franklin could see the shift in the room. The initial wariness had given way to cautious optimism, even excitement.

Mara stood, her eyes bright. "Primarch Valorian, you've given us much to consider. Your Imperium sounds... well, it sounds like something we'd very much like to be part of."

Franklin beamed. "My dear councilors, nothing would make me happier. Shall we discuss the next steps?"

As they began to file out, Varnus approached Franklin privately. "You're very persuasive, Primarch," he said quietly. "I just hope we don't come to regret this decision."

Franklin placed a massive hand on Varnus's shoulder. "My friend, the only thing you'll regret is not joining sooner. Trust me, the best is yet to come."

Later, aboard the Sweet Liberty, Denzel found Franklin in his private quarters, sipping amasec.

"Quite the performance, sir," Denzel remarked. "You had them eating out of your hand."

Franklin grinned. "The trick, Denzel, is to tell them what they want to hear while carefully omitting what they don't need to know. A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down, as they used to say."

Denzel raised an eyebrow. "And when they discover the full truth?"

Franklin's grin turned wolfish. "By then, it'll be far too late. They'll be so deeply entrenched in the Imperium that leaving will be unthinkable. Sometimes, the cage with golden bars is the most effective prison of all."

He raised his glass in a toast. "To Istvaan - the latest unwitting addition to our grand Imperium. May their blissful ignorance last as long as possible."

As the Sweet Liberty prepared to depart the Istvaan System, Franklin stood at the observation deck, gazing at the planets below. His expression was a mixture of satisfaction and contemplation.

"Another world brought into compliance," he mused aloud. "And without a drop of blood spilled. That's the way to do it."

Denzel, standing nearby, nodded in agreement. "It's certainly more efficient than some of the methods we've heard about from other expeditionary fleets."

Franklin turned to his First Captain, a wry smile on his face. "Indeed. The Istvaan leadership will have to grapple with the reality of the Imperium soon enough. But they'll do so from a position of strength, thanks to us."

"Sir?" Denzel queried, not quite following.

"Think about it, Denzel," Franklin explained, gesturing towards the planet. "The worlds we bring into compliance – they're getting the best face of the Imperium. Our technology, our productivity... it's leagues ahead of what some of our future brother Primarchs will offer."

He chuckled, a sound tinged with both pride and irony. "In a way, we're setting a standard that the rest of the Imperium might struggle to meet. But that's a problem for another day."

Franklin's expression turned more serious. "For now, we've done our job. Istvaan is part of the Imperium, and they'll be better for it, even if they don't fully realize it yet."

He turned away from the viewport, his voice taking on a commanding tone. "Set course for Terra. We'll make our report to the Emperor, then head back to the Independence Cluster. We need to restock and repair before we continue the Crusade."

As the fleet prepared to enter the Warp, Franklin allowed himself one last look at Istvaan. "Farewell," he murmured. "May you thrive under the Eagle's wings."

--------------------------

Steven Armstrong stood at the viewport of the Liberty Eagles' training facility, his massive Astartes frame a result of the transformation he had undergone just months ago. At 21, he was among the oldest of the new recruits, his mind still sharp with the memories of his mortal life.

A year had passed since Franklin Valorian had left the Independence Cluster to join the Great Crusade. In that time, 60,000 Astartes had been created from the adult population, Armstrong among them. His tactical acumen and fiery personality had quickly set him apart from his brothers.

"Brother Armstrong," a voice called from behind him. "The new recruits are assembled for your address."

Armstrong turned, a grin spreading across his face. "Excellent. Let's show them what it means to be a Liberty Eagle."

As he strode towards the gathering hall, Armstrong's mind raced with thoughts of his gene-father. He had been just 20 when Franklin unified the cluster under his vision of Managed Democracy. The memory of that time, of the speeches and the rallies, still burned bright in his enhanced mind.

Entering the hall, Armstrong was met with the sight of thousands of newly-minted Astartes, their eyes filled with a mixture of awe and uncertainty. He took his place at the podium, his presence immediately commanding attention.

"Brothers," he began, his voice booming across the chamber. "You stand here today as the newest sons of Franklin Valorian, the Liberator, the bringer of freedom to the stars!"

A cheer went up from the assembled Astartes. Armstrong raised his hand for silence.

"But what does it mean to be a son of Valorian? To be a Liberty Eagle?" He paused, his gaze sweeping across the room. "It means to be the vanguard of freedom, the hammer of justice against the enemies of mankind!"

He tapped a control, and a holographic display sprang to life behind him, showing footage of Franklin's exploits across the galaxy.

"Look upon our gene-father's works!" Armstrong declared. "World after world brought into the Imperial fold, not through mindless bloodshed, but through the power of his words, his unmatched charisma!"

The display showed Franklin addressing crowds on distant worlds, his presence electrifying even through the hologram.

"But make no mistake," Armstrong continued, his voice dropping to a growl. "When words fail, when our enemies prove deaf to reason, our father does not hesitate to unleash the full might of the Liberty Eagles!"

The image changed to show a barren world, its surface scarred by massive impact craters.

"This was once a xenos-infested hellhole," Armstrong explained. "Rather than risk a single Liberty Eagle in ground combat, our father chose to cleanse it with fire and steel. From the ashes of our enemies, we will build a new bastion of humanity!"

A murmur of approval rippled through the crowd. Armstrong nodded, satisfied.

"This is the way of the Liberty Eagles. We are not mindless butchers, but neither are we weak-willed diplomats. We are the perfect synthesis of word and deed, of diplomacy and strength!"

As he concluded his speech, Armstrong could see the fire of devotion burning in the eyes of his brothers. He had done it again, rallying them to the cause just as Franklin had once rallied the people of the Independence Cluster.

Later, in his private quarters, Armstrong scrolled through the latest reports of Franklin's crusade. World after world brought into compliance, often with minimal bloodshed. The statistics were impressive, but Armstrong found himself frowning.

"It shouldn't be possible," he muttered to himself. "No one should be able to sway entire worlds with just words."

He replayed a holographic recording of one of Franklin's speeches. The words were inspiring, certainly, but Armstrong felt that something was missing. The raw charisma, the sheer force of personality that he remembered from his mortal days, seemed somehow diminished in the recording.

"The holograms," Armstrong realized. "They're not capturing it. They can't capture it."

In that moment, Armstrong's desire to meet his gene-father face-to-face intensified. He needed to see for himself the man who could reshape the galaxy with words alone, to understand the source of that incredible charisma.

"Soon," he promised himself, clenching his fist. "Soon, Father, I'll stand at your side. And together, we'll bring liberty to every corner of this galaxy, no matter the cost."

As he turned back to his duties, Armstrong's mind was filled with visions of glory, of worlds brought to heel under the banner of the Liberty Eagles. He would make himself indispensable, the perfect instrument of Franklin's will. And when the time came, he would be ready to take his place as the Liberator's most devoted son.

---------------------------------

The golden halls of the Imperial Palace echoed with the heavy footfalls of Franklin Valorian as he made his way to Malcador's private study. The Primarch of the Liberty Eagles, towering and resplendent in his power armor, cut an impressive figure even among the wonders of Terra.

As he entered the study, Franklin's face broke into a wide grin at the sight of the wizened Sigillite. "Uncle Mal! Still holding down the fort, I see."

Malcador looked up from his ancient tomes, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Franklin. I trust your journey was uneventful?"

"Oh, you know, just the usual. Liberating worlds, spreading democracy, all in a day's work," Franklin chuckled, taking a seat opposite Malcador at a ornate chess table. "I hear the old man's out on his own crusade?"

Malcador nodded, moving a pawn forward. "Indeed. The Emperor continues his search for your brothers."

Franklin mirrored the move, his massive hand dwarfing the chess piece. "Well, I hope he's having better luck than I am. The galaxy's a big place, Uncle. You'd think it'd be easier to spot a demigod or two."

"The ways of the Warp are mysterious, even to one such as your father," Malcador replied, his tone even but his eyes twinkling with hidden mirth.

As they played, Franklin's gaze wandered around the study, taking in the countless scrolls and artifacts. "You've got your hands full here, haven't you? Running the Imperium, terraforming Terra... Have you considered setting up an IRS? I hear they were quite effective in the old days."

Malcador paused, his hand hovering over a bishop. "An IRS? Interesting. That could indeed streamline our tax collection efforts."

Franklin's eyebrows shot up. "Wait, you're actually considering it? I was joking, Uncle Mal. Don't tell me the Imperium's going to have tax auditors now."

"In governance, Franklin, even jokes can hold kernels of wisdom," Malcador replied, a rare smile tugging at his lips.

The game continued, each move accompanied by witty banter and veiled lessons. As they neared the endgame, Malcador's expression grew more serious.

"Franklin, there is a matter we must discuss," he began, capturing one of Franklin's knights. "Your methods, while undeniably effective, are setting a rather high standard for your brothers to follow."

Franklin leaned back, his jovial expression fading slightly. "Ah, I was wondering when we'd get to that. Horus having trouble keeping up, is he?"

Malcador nodded. "He strives to emulate your diplomatic approach, but often finds himself in... less favorable situations. The pressure to match your bloodless conquests is taking its toll."

"I see," Franklin mused, stroking his chin. "Well, we can't have that, can we? What if I were to prepare a sanitized report for my dear brothers? The full truth for you and father, of course, and the usual Imperial Truth for the masses. But for Horus and the others, a... shall we say, more achievable version of events?"

Malcador considered this, his ancient eyes studying Franklin intently. "A intriguing proposition. But tell me, what would this 'achievable version' entail?"

Franklin grinned, leaning forward conspiratorially. "Oh, you know, a few more skirmishes here, a stubborn planetary governor there. Nothing too drastic, mind you. Just enough to make my victories seem a tad more... relatable."

The Sigillite was silent for a long moment, his fingers steepled in thought. Finally, he spoke. "I have seen the worlds you've brought into compliance, Franklin. They are indeed the very image of the Imperial Truth. Your results cannot be denied." He paused, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Very well. Prepare your third report. But be cautious. Even well-intentioned deceptions have a way of growing beyond our control."

"Uncle Mal, you wound me," Franklin said, placing a hand over his heart in mock offense. "When have I ever been anything but the soul of caution?"

Malcador's response was a raised eyebrow that spoke volumes.

As their game concluded - a narrow victory for the Sigillite - Franklin reached into a compartment in his armor. "Before I forget, I have something for you, Uncle. A token of my appreciation for all you do."

He produced a staff, obsidian black and deceptively simple in appearance. "I call it the Staff of the Sigillite. Found it during my travels in the outer reaches. It should give your already formidable abilities a nice little boost."

Malcador took the staff, his eyes widening slightly as he felt the power thrumming within it. "This is... most generous, Franklin. A relic of the Dark Age, if I'm not mistaken."

"Only the best for my favorite uncle," Franklin beamed, rising to his feet. "Now, much as I'd love to stay and chat, duty calls. Worlds to liberate, hearts and minds to win, you know how it is."

Before Malcador could respond, Franklin had scooped him up in a bear hug, lifting the ancient psyker clear off the ground. Malcador wheezed, tapping frantically on the Primarch's armored shoulder.

"Oops, sorry about that," Franklin chuckled, setting Malcador down gently. "Sometimes I forget my own strength."

Malcador straightened his robes, trying to maintain his dignity. "Yes, well... do try to remember in the future. And Franklin?"

The Primarch paused at the doorway, looking back.

"Do be careful out there. The galaxy is full of dangers, even for one such as you."

Franklin's expression softened for a moment, a glimpse of the weight he carried beneath his jovial exterior. "Always, Uncle Mal. Always."

As the door closed behind the Liberator, Malcador turned his attention to the Staff of the Sigillite, a small smile playing on his lips. "Reckless, impulsive, and entirely too clever for his own good," he muttered. "The Emperor certainly knew what he was doing with that one."

With a shake of his head, Malcador returned to his work, the Imperium waiting for no man - not even the favored uncle of a Primarch.

The Eagle is Returning to it's nest.


Load failed, please RETRY

Weekly Power Status

Batch unlock chapters

Table of Contents

Display Options

Background

Font

Size

Chapter comments

Write a review Reading Status: C15
Fail to post. Please try again
  • Writing Quality
  • Stability of Updates
  • Story Development
  • Character Design
  • World Background

The total score 0.0

Review posted successfully! Read more reviews
Vote with Power Stone
Rank 200+ Power Ranking
Stone 438 Power Stone
Report inappropriate content
error Tip

Report abuse

Paragraph comments

Login

tip Paragraph comment

Paragraph comment feature is now on the Web! Move mouse over any paragraph and click the icon to add your comment.

Also, you can always turn it off/on in Settings.

GOT IT