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61.98% The Primarch of Liberty / Chapter 105: Don't Touch My Boats

Chapter 105: Don't Touch My Boats

In the sterile laboratory aboard the Independence Sector Research vessel Innovation's Edge, three of the greatest minds in cybernetic and genetic research stood observing their latest breakthrough. Through the reinforced observation glass, an android that appeared perfectly human stood calmly, its eyes covered by an ornate blindfold inscribed with microscopic circuitry.

Belisarius Cawl's mechadendrites swayed in thought as he recorded his observations. "Fascinating. The localization of the null effect to the optical centers represents a 47.3% improvement in control compared to our previous attempts."

"BROTHER CAWL!" Magos Biceps Maximalis flexed his augmented arms, causing his red robes to strain against his massive frame. "THESE GAINS IN PARIAH CONTROL ARE MOST SWOLERIFIC! LIKE PROPERLY TIMING ONE'S PROTEIN INTAKE FOR MAXIMUM MUSCLE DEVELOPMENT!"

Dr. Elara Chen raised an eyebrow at her enthusiastic colleague while adjusting her dataslate. After working with him for months, she still found his unique manner of communication entertaining. "Magos Biceps, are you suggesting the null field propagation follows similar principles to metabolic timing?"

"INDEED, SISTER CHEN!" Biceps struck a pose that would have made ancient Terran bodybuilders proud. "JUST AS THE MUSCLES REQUIRE PROPER NUTRITION WINDOWS FOR MAXIMUM SWOLENESS, THE PARIAH FIELD REQUIRES PRECISE ACTIVATION PARAMETERS! PRAISE THE OMNISSIAH'S GAINS!"

Cawl's binary cant carried a hint of amusement as he translated for Chen. "I believe our colleague is drawing a parallel between biological enhancement timing and the null field propagation delays we observed in Test Series 17-Beta."

The android in the chamber removed its blindfold, and immediately the air seemed to thicken with invisible force. The monitoring devices registered the expanding null field as it radiated from the subject's eyes, eventually enveloping its entire form in an anti-warp corona.

"BEHOLD THE PUMP, FELLOW SEEKERS OF KNOWLEDGE!" Magos Biceps performed a perfect lateral pose. "LIKE THE SACRED BLOOD FLOW TO MIGHTY BICEPS, THE NULL FIELD FLOWS FROM ITS SOURCE WITH PERFECT FORM!"

Chen nodded, checking the readings. "The field propagation does follow a remarkably organic pattern. Perhaps we could optimize it further by studying natural Pariah field development in Sisters of Silence?"

"Your suggestion has merit, Dr. Chen," Cawl's vocoder clicked. "Though my future self's data cores have provided invaluable insights into the Primaris Project, the application to null field manipulation required... creative interpretation."

"BROTHER CAWL SPEAKS TRUTH WITH THE INTENSITY OF A PERFECT SET OF SQUATS!" Biceps began a series of mechanical flex poses that somehow managed to convey deep scientific understanding. "THE SACRED TEMPLATES OF THE FUTURE REQUIRED SPOTTING, JUST AS ALL GREATEST GAINS DO!"

Cawl's mechadendrites performed rapid calculations as he translated. "Magos Biceps suggests that like physical training, our modifications to the future templates required careful support and monitoring to achieve optimal results."

"Precisely," Chen agreed, hiding her smile. "The integration of the Pariah Gene into the android chassis was like training a new muscle group – we had to start light and gradually increase the load."

"AH! SISTER CHEN HAS ACHIEVED ENLIGHTENMENT!" Magos Biceps's voice boomed with joy as his servo-arms performed a flawless double biceps pose. "THE PATH TO SWOLENESS, WHETHER OF MIND, MACHINE, OR MUSCLE, REQUIRES PERFECT FORM!"

The android in the chamber reapplied its blindfold, and the null field receded like a tide. Cawl's internal cogitators whirred as he processed the data. "The control is remarkable. To think that my future self's work on the Primaris Project would lead to such innovations..."

"INDEED, BROTHER!" Biceps initiated what appeared to be a victory pose. "YOUR FUTURE GAINS HAVE SPOTTED OUR PRESENT GAINS! THE OMNISSIAH'S WISDOM FLOWS THROUGH TIME LIKE THE PERFECT PRE-WORKOUT FORMULA!"

Chen consulted her dataslate again. "The potential applications are significant. These androids could work seamlessly with psyker forces when needed, then activate their null field for anti-warp operations. The tactical flexibility alone—"

"TACTICAL FLEXIBILITY IS CRUCIAL!" Biceps interjected, demonstrating said flexibility with a series of impossible poses. "LIKE THE SACRED SUPER-SETS THAT BUILD BOTH STRENGTH AND ENDURANCE!"

Cawl translated once more, his tone carrying a hint of fondness. "Our colleague suggests that the versatility of these units mirrors the comprehensive benefits of properly structured training regimens. An apt metaphor, if unusually expressed."

The three tech-priests continued their observations, each bringing their unique perspective to the project. Cawl's future knowledge, Chen's innovative thinking, and Biceps's... unique way of viewing the universe through the lens of physical perfection combined to push the boundaries of what was possible.

As they watched the android perform another series of null field activation tests, Magos Biceps struck a final pose that somehow conveyed both scientific satisfaction and physical supremacy. "REMEMBER, FELLOW SEEKERS OF KNOWLEDGE: THE GAINS OF THE MIND SPOT THE GAINS OF THE BODY, AND THE OMNISSIAH SPOTS US ALL! NOW, WHO'S READY FOR POST-EXPERIMENT PROTEIN PRAYERS?"

The laboratory's warning klaxons screamed to life, bathing the chamber in crimson light. Through the observation windows, the void erupted with dark, blade-like ships appearing from nowhere, their weapons already firing with surgical precision.

"BY THE OMNISSIAH'S MOST SACRED DELTOIDS!" Magos Biceps's actuators whirred as he assumed a combat stance. "THESE DARK ELDAR WISH TO CHALLENGE OUR GAINS!"

Cawl's mechadendrites writhed in agitation as he watched his Ark Mechanicus, the Empiric Insight, split apart under concentrated dark matter fire. "Most unfortunate. Though perhaps..." his optical sensors gleamed with sudden calculation, "their biology would make for interesting servitor stock."

"Belisarius!" Dr. Chen shot him a horrified look while activating emergency protocols on her dataslate. "Though given their proclivities, maybe they deserve—" She shook her head, refocusing. "Independence Sector distress beacon activated. The Primarch's forces should respond quickly."

Through the armored viewport, they watched as Dark Eldar boarding craft latched onto the civilian cargo vessels like predatory insects. Magos Biceps's voice dropped to what passed for a whisper in his volume range, servos flexing. "OBSERVE, BROTHERS AND SISTERS IN SWOLENESS! THEY TARGET THE SUPPLY VESSELS FIRST, LIKE HERETICS STEALING PRE-WORKOUT SUPPLEMENTS!"

"Tactical assessment correct," Cawl nodded, dozens of mechadendrites already interfacing with defense systems. "Their raid pattern suggests they remain unaware of our primary research. The Pariah Project data remains secure."

The deck shuddered as another explosion rocked the ship. Dr. Chen's fingers flew across control panels, and throughout the vessel, the sounds of heavy metallic footsteps echoed. "Men of Iron defense protocols initiated. Delta-Seven formation."

"MOST EXCELLENT BACKUP ROUTINE, SISTER!" Magos Biceps activated his own command protocols, and the ship's corridors filled with sounds that caused even Cawl to pause his calculations. "MY SWOLE-PATTERN COMBAT AUTOMATA WILL SPOT OUR DEFENSIVE SETS!"

Through security feeds, they glimpsed Biceps's creations – monstrous amalgamations of muscle fiber and machine that would have given nightmares to veterans of Old Night. They moved with impossible grace for their bulk, taking up defensive positions alongside Chen's more conventional but no less lethal Men of Iron.

"The statistical probability of Close-quarters combat is increasing exponentially," Cawl announced, his own battle-automata deploying from hidden compartments. "I calculate approximately 7.3 minutes before our position is compromised."

The ship lurched violently, and through the viewport, they could see the familiar realspace starfield being replaced by the twisted geometries of the Webway. Dr. Chen's face paled. "They're dragging us in! Time to fall back to the Citadel?"

"INDEED! TACTICAL WITHDRAWAL TO REINFORCE OUR CORE POSITIONS!" Magos Biceps began herding them toward the armored doors, his frame somehow becoming even more imposing. "LIKE THE SACRED REST BETWEEN SETS, WE MUST CONSOLIDATE OUR GAINS!"

The three tech-priests hurried through corridors already filling with the sounds of distant combat. Cawl's automated sentries traded fire with shadows that moved too fast to track. Biceps's monstrosities roared challenges that shook dust from the ceiling. Chen's Men of Iron maintained disciplined firing lanes with mechanical precision.

As they reached the Citadel's reinforced doors, Cawl's auspex pinged in alarm. "They're beginning molecular disassembly of the outer hull. Most concerning."

"The Primarch will come," Chen stated with conviction as she initiated the Citadel's lockdown. "The Independence Sector doesn't abandon its own."

"BROTHER FRANKLIN'S GAINS ARE INDEED LEGENDARY!" Magos Biceps helped secure the final barriers, his voice carrying over the sounds of battle outside. "BUT UNTIL HIS ARRIVAL, WE MUST MAINTAIN MAXIMUM DEFENSIVE INTENSITY! LIKE HOLDING THE PERFECT PLANK POSITION!"

The Citadel sealed around them, layers of void-hardened ceramite and energy fields securing their position. Through the internal vox, they could hear their automated defenders engaging the raiders. It would buy them time, but against Dark Eldar raiders, time had a way of becoming a cruel joke.

Cawl interfaced with the remaining ship systems. "I have initiated randomized power fluctuations. It may confuse their auspex readings temporarily."

"And the research data?" Chen asked, checking the status of her remaining Men of Iron.

"Secured and encrypted," Cawl assured her. "Multiple redundancies. Even if they take us, they won't understand what they've found."

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

The war room aboard Sweet Liberty hummed with barely contained energy. The massive hololithic display dominated the center, showing the carefully gathered intelligence on their target - a younger, more vulnerable Commorragh. Around the tactical table stood the greatest leaders of the Independence Sector, their expressions grim yet determined.

Franklin, towering even among his sons, traced a finger along the projected trade routes. "Gentlemen, our quarterly profits are down 37%. The Dark Eldar think they can treat our shipping lanes like their personal shopping mall." He paused, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "I'm about to teach them about corporate hostile takeovers."

Denzel Washington reported "My Primarch, the technical losses are even more severe than initial reports suggested. The raid that took Cawl and his team wasn't just about cargo - they've captured over thirty ships filled with our best technicians and engineers."

"Not to mention the Pariah Project data," Steven Armstrong added, his nanomachine-enhanced frame tensing. "If they decode that research..."

"They won't have time," Franklin declared, activating a new hologram - the massive Dolmen Gate they'd constructed. "Henry, your future intel confirmed this is the optimal time to strike?"

Captain Henry Cavill nodded "Yes, my lord. The Dark City is still in its relative infancy. Their current defense grid is barely a quarter of what it becomes in my timeline. Most importantly," he manipulated the display, highlighting several sectors, "they haven't yet developed their solar-harvesting arrays. Their power generation is limited."

Vladimir Mendelev, the Chief Librarian, frowned as he studied the tactical overlay. "The psychic implications of entering the Webway en masse are concerning. Even with our Techno-Seers' protection—"

"That's where our new toys come in," Samuel L. Jaxsen interrupted, his Primaris frame adorned with CIA iconography. "The reverse-engineered Necron tech isn't just for show. The Dolmen Gate stabilizes the surrounding Webway structure temporarily. Sweet Liberty's passage won't cause the usual psychic turbulence."

John Ezra's Secret Service agents were already distributing detailed operation packets. "We've identified three primary targets: their shipyards, slave markets, and power distribution hubs. Hit these simultaneously, and their ability to maintain void shields drops to critical levels."

Franklin nodded, then turned to address each commander in turn. "Denzel, you'll lead the First Company in a direct assault on their primary shipyards. I want those raiders grounded permanently."

"Consider it done, sir. We'll introduce them to Freedom-pattern boarding actions."

"Armstrong, take the Second, Fifth through Eighth Companies and secure their power distribution network. Without shields, they'll be exposed to Sweet Liberty's main batteries."

Armstrong cracked his knuckles with a grin. "Making the mother of all power outages here, lord. Can't fret over every xenos."

"Vladimir, your Techno-Seers will coordinate with the Liberty Guard. I want those slave markets cleared and our people extracted safely."

"Jaxsen," Franklin turned to the Primaris officer, "consider this your probationary assignment for Primeborn Status. CIA teams will infiltrate ahead of the main assault. Plant the beacons, mark the priority targets."

"With pleasure, sir. Time to show these shady-ass Dark Eldar what real shadows are all about."

"Henry, you'll coordinate from Sweet Liberty's bridge. Your future knowledge of their tactics could be vital."

"Understanding their strategies before they even develop them - a significant advantage, my lord."

Franklin stood to his full height, his presence filling the chamber. "The Dark Eldar think they're predators. Time to show them what happens when they hunt things that hunt back. Sweet Liberty alone has enough firepower to level their fledgling port. With Battlefleet Liberty backing us up?" He smiled, but it wasn't a pleasant expression. "Let's show them how we deal with pirates in the Independence Sector."

Denzel raised an important point. "The Webway assault carries risks. If they manage to seal the passages behind us..."

"Already accounted for," Henry interjected. "The Dolmen Gate creates stable corridors. They can't close instantly what we're holding open with Necron tech Temporarily."

"Besides," Franklin added, "I'm counting on them trying to trap us. The more they commit to stopping our escape, the fewer forces they'll have protecting their vital infrastructure." He activated a final tactical overlay. "700,000 Astartes. 50 million Liberty Guard. The largest fleet ever assembled by the Independence Sector. By the time we're done, the Dark Eldar will learn a very expensive lesson about interfering with free trade."

"And Cawl's team?" Armstrong asked. "The Pariah Project..."

"Priority extraction target," Franklin confirmed.

The air shimmered with psychic resonance as an Aeldari delegation materialized, their wraithbone armor gleaming under the chamber's lights. At their head stood a Spiritseer, her ethereal presence commanding attention, flanked by representatives from various Craftworlds in their resplendent regalia.

The Spiritseer stepped forward, her voice carrying both physically and psychically. "Franklin Valorian, the Phoenix Lords bid you attend them in—"

'What absolute garbage,' Khaine's voice thundered in Franklin's mind, burning with divine indignation. 'These strutting peacocks dare summon my champion like some common servant? Show them their place, Primarch.'

Franklin's smirk stopped the Spiritseer mid-sentence. The temperature in the chamber rose perceptibly as Khaine's influence radiated through his chosen champion. Denzel Washington's hand instinctively moved to his sword hilt, while Armstrong's nanomachines rippled beneath his skin in anticipation.

"Interesting timing," Franklin drawled, lounging back in his command throne with deliberate casualness. "Here I am, about to launch the largest punitive expedition since the Great Crusade began, and suddenly the Phoenix Lords remember I exist."

The Spiritseer's mask couldn't hide her affronted expression. "You misunderstand, mon-keigh. This is a great honor. The Phoenix Lords themselves—"

"The Phoenix Lords," Franklin interrupted, rising to his full height, towering over the Aeldari delegation, "are not Khaine. They are echoes, memories, fragments of what was. I carry his burning soul, his unbound fury." Anaris at his hip pulsed with crimson energy, responding to his words.

One of the other Aeldari, bearing the colors of Biel-Tan, stepped forward. "You overstep, human. The Phoenix Lords are the living avatars of Khaine's aspects, his—"

'ENOUGH!' Khaine's rage flooded through Franklin, and for a moment, his form shimmered with divine fire. The Aeldari delegation took an involuntary step back as Franklin's eyes blazed with literal godfire.

"Let me be crystal clear," Franklin's voice carried the dual timbre of both Primarch and God of War. "I am not some wandering aspect warrior to be summoned at your convenience. I am Khaine's champion, chosen by the God of War himself, not by committee or tradition."

He gestured to the tactical displays showing Commorragh. "While you've hidden in your Craftworlds, these dark kin of yours have raided my people, stolen my ships, captured my researchers. And where were the mighty Phoenix Lords then? Where was their intervention when the Dark Eldar's actions threatened to destabilize an entire sector of human space?"

The Spiritseer attempted to regain control of the conversation. "The Phoenix Lords do not involve themselves in mere mortal—"

"Exactly," Franklin cut her off again. "They don't involve themselves. They preserve, they maintain, they cling to what was. But Khaine?" He smiled, and there was nothing human in that expression. "Khaine acts. Khaine strikes. Khaine burns away corruption and weakness."

He stepped closer to the delegation, each footfall echoing with unnatural weight. "So here is my response to your 'summons': If the Phoenix Lords wish to witness Khaine's champion in action, they can meet me in Commorragh. They can watch as I demonstrate what true divine warfare looks like. They can observe as I turn that dark port into a lesson that will echo through the Webway for millennia."

'Well said,' Khaine's approval burned like a forge in his mind. 'Let them learn that true power needs no validation from lesser beings.'

The Biel-Tan representative's voice shook with barely contained outrage. "You dare reject the Phoenix Lords' invitation? This is unprecedented!"

"I dare much more than that," Franklin replied. "I reject their authority over me entirely. I am not some aspect warrior to be schooled in their temples. I am Khaine's burning sword, his wrath made manifest." He turned to Denzel. "First Captain, please escort our guests out. They have battle preparations to observe... from a safe distance."

As Denzel moved to comply, Franklin delivered his final pronouncement: "To the Phoenix Lords who call themselves facets of Khaine: I do not answer to mortals, however esteemed, for I carry Khaine's will in full measure. If you wish to test me, you will do so on my terms—not in the halls of your Craftworld, but on the battlefield, where Khaine's fire burns hottest. I have chosen the staging ground: the dark port-city your kind dare not speak of. Commorragh will burn under my wrath, and if you wish to witness Khaine's champion, you will meet me there."

The Spiritseer's mask finally cracked with emotion. "This... this insolence will not be forgotten."

"Good," Franklin replied, already turning back to his war council. "Neither will the lesson that comes with it. Denzel, show them out. We have a raid to launch."

As the Aeldari delegation was escorted from the chamber, their dignity in tatters, the war room erupted in suppressed grins and knowing looks. The message had been sent: the Liberty Eagles answered to no one but their Primarch, and their Primarch answered only to himself, Khaine and the Emperor.

'They needed that reminder,' Khaine mused in Franklin's mind. 'The Aeldari have always confused age with wisdom, tradition with right, teach them'

Franklin gazed at the tactical display of Commorragh once more, a predatory smile playing across his features. "Oh, I intend to. Class is definitely in session."

The Primarch surveyed his commanders one final time. "They touched my boats. Worse, they took my people. Everything we do in the Independence Sector, we do big. So let's show Commorragh what happens when they raid the wrong sector. Dismissed."

The Dolmen Gate activated, its impossible size dwarfing even the mighty Sweet Liberty. As Battlefleet Liberty moved into formation, Franklin gave the order that would launch one of the most ambitious retribution campaigns in Imperial history.

"All ships, battle stations. The Dark Aeldar have Oil, let's go give them some Freedom."


Chapter 106: The Siege Begins

Asdrubael Vect stood in his private chambers within the lesser spires of Commorragh, reviewing the hololith projections of his latest prize. The captured research vessel floated in one of his hidden docks, still stubbornly resisting complete subjugation. A smile played across his features – not the practiced, cruel smile he showed his rivals, but one of genuine satisfaction.

"The Independence Sector," he mused, fingers trailing across tactical displays. "Such delicious irony that their very independence makes them vulnerable. No Imperial Navy protection, no Mechanicum fleet support... just their own forces."

The raids had been costly, there was no denying that. Even with decades of preparation, studying patrol patterns, and assembling a fleet large enough to overwhelm their escorting vessels, the Independence Sector's doctrine of overwhelming firepower had reduced his forces severely. But the prize... oh, the prize was worth it.

"Their defenses are remarkable," he admitted to himself, studying the footage of the automated defenders. Soulless constructs of ancient design fought alongside abominations that seemed birthed from the darkest legends of Humanity's Old Night. "Men of Iron and... whatever those muscle-bound horrors are. The Mon-keigh have been busy."

His analysts reported that breaching the vessel's interior was proving exceptionally difficult. Already he'd lost tens of thousands of warriors – Wyches, Haemonculi flesh-crafted monstrosities, even his prized Mandrakes – to the automated defenders trying to take the first corridor and there were 9 more. But the very presence of such protection spoke volumes.

"They wouldn't commit such resources to guard something trivial," Vect reasoned, examining the ship's specifications. "Thirteen kilometers of the finest Mon-keigh engineering, filled with their best minds and most closely guarded secrets. The Nobles of Commorragh focus on their petty games while true power sits in my grasp."

He'd risen from slavery through cunning and patience. Each move calculated, each sacrifice measured. The Noble Houses still saw him as an upstart, a jumped-up slave playing at power. They had no idea how their arrogance would be their undoing.

"They think themselves untouchable in their spires," he sneered, remembering countless humiliations. "But with the secrets this ship contains... yes, technology to rival the Necrons itself. The Mon-keigh may be crude, but their Independence Sector has resources that could shift the balance of power."

The territorial losses to claim this prize had been significant. Both the Mechanicum and Independence Sector would be furious, but what could they do? The Webway was his domain, Commorragh unreachable by Imperial forces.

"Let them rage," he smirked, studying the defensive patterns of the automated guardians. "By the time they marshal a response, I'll have stripped this vessel of every secret, every innovation. The Noble Houses won't know what hit them."

A sudden alert drew his attention – another boarding attempt had failed spectacularly. The defending automata fought with impossible coordination, as if guided by some greater intelligence. Intriguing.

"Their resistance is impressive, but ultimately futile. Here in Commorragh, everything eventually breaks. It's just a matter of applying the right pressure."

His thoughts turned to the Primarch he'd briefly encountered. Franklin Valorian had fought with finesse that seemed almost Aeldari, wielding powers that seemed too similar to Aeldar of Old. A formidable opponent, certainly, but safely distant now.

"Let him rule his sector," Vect decided, already planning his next move. "Once I control Commorragh, perhaps we'll negotiate proper trade agreements." He laughed at his own joke.

If only he understood that he wasn't dealing with typical Mon-keigh bound by the limitations of Imperial bureaucracy and doctrine. Asdrubael Vect, He is a Genius no doubt , however he had made a critical miscalculation. He thought he was the spider, when in fact he was the fly. And soon, very soon, Commorragh would learn why the Independence Sector's motto was "Peace Through Overwhelming Firepower."

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

Motherfucking Commorragh. Never thought I'd see this shithole up close. The Lictor Pattern Exo-Armor's sensory suite is feeding me data about every shadow, every movement, and every toxic particle in this Emperor-forsaken place. And there are a lot of toxic particles.

Through my enhanced vision, I watch another Mandrake patrol pass beneath our position. These shadow-walking bastards would be a real problem if our suits weren't equipped with phase-shifting tech stolen from the Necrons another Xenos I could agree that have well beyond our Tech but we are getting there. The things you can do with a good R&D budget and some captured specimens.

"Team Alpha, report," I whisper into the encrypted vox.

"Illmaean defense grid located, sir. Setting up disruptors now. These pointy-eared motherfuckers won't know what hit them when Sweet Liberty opens up."

A grim smile crosses my face. Somewhere up there, that beautiful 10,000-kilometer death machine is waiting for our signal. The Dark Eldar think their precious shadow fields make them untouchable. They're about to learn what Imperial innovation can do.

"Team Beta, status on those superweapons?"

"Multiple candidates located, sir. Found something that looks like a Solar annihilator. Three different reality-bomb variants, a Blackstone Fortress, Some sort of Planet Killer Called Fireheart and a Heavily Guarded Reality Engine, Fuck they've got all sorts of reality ending shit here! And... sir, you're not going to believe this, but we've found what appears to be a contained shard of Khaine. Marking all for targeting solutions."

These sick fucks would have a god-shard. I make a mental note to inform the Primarch about that particular find. He's got a special interest in anything Khaine-related since bonding with that Crone Sword.

My vision zooms in on the research vessel below. Thirteen kilometers of adamantium and archaeotech, surrounded by mountains of xenos corpses. Our eggheads didn't go down easy. The scene before me is a testament to their defensive preparations – Homunculi torn apart by what looks like weaponized cellular degeneration, Wyches frozen in crystal formations that couldn't have formed naturally, and Mandrakes that appear to have been turned inside out by some kind of dimensional weapon.

Activating long-range auspex

"Well, well, well... if it ain't the youngest evil motherfucker in Commorragh himself."

Vect. Looking about as friendly as a Khornate Berserker at a peace convention. He's younger than the archives show him, but that just means he's hungry, building his power base. Data scrolling through my HUD confirms it – power readings off the charts, surrounded by what looks like enough bodyguards to conquer a small sector.

"This is Director Jaxsen. All teams, maintain observation protocols. I've got eyes on Vect at the research vessel. Repeat: Asdrubael fucking Vect is personally leading the siege. Do not – I repeat – do NOT engage. That smug xenos bastard's bodyguard's are way above our pay grade."

I tag his location with a priority marker. The Primarch or one of the Primeborn will have to handle this one. I'm good, but I'm not "Solo the future architect of Commorragh" good. Through my enhanced hearing, I can pick up faint sounds of machinery and what might be voices from inside the vessel. Cawl, Biceps, and Chen are still alive in there, probably cooking up new horrors to throw at their attackers.

"Sir," Team Charlie cuts in, "we've mapped the surrounding area. There are at least twelve major transit points they could use to bring in reinforcements. Want us to start laying temporal mines?"

"Negative. Mark them for orbital bombardment instead. When this kicks off, I want Sweet Liberty to cut off every escape route. These Dark Eldar sons of bitches have been playing their games long enough. Time to show them how we do things Liberty Eagles style."

I take one last look at the research vessel, its hull gleaming with exotic defense systems that are probably giving Vect conniptions. Our eggheads might be weird, but they're our weird. And we're getting them back.

"All teams, complete your marking operations and prepare for extract. Phase two begins when Sweet Liberty arrives, and I want us well clear when those city-sized guns start singing their freedom song."

Just hang in there, you crazy bastards, I think, watching another wave of Dark Eldar break themselves against the ship's defenses. The cavalry's coming, and we're bringing enough firepower to make even Vect shit himself.

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

The webway tunnel blazed with golden light as Sweet Liberty's prow emerged first - a continent-sized vessel of gleaming Tyranimite-Auramite, Blackstone and Adamantium breaking through reality itself. Behind her came the rest of Battlefleet Liberty, each vessel a city in its own right, their hulls adorned with eagles and lightning bolts that seemed to move in the ethereal light of the webway.

Fleet Admiral Elena Koshka stood on Sweet Liberty's bridge, her form dwarfed by the hololithic displays showing the Port of Lost Souls in all its twisted glory. Spires of bone and metal reached up like grasping fingers into the artificial sky, while countless Dark Eldar vessels nestled among them like predatory birds in a forest of steel.

"Shadow field generators marked for targeting," announced the targeting officer. "CIA teams report ready."

Elena's lips curved into a cold smile. "Commence Operation Daybreak."

Across the Port of Souls, precision charges detonated simultaneously. The shadow fields protecting the port flickered and died, leaving the Port naked before Sweet Liberty's guns for the first time in its history. Alarm sirens wailed across the port, their sound quickly drowned out by something far more terrifying - the battle cry of Sweet Liberty's weapons awakening.

Elena's voice carried the weight of decades of naval tradition as she gave the order: "All batteries, commence firing. Show them what freedom looks like."

Sweet Liberty's first response was apocalyptic. Macro-cannons larger than cathedrals spoke in harmony, their shells crossing the void to tear through the closest Dark Eldar vessels. The sleek xenos ships, built for speed and stealth, found their advantages stripped away as Liberty's targeting cogitators tracked them with merciless precision.

The Nova Cannons fired next. Each shot carried the power of a small sun, and where they struck, entire sections of the port simply ceased to exist. Spires that had stood since before humanity's birth toppled like felled trees, their wraithbone structures unable to withstand the concentrated fury of Freedom.

"Launch the smart missile swarms," Elena commanded. "Targeting package Epsilon-Seven."

The sky turned to metal as thousands of missiles descended upon the port. Unlike crude explosives, these were hunting packs, each one programmed to seek specific targets. They dove into streets and buildings, threading through architecture like schools of steel fish, detonating with surgical precision against power nodes, weapon emplacements, and command centers.

From Sweet Liberty's launch bays came the Melta Torpedoes, their warheads designed to unleash concentrated thermal energy of unimaginable intensity. Where they struck, matter did not simply vanish—it liquefied and vaporized in an instant, reduced to molten slag and plumes of superheated gas. Ammunition dumps exploded in chain reactions, docking claws collapsed into pools of glowing metal, and defensive batteries melted into unrecognizable ruins. The once-pristine structure of the port became a scorched landscape of twisted, bubbling wreckage, seared with the fury of the torpedoes' devastating impact.

Escort squadrons engaged Dark Eldar fast-attack craft, while strike cruisers methodically eliminated defensive platforms. The void burned with weapons fire, painting the eternal twilight of Commorragh with the colors of Imperial retribution.

"Landing zones Alpha through Delta cleared," reported the ground assault coordinator. "Commencing Monolith deployment."

From high above, massive Pyramid structures began their controlled descent. Each Monolith was a self-contained fortress, bristling with weapons and containing eternity gates. They crashed into the cleared zones with earth-shaking force, their anti-grav systems ensuring they landed perfectly oriented despite the chaos around them.

Blue energy flared from the Monoliths' gates as the Liberty Guard poured forth. Regiment after regiment of Transhumans in advanced exo-armor emerged, their Pulse Rifles already tracking targets. They moved with transhuman precision, securing their positions with practiced efficiency.

In the command throne which was rather large for her, Elena watched the tactical displays with satisfaction. The port's defenses were crumbling, its surviving defenders caught between orbital bombardment and ground assault. Dark Eldar ships trying to flee found their escape routes cut off by carefully positioned squadrons of Imperial vessels.

"My Lady," her communications officer called out, "Word from Director Jaxsen. CIA teams are falling back to extraction points. They report multiple strategic targets marked for destruction."

"Acknowledge their transmission," Elena replied. "Tell them well done. Tactical, prepare firing solutions for all marked targets. Time to clean house."

Sweet Liberty's guns spoke again, this time with target data provided by ground teams. Strategic locations throughout the port disappeared in carefully controlled barrages, each shot calculated to maximize damage to Dark Eldar assets while minimizing risk to friendly forces.

"Status report on beachhead establishment?" she asked.

"All primary objectives secured, My Lady. Liberty Guard forces reporting minimal resistance. The enemy is in full retreat from the landing zones."

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

Somewhere Above Lower Commorragh,

The stealth craft hummed quietly as it cut through Commorragh's artificial atmosphere, its advanced cloaking systems rendering it virtually invisible against the perpetual twilight of the Dark City. Inside, Franklin Valorian and his Primeborn Captains stood ready at the deployment bay, the open door letting in the acrid wind of the dark realm.

Below them, through gaps in the artificial clouds, they could see Sweet Liberty's bombardment turning the Port of Lost Souls into apocalyptic artwork. Each explosion lit up the darkness like artificial suns, while streams of missiles traced elegant patterns through the sky. It was almost beautiful, in a devastatingly lethal way.

Franklin stood at the edge, his massive frame filling the doorway as he checked his equipment one final time. Behind him, his Captains – Denzel Washington, Steven Armstrong, John Ezra, Vladimir Mendelev and Henry Cavill – performed their own final checks.

Henry Cavill, the time-displaced Liberty Eagle, looked down at the growing congregation of Dark Eldar forces below, his enhanced vision picking out details of their frantic preparations. He cleared his throat, an oddly human gesture for a transhuman warrior.

"Father," Henry said, his face scrunched in mock concern, "Are you sure jumping right into the middle of that Dark Eldar mob is wise? The Codex Astartes does not support this action"

The entire cabin went silent. Franklin turned slowly, one eyebrow raised in that particular way that suggested he knew a joke was coming. The other Primeborn looked at Henry with varying degrees of confusion and curiosity. Even the ship's automatons seemed to pause in their duties.

John Ezra, ever the serious one, actually started scanning through his mental copy of the Codex Libertatis, muttering, "I don't recall any specific prohibitions against high-altitude insertions into xenos cities..."

Denzel leaned over to Armstrong. "Did our time-traveling brother finally lose it?"

Armstrong shrugged his massive shoulders. "With Henry, who can tell anymore?"

"Eh...more reminiscing da?" Vladimir added.

Henry maintained his serious expression for about three seconds before cracking, a grin spreading across his face. "Sorry, sorry – force of habit. You see, in the future, I used to work with this absolutely brilliant Ultramarine, Captain Titus. Great warrior, better friend. Every time we'd do something particularly outrageous, I'd say that line just to watch him roll his eyes, But he had this one battle-brother, Leandros..."

"Every single time Titus would do something awesome but slightly unconventional, there was Leandros, ready to quote the Codex and tattle to the nearest Inquisitor."

Franklin's serious expression cracked into a grin. "Let me guess – middle management material?"

"The worst kind," Henry confirmed. "You know the type – more concerned with following rules than winning battles. Actually reported Titus to the Inquisition for 'suspected corruption' just because he was able to resist some Warp effects better than expected."

"You're shitting me," Denzel interjected, shaking his head. "His own battle-brother?"

"Straight to the Inquisition," Henry nodded. "No discussion, no benefit of the doubt. Just straight to 'Hello Inquisitor, my Captain's being too competent, please investigate.'"

Franklin moved back to the door, the dark city beckoning below. He turned to his sons, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Just remember, brothers – the Codex Astartes says nothing about dropping onto Vect's head from orbit, Well then, shall we do something the Codex definitely doesn't support?"

"Fuck Leandros?" Henry suggested cheerfully.

"FUCK LEANDROS!" Franklin boomed, and without another word, he stepped backward into the void, his massive form plummeting toward the dark city below.

Henry looked at his brother captains, all of them sharing the same shit-eating grin. "You heard the Primarch."

"Fuck Leandros!" they chorused, following their father into the abyss.

As they fell, their jump packs igniting in perfect sequence, Henry couldn't help but think that somewhere, centuries in the future, Captain Titus would thoroughly approve of this particular breach of Codex protocol.

Denzel's voice crackled over the vox: "You know, brother, I think I'm going to start saying that before every questionable tactical decision."

"The Codex Astartes does not support this action?" Armstrong's amusement was clear even through the static.

"No," Denzel replied as they all activated their stealth fields, disappearing from view. "Fuck Leandros."


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