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25.73% The Primarch of Liberty / Chapter 43: The Gorgon

Chapter 43: The Gorgon

The surface of Medusa shuddered as Franklin Valorian's drop pod slammed into the planet's crust, sending tremors through the already unstable ground. As the dust settled, the pod's hatch blew open with a theatrical hiss, revealing the towering figure of the Liberator.

Franklin stepped out, his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of the Crone Sword. In his mind, Khaine's voice echoed with a mixture of amusement and exasperation, *"When did you develop this penchant for flashy entrances, Primarch?"*

Chuckling to himself, Franklin replied mentally, "Freedom never knocks, my dear Khaine. It rings... or in this case, crashes."

"Your humor will be the death of me,"Khaine grumbled, though Franklin could sense a hint of fondness in the god's tone.

As Franklin surveyed his surroundings, his eyes fell upon a distant figure - a man who appeared as cold and unyielding as the harsh landscape of Medusa itself. Even from afar, Franklin could see that this man, undoubtedly his brother, was unimpressed by his arrival. However, what caught Franklin's attention was the intense focus his brother's gaze had on his mechsuit.

Straightening to his full height, Franklin began to walk forward. His newly added cape, adorned with the flag of the old Terran country called America, fluttered dramatically in the wind. Khaine's mental facepalm was almost audible.

As Franklin approached, he realized he slightly towered over his brother. Despite this, the other Primarch's presence was no less imposing. Franklin's trademark smirk played on his lips as he introduced himself.

"Well, hello there! Franklin Valorian, Primarch of the Liberty Eagles, at your service. And you must be the strong, silent type I've heard so much about."

The other Primarch, Ferrus Manus, remained unimpressed and cold. His voice, when he spoke, was as unyielding as the metal that coated his arms. "Your words mean nothing here. Only strength has value on Medusa."

Without further preamble, Ferrus issued a direct challenge to fight. Franklin couldn't help but hold the bridge of his nose, suppressing a sigh. Internally, he categorized this brother alongside Leman Russ - the 'punch first, ask questions later' type.

"Perhaps the next brother you find will be more... conversational,"Khaine suggested, a hint of sarcasm in his mental voice.

"One can only hope," Franklin muttered. "Someone like Horus would be nice. You know, someone I can actually talk to without having to dodge punches."

As if on cue, Ferrus swung his metallic fist towards Franklin. The Liberator dodged with practiced ease, his enhanced reflexes allowing him to move faster than the eye could follow.

"Whoa there, brother! I usually prefer a drink before dancing, but if this is how you want to bond, who am I to argue?"

Ferrus growled in response, launching into a full assault. The fight began in earnest, the two demigods clashing with earth-shattering force. Mountains crumbled under their blows, the ground tore beneath their feet as they grappled and struck at one another.

Franklin, true to his sense of fair play, refrained from using the Crone Sword. If Ferrus was fighting with his bare hands (albeit metallic ones), then Franklin would do the same.

As they fought, Franklin's mind raced, analyzing his brother's fighting style, searching for weaknesses, and contemplating the implications of this encounter.

"Primarch," Khaine's voice cut through his thoughts, "there's something... unusual about your brother's hands."

Franklin, ducking under a particularly vicious swing, took a moment to focus on Ferrus's metallic appendages. "What do you mean, unusual? Besides the obvious, of course."

"The technology... it's not of human origin. In fact, if I'm not mistaken, it bears a striking resemblance to Necron technology."

This revelation almost caused Franklin to miss a step, nearly catching a blow to the jaw. He recovered quickly, using the momentum to flip backwards and create some distance between himself and Ferrus.

"Necron tech? Are you sure?" Franklin's mind whirled with the implications. The Necrons were an ancient and terrifyingly advanced race. If Ferrus had somehow acquired their technology, it could be a game-changer for the Imperium... or a potential threat.

"As sure as I can be without a closer examination," Khaine replied. "The question is, does he know? And if so, how did he come by it?"

Franklin's eyes narrowed as he studied his brother anew. Ferrus was a juggernaut of strength and determination, but there was more to him than met the eye. The mystery of his metallic arms added a layer of complexity to an already intriguing figure.

"Well, well, brother," Franklin called out, a glint of curiosity in his eyes, "those are some interesting upgrades you've got there. Care to share where you picked them up? I know a great manicurist back on Nova Libertas who'd love to get her hands on that tech."

Ferrus's response was another flurry of blows, each powerful enough to shatter adamantium. "If you have time for jests, you're not fighting hard enough!"

As Franklin weaved and dodged, he couldn't help but feel a mix of admiration and concern for his brother. Ferrus was undoubtedly powerful, his dedication to strength admirable. But there was a rigidity to him, a lack of adaptability that Franklin sensed could be problematic in the long run.

"He sees strength in terms of the physical," Khaine observed. "He hasn't yet grasped that true power comes in many forms."

Franklin nodded mentally, using a momentary lull in Ferrus's assault to launch a counterattack of his own. His fists, empowered by his Primarch physiology and further enhanced by his mechsuit, struck with precision and force.

"You're not wrong, Khaine. But then again, that's why we're here, isn't it? To help our brothers see beyond their limitations."

As the fight continued, Franklin found himself enjoying the challenge despite the circumstances. There was something refreshing about the raw, physical contest, so different from the political maneuvering and strategic planning that often occupied his time.

Still, he knew this couldn't go on indefinitely. Sooner or later, one of them would have to yield, or they'd risk causing irreparable damage to the planet and possibly each other.

"Alright, brother," Franklin called out, his voice carrying over the sound of their combat, "I think we've established that we're both pretty tough cookies. How about we call this a draw and move on to more productive activities? I hear building bridges is great for bonding. Literal and metaphorical ones!"

Ferrus paused, his metallic fists still raised. For a moment, Franklin thought he might reject the offer and continue the fight. But then, slowly, Ferrus lowered his hands.

"You fight well," Ferrus admitted, a grudging respect in his voice. "Perhaps... perhaps there is more to you than empty words and flashy entrances...nice suit"

Franklin's face split into a wide grin. "High praise indeed! And here I was thinking you didn't like me." He extended a hand towards Ferrus. "So, what do you say we start over? Hi, I'm Franklin, your long-lost brother who's really hoping you know a good place to get a drink around here. All this fighting's left me parched."

For the first time since their encounter began, something that might have been a smile tugged at the corners of Ferrus's mouth. He clasped Franklin's offered hand with his metallic one. "Ferrus Manus. And while Medusa is not known for its hospitality, I believe we can find something to quench your thirst, brother."

As the Brothers walked, The harsh landscape of Medusa trembled once more, this time not from the clash of Primarchs but from the arrival of an even greater power. Franklin's communicator crackled to life, Sovereign's synthetic voice cutting through the planet's thin atmosphere.

"Primarch, urgent update: The Emperor's Battlefleet has entered real space. His Majesty is on an intercept course. Arrival imminent in 3... 2... 1..."

Before Franklin could fully process the information, a blinding flash of golden light erupted before them. As it faded, two figures stood where moments ago there had been nothing but barren rock. One, a towering presence that radiated power and authority - the Emperor of Mankind himself. Beside him stood the statuesque form of Constantin Valdor, Captain-General of the Legio Custodes.

Franklin's face split into a wide grin. "Well, if it isn't Pops himself! And here I thought we'd have to send out party invitations."

The Emperor's gaze, however, was fixed upon Ferrus Manus. His eyes, wells of ancient wisdom and unfathomable power, studied the newly found Primarch with intense scrutiny. Franklin could almost feel the unspoken communication passing between his father and newly-found brother.

Sensing that this was a moment best left uninterrupted, Franklin turned his attention to Constantin Valdor. With the same jovial energy he approached everything, he strode towards the Captain-General, arms spread wide.

"Constantin, my man! Still rocking that golden look, I see. Very chic!"

As Franklin attempted to throw an arm across Valdor's shoulders, the Custodian deftly sidestepped, leaving Franklin's arm to swing through empty air.

"Aw, come on, Constantin. Don't leave me hanging!" Franklin laughed, making another attempt that Valdor once again evaded with practiced ease.

Franklin clutched his chest in mock hurt. "You wound me, Constantin. And here I thought we were besties." He turned to the Emperor, who was still engaged in silent communion with Ferrus. "Dad, can you believe this guy? I try to show a little brotherly love, and he acts like I've got the plague."

The Emperor, without breaking his gaze from Ferrus, replied with a hint of amusement in his psychic voice, "Franklin, perhaps it would be wise to respect Constantin's personal space."

"Et tu, Pops?" Franklin sighed dramatically. "Fine, fine. I'll keep my hands to myself. But I'm telling you, Constantin, you're missing out on some quality Primarch hugs. They're therapeutic, you know."

Valdor remained stoic, his voice betraying no emotion. "I assure you, Lord Primarch, that my training has prepared me for all manner of threats. I doubt your... hugs... would prove more challenging than what I've already faced."

Franklin's eyebrows shot up, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Is that a challenge, Constantin? Because let me tell you, my bear hugs are legendary. Just ask Leman - last time we arm-wrestled, I nearly squeezed the wolf right out of him!"

"I would rather not, Lord Primarch," Valdor replied, his tone making it clear the subject was closed.

Franklin shook his head, a smile playing on his lips. "You know, Constantin, for someone who spends so much time with Dad, you'd think some of his sense of humor would have rubbed off on you by now."

"The Emperor's wit is as vast as his wisdom, Lord Primarch. It is not for me to attempt to emulate it."

"Now that's where you're wrong, my gold-plated friend," Franklin said, wagging a finger. "Humor isn't about emulation - it's about finding joy in the absurdity of life. And let's face it, in a galaxy as crazy as ours, there's plenty of absurdity to go around."

Valdor's response was as dry as the Medusa desert. "I shall take that under advisement, Lord Primarch."

Suddenly, Ferrus stepped forward, his voice a low rumble. "Emperor," he began, eyes locked on the Master of Mankind, "I see now why my brother speaks of you with such... colorful language. But words mean little on Medusa. Here, only strength has value."

The air seemed to thicken with tension as Ferrus continued, "I challenged my brother to prove his worth. Now, I extend the same challenge to you. Prove to me that you are worthy of the strength you claim, of the empire you seek to build."

A heavy silence fell over the group. Franklin's eyes darted between his father and his newly-found brother, a mix of amusement and concern playing across his features. "Oh boy," he muttered under his breath, "talk about déjà vu."

The Emperor regarded Ferrus for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, almost imperceptibly, he nodded. "Very well, my son," his voice resonated with power that seemed to shake the very core of Medusa. "If this is the path to understanding between us, then so be it."

As the Emperor stepped forward to meet Ferrus's challenge, Franklin sidled up to Valdor once more. "So, Constantin, my stoic friend. Care to place a friendly wager on the outcome?"

Valdor's response was as swift as it was predictable. He smoothly stepped aside, maintaining his distance from the exuberant Primarch. "I do not engage in such frivolities, Lord Franklin. And I would advise against treating this moment with levity. It is a pivotal encounter."

Franklin chuckled, shaking his head. "Always so serious, Valdor. But you're right about one thing - this is indeed a pivotal moment." His voice took on a more thoughtful tone as he watched his father and brother prepare to clash. "You know, it's fascinating. Ferrus seeks to understand through strength, through physical prowess. It's admirable, in its way, but also limiting."

Valdor regarded Franklin with a hint of surprise, perhaps reassessing the Primarch's depths. "And how would you seek understanding, Lord Franklin?"

A sly smile played on Franklin's lips. "Oh, you know me, Valdor. I prefer a good joke, a shared laugh. Maybe a drink or two. You'd be surprised how much you can learn about someone over a well-timed quip."

As they spoke, the clash between the Emperor and Ferrus began in earnest. The ground shook with the force of their blows, the air crackled with psychic energy. It was a sight to behold - the Master of Mankind, holding back his true power, meeting the raw strength and determination of Ferrus Manus blow for blow.

Franklin watched as Ferrus was thrown through Several mountains.

The Emperor, his father, was engaged in combat with Ferrus Manus, and the sheer power on display was enough to reshape the planet's surface.

As Ferrus was hurled through yet another mountain, the impact sending tremors through the ground beneath Franklin's feet, he couldn't help but wince sympathetically.

"Well," Franklin mused mentally to Khaine, "I think we can safely say that challenging Pops to a fight might not have been our wisest course of action. Looks like it's not exactly a walk in the park, eh?"

Khaine's response was a dismissive scoff that echoed through Franklin's mind. "You underestimate me, Primarch. I am the God of War, the Bloody-Handed One. I could certainly hold my own against your 'Pops' at my peak."

Franklin's mental eye-roll was almost palpable. "Right, because your track record against other deities is so stellar. Remind me again, how did that scuffle with Khorne work out for you?"

The psychic equivalent of a growl reverberated through their shared consciousness. "That was... different. The Aeldari had stopped worshipping us at that point and Khorne caught me off guard. It won't happen again."

"Uh-huh," Franklin thought back, his mental tone dripping with sarcasm. "And I'm sure the Emperor, who probably wrestles Chaos Gods for his morning workout, would be a cakewalk."

As if to emphasize Franklin's point, the Emperor smacked Ferrus so hard that sent Ferrus careening through the air, smashing through not one, not two, but three mountain peaks before coming to a stop.

"Ouch,"Franklin winced. "That's going to leave a mark. You know, for all your bravado, my dear Khaine, I don't recall you ever manhandling a Primarch quite like that."

Khaine's response was indignant. "I never had the opportunity! Besides, your father is... uniquely powerful. It's an unfair comparison."

Franklin's mental chuckle was warm with amusement. "Oh? What happened to 'I could certainly hold my own'? Having second thoughts about challenging the old man now?"

"I'm merely... reassessing the situation,"Khaine grumbled. "A true warrior knows when to pick his battles."

"Ah, yes," Franklin thought back, his mental voice laden with mock seriousness. "And I'm sure it has nothing to do with the fact that Pops just used Ferrus to redecorate Medusa's landscape. I mean, who needs mountains anyway? So passé."

As they bantered, the battle continued to rage. The Emperor, his golden aura pulsing with barely contained power, met each of Ferrus's savage blows with calculated precision. It was clear to Franklin that his father was holding back, testing Ferrus rather than seeking to defeat him outright.

"You have to admit," Franklin mused to Khaine, "Pops has style. Look at how he's guiding the fight, shaping it. He's not just battling Ferrus; he's teaching him."

Khaine's response held a note of grudging respect. "Indeed. Your father is... impressive. His mastery of combat is undeniable although he shows movements like an Aeldari Autarch"

"High praise indeed, coming from you,perhaps pop trained under one or something"Franklin thought back. "Should I be worried? Are you developing a little god-crush on my old man?"

The psychic equivalent of a snort echoed through their link. "Don't be absurd, Primarch. I merely appreciate skill where I see it. It doesn't change the fact that I could still—"

"Still what?"Franklin interrupted, his mental tone teasing. "Take him on? Go toe-to-toe with the Master of Mankind? The guy who's currently using a Primarch as his personal ping-pong ball?"

As if on cue, the Emperor landed a particularly powerful blow, sending Ferrus hurtling across the landscape. The Primarch crashed through a series of rock formations before skidding to a halt, leaving a trench in his wake.

Franklin continued, "I'm starting to think that maybe, just maybe, challenging Pops wasn't on Ferrus's list of 'Top 10 Great Ideas'. What do you reckon, oh Bloody-Handed One? Care to give it a go yourself? I'm sure Pops would be happy to pencil you in for a friendly spar after he's done rearranging the geography with our dear brother."

Khaine's silence was telling.

"No takers?"Franklin pressed, his mental voice rich with amusement. "Come on, where's that warrior spirit? That god-of-war bravado? Don't tell me you're getting cold feet now."

"I am merely... conserving my strength,I shall challenge once I'm complete"Khaine replied, a hint of defensiveness in his tone. "A true warrior knows the value of patience."

Franklin's mental laughter rang out. "Oh, of course! Patience. That's definitely what it is. Nothing at all to do with the fact that Pops is out there demonstrating why he's the Emperor of Mankind and not, say, the Emperor of Slightly Impressive Card Tricks."

As their banter continued, the battle below reached a fever pitch. The Emperor, his movements a blur of golden light, pressed his advantage. Ferrus, despite his incredible strength and determination and Iron hands, found himself increasingly on the defensive.

Franklin mused, his tone becoming more serious, "for all our joking, this is quite the spectacle. The raw power, the skill... it's something else."

Khaine's response was thoughtful. "Indeed. Your father's might is... considerable. And yet, he restrains himself. He could end this fight in an instant if he wished."

"But that's not the point, is it?" Franklin replied. "This isn't about defeating Ferrus. It's about teaching him, showing him something beyond mere strength."

"A lesson in humility, perhaps,"Khaine observed. "Or a demonstration of the heights yet to be reached."

Franklin nodded mentally. "Exactly. Pops isn't just fighting; he's guiding. Showing Ferrus that there's always more to learn, always room to grow."

As they watched, the Emperor finally brought the battle to a close. With a move of breathtaking speed and precision, he disarmed Ferrus, sending the Primarch crashing to the ground. The impact shook the very foundations of Medusa.

In the ringing silence that followed, Franklin couldn't help but feel a mix of awe and anticipation. This was just the beginning, he realized. The start of something grand and terrible and wonderful all at once.

"Well,"he thought to Khaine, "I think it's safe to say that family reunions in this household are never going to be boring."

Khaine's response was dry. "Indeed. Though perhaps, in the future, we should suggest less... destructive bonding activities."

Franklin's mental laughter was bright and unrestrained. "Oh, I don't know. Nothing says 'welcome to the family' quite like reshaping a planet's geography. But you might be right. Next time, maybe we'll suggest a nice game of chess. Or possibly Monopoly. I hear Pops is quite the property tycoon."

As the dust settled on the battlefield below, Franklin prepared himself to join his father and newly-humbled brother. Whatever came next, he knew one thing for certain: the future of the Imperium was going to be anything but dull.

Franklin then turned to Constantine Valdor to his side watching with interest, "You know, Valdor," Franklin said, his voice uncharacteristically serious, "I can't help but wonder about the challenges that lie ahead. This grand crusade of Father's, the brothers I've yet to meet, the threats we'll face... it's going to be one hell of a ride."

Valdor turned to regard the Primarch, perhaps seeing him in a new light. "Your levity hides depths, Lord Franklin. The path ahead is indeed fraught with challenges."

Franklin's trademark grin returned. "Well, my golden friend, that's why we've got to stick together, isn't it? United we stand, divided we fall, and all that jazz." He made one last attempt to sling his arm over Valdor's shoulders. "So, what do you say? Friends?"

With a grace that almost seemed apologetic, Valdor once again sidestepped Franklin's attempt at physical camaraderie. "I would say, Lord Franklin, that I have a deeper appreciation for your unique approach to brotherhood. But I still prefer to maintain my personal space."

Franklin's laughter rang out across the battlefield of Medusa, a stark contrast to the intense duel still unfolding before them. "Oh, Valdor, you really are something else. But mark my words, one of these days, I'll get you to loosen up. Maybe I'll even see you crack a smile!"

A/N: Anada Chapter


Chapter 44: The Eagle and the Gorgon

The cavernous data room aboard the Sweet Liberty hummed with activity, holographic displays flickering and shifting as Franklin Valorian guided his father, the Emperor of Mankind, through the technological marvels of the Independence Cluster. The room was a evidence to the cluster's advancement, with streams of data flowing like rivers of light around them.

Franklin, his usual jovial demeanor tempered by the gravity of the situation, began his report. "So, Pops, remember that little task you gave me about securing those Webway portals? Well, good news and bad news. Bad news is, we've only managed to secure one so far. Good news? We did it with style!"

The Emperor's eyebrow raised slightly, a subtle cue for Franklin to elaborate.

"Right, so there we were on this Imperial planet, minding our own business, when suddenly - bam! Dark Eldar raiders popping out of nowhere like the galaxy's worst jack-in-the-box. Now, I know what you're thinking - 'Franklin, my boy, surely you didn't engage in unnecessary conflict?' But fear not! We dealt with them swiftly, secured the portal, and even managed to salvage some of their tech. I call that a win-win... win?"

The Emperor's face remained impassive, but there was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "Continue, my son."

Franklin cleared his throat, switching gears. "Now, onto the really exciting stuff. You know how you made us Primarchs extra special? Well, our eggheads have been poking around in my brain - don't worry, I barely use it anyway - and they've found something interesting. We're calling it the Immortis gland."

At this, the Emperor's interest visibly piqued. Franklin, encouraged, pressed on.

"Now, we've started some experiments, but I've got to tell you, Pops, replicating this little gizmo is trickier than trying to teach an Ork table manners. We're making progress, but it's slow going."

The Emperor nodded, a knowing look in his eyes. "The Immortis gland, as you call it, is indeed a crucial component in the creation of a Primarch. It is, shall we say, half of the equation."

Franklin's eyes widened. "Only half? What's the other half? Wait, let me guess - your charming personality and rugged good looks?"

The Emperor's lips twitched in what might have been the ghost of a smile. "Not quite, my son. I believe you've noticed the... special nature of your soul?"

Franklin blinked, suddenly serious. "You mean the fact that I'm basically a walking, talking Warp God? Yeah, I might have picked up on that."

The Emperor nodded approvingly. "Indeed. The combination of the Immortis gland and your unique soul is what makes you a Primarch. The fact that your scientists have identified the gland is... impressive, if not unexpected from a remnant of humanity's zenith."

Franklin grinned, pride swelling in his chest. "Well, you know us Golden Age types - always overachieving. But wait till you hear about our next party trick. Remember those Inertialess Drives you asked for?"

The Emperor's eyebrow raised once more, this time in obvious interest.

"Well, we're halfway there," Franklin continued. "We've got the hardware down pat. The only thing we're missing is an energy source beefy enough to power it. Our fusion reactors are giving it the old college try, but they're coming up short. Once we crack that nut, though? Watch out, galaxy - here we come!"

The Emperor nodded, his eyes distant as if seeing possibilities unfold before him. "If you can replicate the Immortis gland and solve the energy crisis for the Inertialess Drive, it could open up new avenues for improvement. The Space Marines, for instance..."

Franklin's eyes lit up. "Ooh, are we talking upgrades? Because let me tell you, I've got some ideas. How do you feel about Marines that can shoot lasers from their eyes? No? Too much? Okay, okay, we'll start smaller."

The Emperor's expression turned stern. "Any improvements would need to be carefully monitored and approved. The Great Crusade is our priority, and while advancements are welcome, they must not compromise our mission."

Franklin nodded, sobering slightly. "Of course, Pops. No worries there. We're all about making the Crusade a smashing success. Though, between you and me, I think we could use a catchier name. How about 'The Great Galactic Road Trip'? No? Tough crowd."

The Emperor chose to ignore this last comment, instead moving towards the conclusion of their meeting. "Continue your work, Franklin. Your cluster's advancements could prove crucial in the days to come." He paused, turning to look out a nearby viewport where Ferrus Manus could be seen reuniting with his Legion. "What are your thoughts on your brother?"

Franklin followed his father's gaze, his expression thoughtful. "Ferrus? Well, he's about as warm and cuddly as a Tyranid with a toothache. But I'll give him this - he's disciplined, focused, and built like a adamantium brick house. A bit of a blunt instrument if you ask me, but sometimes that's exactly what you need."

The Emperor nodded, seemingly satisfied with this assessment. "And how do you see yourself working with him in the future?"

Franklin grinned, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Oh, I think we'll get along just fine. I'll be the charming, handsome one with the great ideas, and he can be the strong, silent type who makes sure those ideas don't get us all killed. It's a match made in... well, not heaven, but maybe somewhere in the general vicinity."

The Emperor's expression remained neutral, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice. "Your ability to find levity in any situation is... unique among your brothers, Franklin. Ensure it does not blind you to the gravity of our mission."

Franklin's grin softened into a more serious smile. "Don't worry, Pops. I may joke, but I understand the importance of what we're doing. The galaxy needs us, and I intend to do my part. With style, of course."

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The harsh landscape of Medusa stretched out before Ferrus Manus, its rugged terrain mirroring his own iron-willed nature. The Primarch of the Iron Hands stood resolute, his gleaming metallic hands clasped at his sides as he observed his Legion assembling in disciplined ranks. Yet, it was not just his sons that commanded his attention. His gaze shifted, drawn to the approach of Franklin Valorian—the self-styled Liberator—and his Liberty Eagles.

Valorian's gait was easy, almost carefree, a stark contrast to Ferrus's unyielding stature. The Primarch of the Liberty Eagles wore his confidence as one might wear a cloak, his ancient Terran flag fluttering in the wind behind him, almost as if mocking the gravity of their mission. As the Liberator drew closer, Ferrus considered the man, his Legion, and the dissonance between them.

Ferrus's lip curled in distaste, though his respect for his brother was not entirely absent. Franklin's unshakable levity, the constant jests and easy smiles, grated against Ferrus's iron sensibilities. War was no place for trivialities. It was a machine, a thing to be forged with precision and efficiency. How could anyone approach such a task with frivolous jest?

The Liberty Eagles. Even their name sounded absurd to Ferrus. Liberty was an ideal, an abstract. But results were results. Franklin's record spoke for itself. His Legion had suffered the least casualties, had achieved the highest rates of bloodless compliance. It was effective, even if the methods behind it seemed indecipherable to Ferrus.

His disdain for Franklin's methods was tempered by a grudging acknowledgment. The efficiency of diplomacy, subterfuge, and the careful manipulation of public perception—the tools of Franklin's trade—may not have been Ferrus's style, but they achieved their ends.

Franklin's approach to warfare seemed all but a game—one of posturing, of control and influence rather than brute force. Yet, Ferrus had to admit, it was effective. The records did not lie. Franklin's victories were more than mere happenstance. The so-called "managed democracy" concept, though distasteful, seemed to offer a form of control that Ferrus could recognize as efficient, in its own way.

As Franklin closed the distance between them, Ferrus's gaze turned toward the mechsuit the Liberator wore. The design was unorthodox, but undeniably advanced. The inclusion of technologies that Ferrus had not yet seen caught his attention. The cluster of humanity Franklin controlled—the Independence Cluster—was a technological marvel. Though Ferrus preferred the clean, utilitarian designs of the Mechanicum, he could not deny the craftsmanship of his brother's creations.

Though Franklin lacked the full embrace of the machine, Ferrus thought, he understood its potential—his designs were not without merit. A thought lingered—if only he could bridge the gap between the Mechanicum and the Cluster, the Iron Hands could wield both to unimaginable potential. Could he reconcile these two forces? Their rivalry was not lost on Ferrus, and the idea of combining the might of the two could reshape the future of his Legion.

But as Franklin approached with that infuriating grin, Ferrus's thoughts shifted again. What kind of man was this? A leader who used humor as a weapon? A strategist hiding behind the mask of joviality? Ferrus could not comprehend it. In his eyes, Franklin's approach seemed beneath the severity of the task at hand.

"Favored son?" Ferrus wondered bitterly. No, that wasn't it. He had seen something different—a bond, an understanding between Franklin and the Emperor that set them apart. And that irked him. It irked him more than he would admit.

As Franklin closed the gap, his grin widening at the sight of Ferrus, the Iron Hands Primarch hardened his resolve. Even as Franklin's Astartes and Liberty Guardsmen marched forward, Ferrus found himself reassessing his brother. Franklin's methods might not be his own, but there was something about him that Ferrus could not dismiss entirely.

"Brother," Ferrus's voice cut through the air, gruff but not unfriendly. "Your Legion's effectiveness cannot be denied."

Franklin's grin stretched impossibly wide. "Oh, Ferrus, did I hear that right? A compliment? You're making me blush."

Ferrus grunted in annoyance but allowed himself to listen as Franklin launched into yet another long-winded explanation of his Legion's capabilities. The Iron Hands would never embrace the methods of the Liberty Eagles, but Ferrus was no fool. There was value in understanding the strengths of his brothers—even if they were as infuriating as Franklin Valorian.

As the two Primarchs stood there, one grim and unyielding, the other animated and irreverent, the future of the Imperium seemed to shift, ever so slightly. The Great Crusade was still in its early stages, and the bonds forged in moments like this would shape the course of humanity for millennia.

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The harsh landscape of Medusa stretched out before them, a testament to the planet's unforgiving nature. Ferrus Manus strode purposefully across the rocky terrain, his metallic hands gleaming in the dim light. Behind him, Franklin Valorian followed, a stark contrast to his stoic brother with his easy grin and relaxed demeanor.

"I've got to hand it to you, brother," Franklin called out, quickening his pace to catch up with Ferrus. "You work fast. I'm impressed by how quickly you've rallied your legion. Ready to embark on your own crusade already?"

Ferrus grunted in response, not breaking his stride. "Efficiency is key in warfare. My sons understand this."

Franklin nodded, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Speaking of your sons, I couldn't help but notice something. Your name is Ferrus Manus, which basically means 'Iron Hand' in High Gothic, right? And you've got these fantastic iron hands." He gestured to Ferrus's metallic appendages. "And your legion is called the Iron Hands. That's... that's a lot of iron hands, brother. Did you plan that, or is the universe just really into theme naming?"

Ferrus stopped abruptly, turning to face Franklin with a look of barely concealed irritation. "My legion's name is a reflection of their dedication and strength. It is not a joke."

Franklin held up his hands in a placating gesture, though his grin didn't falter. "Of course, of course. No offense meant. I just thought it was, you know, handy how it all worked out."

The pun hung in the air between them, met only by Ferrus's stony silence.

"Tough crowd," Franklin muttered, still smiling. "So, where are we headed? Scenic tour of Medusa's finest rock formations?"

Ferrus turned and resumed walking. "I'm taking you to the place where I proved my worth. Where I defeated the great metal beast, Asirnoth."

"Ooh, storytime!" Franklin exclaimed, falling into step beside his brother. "I love a good tale of heroic deeds. Though I have to say, 'Asirnoth' sounds like something you'd cough up after a bad cold. Asi-RNOTH!" He mimicked a violent sneeze.

Ferrus's jaw clenched, but he continued on in silence.

As they walked, Franklin kept up a steady stream of commentary, much to Ferrus's chagrin.

"You know, brother, I've been thinking. If you're Ferrus Manus, and you lead the Iron Hands, does that make you the Hand of the Iron Hands? Or would that be the Iron Hand of the Iron Hands? The Iron Hand-Handed Iron Hand leader of the Iron Hands?"

Ferrus's only response was a low growl.

"No, wait, I've got it!" Franklin snapped his fingers. "The Iron-Handed Hand that Hands Iron to the Iron Hands!"

"Enough!" Ferrus barked, coming to a stop at the edge of a vast pit. Heat shimmered in the air above it, and the dull red glow of lava could be seen far below.

Franklin whistled, peering over the edge. "Well, that's quite the hot spot you've got here. I'm guessing this is where the magic happened?"

Ferrus nodded, his expression softening slightly as he gazed into the pit. "Here is where I faced Asirnoth. Where I plunged my hands into the molten metal and emerged victorious."

"Impressive," Franklin said, and for once, there was no hint of jest in his voice. "That must have been quite the battle."

"It was," Ferrus agreed. "The beast was mighty, but I proved mightier still."

A moment of silence passed between them, broken only by the distant bubbling of lava. Then, inevitably, Franklin spoke again.

"So, did you go into this fight barehanded, or did you bring some... handy tools?"

Ferrus closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. "I faced the beast with nothing but my own strength."

"Ah, so you really did hand it to him, then?"

"Franklin..."

"Sorry, sorry. Couldn't resist." Franklin grinned, then adopted a more serious expression. "In all honesty, brother, it's an impressive feat. No wonder your sons look up to you so much."

Ferrus nodded, accepting the compliment. "Strength and determination are the cornerstones of my legion. We face our challenges head-on, without hesitation or fear."

"A admirable philosophy," Franklin agreed. "Though I have to say, I prefer to face my challenges with a good joke and maybe a witty one-liner. Different strokes for different folks, I suppose."

Ferrus turned to regard his brother, his expression unreadable. "Your methods are... unconventional. But I cannot deny their effectiveness."

"High praise indeed!" Franklin beamed. "And here I thought you'd be more likely to give me the cold shoulder. Or should I say, the cold... hand-er?"

The pun hung in the air for a moment before Ferrus let out a long-suffering sigh. "You are impossible."

"Impossibly charming, you mean," Franklin winked.

As they stood there, the stoic Gorgon and the jovial Liberator, an unlikely bond began to form. Despite their differences - or perhaps because of them - there was a growing sense of mutual respect between the two Primarchs.

Ferrus turned to leave, ready to return to his legion and begin his crusade. But before he could take a step, Franklin's voice stopped him.

"Hey, Ferrus? Before we go, I've got one last question."

Ferrus braced himself. "What is it?"

Franklin's grin was practically audible. "If you're the Iron Hands' Primarch, does that make you their Iron Dad?"

The groan that escaped Ferrus Manus echoed across the pit, a sound of exasperation that would have sent lesser men running.

The Great Crusade lay before them, a galaxy waiting to be brought into the Imperial fold. And while their methods might differ, their goal was the same: the ascendancy of mankind among the stars.

As they turned to head back to their respective Legions, Franklin couldn't resist one last quip. "Ferrus, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Or at the very least, a tolerably amusing acquaintanceship."

Ferrus's only response was a long-suffering sigh.

Franklin strode purposefully alongside his brother Ferrus Manus. The air was thick with anticipation as the Iron Hands Legion made their final preparations. Franklin's eyes, sharp and observant, scanned the landscape of Medusa, his mind churning with possibilities and potential threats.

"Sovereign," Franklin addressed his Central A.I. companion, his voice a low rumble. "Have you detected any additional entrances? Anything that might lead to underground bases or complexes?"

The A.I.'s response was swift and precise. "Negative, Lord Valorian. Surface scans reveal no obvious hidden entrances, beginning in-depth scans..."

Franklin nodded, his suspicions growing. He began talking mentally to the Bloody Handed One - the fragment of Khaine, the Aeldari God of War, now bound to the 5th Crone Sword at his hip. "Khaine, your suspicions about Asirnoth... if it was indeed a Necron construct, then Medusa could be far more dangerous than we initially thought."

The god's voice resonated in Franklin's mind, a mix of ancient wisdom and barely contained fury. "Indeed, young Primarch. The Necrons were our greatest foes during the War in Heaven. Their constructs, powered by C'tan shards, were nightmares given form."

As they walked, Franklin's curiosity got the better of him. "Tell me, Khaine, about your experiences in the War in Heaven. How did the Aeldari fare against such a threat?"

Khaine's presence seemed to swell with pride and remembered glory. "We fought with all the fury and might of a young, vibrant race. The C'tan were godlike in their power, but we had our own pantheon. I led our forces against their Necron slaves, cleaving through their lines with my burning sword."

Franklin listened, fascinated by the firsthand account of a conflict so ancient it had passed into myth for most races. "And at your peak, Khaine? How formidable were you?"

The god's laughter echoed in Franklin's mind, a sound of clashing blades and roaring infernos. "At my peak? Without the C'tan to balance us, I could split entire Tomb Worlds with a single strike of my sword. I shattered the Night Bringer, the C'tan's embodiment of Death itself!"

Khaine's voice grew even more animated as he continued, "And Maglad'roth, the Void Dragon? When the Talismans of Vaul struck, I seized my chance. I... how do you humans put it? Ah yes, I 'turbo-sodomized' that so called master of the Material realm, shattering it into countless shards."

Franklin's eyebrows shot up at Khaine's colorful language, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "Impressive," he mused. "Truly, the power of the Aeldari at their height must have been a sight to behold."

Khaine's presence swelled with pride once more. "Do not underestimate me, young Primarch. Even now, diminished as I am, I could best your Emperor at the height of his power."

Franklin's amusement faded, replaced by a stern expression. "Let's not get carried away, Khaine. You're a fragment of your former self, much like the C'tan you shattered. It doesn't do to dwell on past glories when the present demands our attention."

The god's presence seemed to deflate slightly, a grudging acknowledgment in his tone. "You speak truth, Valorian. We are both shadows of what we once were. But do not mistake my current state for weakness. There is power yet in this shard, and wisdom earned through eons of warfare."


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