The protective ward surrounding the book shimmered like heat waves over desert sand, though instead of heat, it radiated pure knowledge. Franklin could feel the psychic resonance buzzing against his armor, making his newly acquired clown nose tingle with arcane energy.
"Well," Franklin mused, reaching toward the barrier, "let's hope this goes better than Magnus's average Tuesday of forbidden knowledge seeking."
The ward responded to his touch with a gentle pulse, as if recognizing something familiar in his psychic signature. Instead of the expected resistance, it seemed to welcome him, parting like curtains before a VIP guest. The book practically leaped into his hands, its pages already fluttering open to the first chapter.
"Eager little thing, aren't you?" Franklin chuckled.
"On the Nature of Nascent Deities and Their Influence." The academic tone of the text was a stark contrast to the previous book's trolling, making the revelation all the more impactful.
"Finally, something written by someone who doesn't think coherence is a sign of weakness."
"So that's how my soul was made, huh?" Franklin chuckled, his laughter echoing through the impossibly vast shelves. A nearby Harlequin, who had been arranging books while standing on the ceiling, paused to hold up a sign: "SPOILER ALERT!"
Franklin leaned back against a bookshelf (which obligingly adjusted its angle to provide perfect support) and began processing the information, his tactician's mind connecting dots across millennia of history.
"Let me get this straight," he mused aloud, earning a "SHHH!" from three different directions. He switched to a theatrical whisper, "The Emperor didn't just create my soul from scratch – he essentially created the conditions for a Minor Warp God of Liberty to form and then anchored it into a primarch-grade body?"
A book titled "Obvious Answers to Obvious Questions" fell off a nearby shelf, landing open at his feet. Franklin picked it up, finding a single word on the page: "DUH!"
"Well, that explains a few things," Franklin continued, ignoring the literary sass. "The independence of Nova Libertas, the unwavering devotion to freedom, the ability to resist chaos corruption..." He paused, looking down at his clown makeup in the reflection of a particularly shiny book cover. "Though it doesn't explain why I keep ending up in these ridiculous situations."
A passing Harlequin held up a quick series of cards:
"CHAOS GODS = DRAMA"
"MINOR GODS = COMEDY"
"YOU = COMIC RELIEF FOR THE GALAXY"
"Thanks for the clarification," Franklin deadpanned. "Really helps with the existential crisis."
He turned back to the book, his finger tracing over the section about "Localized Reality Manipulation" and "Destiny Convergence." The text seemed to glow slightly under his touch, as if responding to his presence.
"So every time I've led my Legion to victory, every impossible shot that landed exactly where it needed to, every plan that came together despite astronomical odds..." He shook his head, grinning. "I've been basically running on divine probability manipulation powered by humanity's desire for freedom?"
The book's pages ruffled in what might have been agreement, or possibly just the cosmic equivalent of a shrug.
"And the whole 'Destiny Convergence' thing explains why Nova Libertas became such a powerhouse of innovation and independence." Franklin stroked his chin thoughtfully, smudging some of his clown makeup. "Though I have to wonder – did the Emperor know exactly what he was creating, or did he just throw some freedom-flavored warp juice into the primarch soup and hope for the best?"
A new book suddenly appeared on a nearby pedestal, titled "The Emperor's Cookbook: Primarch Edition." Before Franklin could reach for it, a Harlequin swooped down and slapped his hand with a ruler, holding up a sign that read: "THAT'S FOR A DIFFERENT EXISTENTIAL CRISIS."
Franklin raised his hands in surrender, leaving the cookbook for another day. He returned to the text about Minor Warp Gods, particularly focusing on the warnings about anchoring such entities.
"Well, at least that explains why I can't sit still during council meetings – try containing the anthropomorphic personification of liberty in a chair for six hours." He paused, considering. "Though I suppose it could be worse. Imagine if I'd been created from the concept of paperwork. Poor Roboute..."
The nearby books trembled in what might have been laughter.
"But wait," Franklin said, a new thought occurring to him. "If I'm essentially an anchored Minor Warp God of Liberty, and I'm trying to prevent Magnus from doing everything wrong..." He trailed off, his eyes widening. "Oh, this is going to be interesting. A Minor God of Liberty trying to save a brother from becoming a pawn of Tzeentch. The irony levels are off the charts."
A book titled "Cosmic Irony: A User's Guide" helpfully fell into his hands, opening to a chapter about family interventions across the Immaterium.
"Right," Franklin nodded, closing both books with determination. "So to save Magnus and his sons, I need to understand how his nature as a Minor Warp God might interact with their situation. Maybe find a way to use this whole 'Harmonic Resonance' thing to counter the Flesh Change..."
He looked down at his still-glowing clown nose, then back at the books around him. "Though first, I should probably figure out how to navigate out of here without looking like I just graduated from the Cegorach School of Cosmetic Arts."
The nearby Harlequin librarian shook their head and held up a final card: "THE NOSE STAYS ON UNTIL THE LESSON IS LEARNED"
"And what lesson would that be?" Franklin asked, already dreading the answer.
The Harlequin's response card read: "THAT SOMETIMES THE BEST WAY TO FIGHT CHAOS IS TO EMBRACE ABSURDITY"
Franklin closed the weighty tome on Minor Warp Gods with the careful precision of someone who's seen too many books try to bite back. The cover patterns writhed beneath his fingers like angry snakes at a jazz concert.
"All this talk about anchors and resonance," he muttered to his glowing clown nose, which honked sympathetically, "and not one straightforward solution. Typical. It's like reading an IKEA manual written by Tzeentch."
THUD
The sound behind him was as subtle as a Titan doing tippy-toes. Franklin turned, his clown makeup somehow managing to express both resignation and curiosity, to find a new book sprawled on the floor. It lay there like a cat that had meant to fall and was now trying to play it cool.
"'Warp Corruption and Remedies: A Practical Guide for the Chronically Screwed,'" Franklin read aloud, his painted eyebrows rising high enough to threaten escape velocity. "Well, that's refreshingly blunt for the Black Library. Usually, they prefer titles like 'On the Nature of Nature's Natural Nature, Naturally.'"
The book hummed in his hands like an excited puppy, practically vibrating with eagerness to be opened. A nearby Harlequin librarian held up a sign: "IT LIKES YOU!"
"Great," Franklin muttered, "now I'm getting dating advice from library books." Nevertheless, he opened it, bracing himself for another round of cosmic trolling.
Instead, he was greeted by text that could have come from a self-help book written by a particularly sassy author:
"Chapter One: So, You've Got a Flesh Change Problem."
Franklin's laughter echoed through the impossible architecture of the library, causing several books about silence to fall off their shelves in protest. "Finally! Someone in this maze of knowledge actually gets to the point. Though I'm pretty sure this is the first time in history anyone's treated widespread genetic corruption like it's a common cold."
The next page revealed what could only be described as a children's book illustration of a Space Marine mid-transformation. The Marine had googly eyes that seemed to follow Franklin as he moved, and the mutations looked more like balloon animals gone wrong than eldritch horrors.
"'This could be you!'" Franklin read the caption, snorting. "'But don't panic, we've got solutions.' Right. If this book starts trying to sell me essential oils for the Flesh Change, I'm using it as target practice."
The book's pages ruffled indignantly, flipping themselves with the attitude of an offended professor. They settled on a section titled "Warp Stabilization Through Nascent Entities: Turning Chaos Against Chaos."
"Now we're talking," Franklin leaned in, his clown nose casting a red glow over the text. "Though I have to admit, 'turning Chaos against Chaos' sounds like fighting fire with fire, except the fire is sentient and has a grudge against reality."
The chapter laid out its theory with all the confidence of a drunk remembering quantum physics. Harmonic resonance, sympathetic constructs, and warp stabilization techniques were explained with helpful diagrams that seemed to be drawn by someone who'd taken "abstract art" as a literal challenge.
"So let me get this straight," Franklin mused, absently smudging his clown makeup as he rubbed his chin. "I need to find a nascent Warp entity to act as a cosmic tuning fork for Magnus's sons? That's like trying to fix a broken violin with a demolition ball – technically possible, but the collateral damage might be interesting."
A Harlequin materialized nearby, holding up a series of cards in quick succession:
"SOUNDS DANGEROUS"
"COULD GO HORRIBLY WRONG"
"DO IT ANYWAY"
"FOR SCIENCE!"
"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Franklin deadpanned. "Really helps with the decision-making process."
He continued reading, occasionally muttering commentary that would have made a tech-priest blush. The book's warnings about over-reliance on nascent entities were particularly colorful, complete with little doodles of what appeared to be stick figures being consumed by their own success.
Then came the postscript, written in font so small it might have been trying to hide from itself: "P.S. For best results, consult your local Warp God before proceeding. Terms and conditions apply. Side effects may include spontaneous reality-bending, time loops, or general eldritch weirdness. Refunds unavailable."
"Consult a Warp God?" Franklin laughed, closing the book with a snap. "Yeah, I think I'll pass on asking Tzeentch for advice. That's like asking a cat for swimming lessons – technically possible, but you know they're just waiting to watch you drown."
He tucked the book under his arm, his tactical mind already plotting how to use this information with Magnus. "Though I suppose I could consult the Emperor. He's totally not a god, just a being of immense power who can reshape reality and may or may not be responsible for creating several demigods. Completely different thing."
As Franklin turned to leave, his library card caught his attention, glowing with newly added titles:
Minor Warp Gods and Their Interactions When Brought into the Materium
Warp Corruption and Remedies: A Practical Guide for the Chronically Screwed
"I don't even want to know what the late fees are like here," Franklin muttered, eyeing the card suspiciously. "Probably something like 'your firstborn soul' or 'eternal service in the comedy section.'"
The card hummed ominously, as if to say it had much more creative ideas for dealing with overdue books. Franklin could have sworn he saw fine print appearing and disappearing along its edges, listing penalties that would make a daemon prince think twice.
"Library rules," he smirked, pocketing the card. "Always more complicated than they look. It's like they took normal bureaucracy and decided to add extra dimensions to it. Literally."
As Franklin strode deeper into the labyrinth of knowledge, his clown nose lighting the way, he couldn't help but wonder if this was all part of some cosmic joke. Here he was, a Minor Warp God of Liberty disguised as a Primarch, wearing clown makeup, carrying books about fixing genetic corruption, all while trying to prevent his brother from doing everything wrong.
A final sign floated down from above: "THAT'S COMEDY FOR YOU!"
"Story of my life," Franklin replied, ducking under a shelf that had decided to rearrange itself into a Möbius strip. "Now, let's go see if we can't turn this tragedy into a comedy with a happy ending. Though knowing my luck, the happy ending will probably involve more clown makeup."
His nose honked in agreement, and somewhere in the infinite library, the laughter of gods echoed through the impossible shelves, accompanying a Primarch on his quest to save his brother through the power of cosmic comedy and questionable library books.
------------------------
Franklin was making his way back to the exit, arms loaded with precious tomes, when his attention was caught by a golden figure slumped over a massive book. The Custodian's armor gleamed in the Library's shifting, unearthly light. Despite the battle-plate, the figure had somehow managed to find the one reading chair in existence perfectly sized for his massive frame.
"Kitten?" Franklin's tone was laced with surprise.
The Custodian looked up from his reading. The book in his hands was entitled, "The Complete History of Everything (Abridged) - Volume 1 of ∞".
"Lord Franklin?" Kitten's expression shifted from surprise to mild concern. "What happened to your face?"
Franklin's red clown nose let out an untimely honk, as if mocking him.
"Not. One. Word." Franklin raised a power-armored finger, his clown makeup somehow making the gesture both more and less threatening. "Not a single word about this to Dear Old Dad. Unless, of course, you want your armor to mysteriously turn silver overnight."
Kitten's helmet snapped up straight. "You wouldn't dare!"
"Try me, sunshine. I know a guy who knows a guy who knows several Harlequins who'd consider it a delightful prank."
"My lips are sealed, Lord Primarch. Though I must say, the colors really bring out your eyes."
"Says the guy whose closest comrades are three oil-obsessed exhibitionists," Franklin quipped, settling into an impossibly convenient chair that materialized behind him.
Kitten groaned, rubbing his temple. "Please, don't remind me. They've been at it all week. Do you know what it's like trying to train with constant posing and dramatic speeches in the background?"
Franklin chuckled. "Let me guess – that's why there's so much oil in the requisition forms?"
"They call it essential materiel. I've tried explaining that we're not at war with dryness, but they don't listen," Kitten replied, exasperated.
Franklin gestured at the surrounding shelves. "So, what brings you to this infinite nexus of impossible knowledge? Hiding from the Fabulous Three?"
"Not exactly. Research," Kitten replied, patting his book. "There's so much here about the universe's history. Did you know there was a phenomenon in M2 called 'memes'? Fascinating stuff. Though, I suspect some of these entries might be Cegorach's sense of humor. For example, I refuse to believe in the Great Crusade of the Dancing Lobsters."
Franklin snorted. "If Cegorach wrote it, it's probably canon somewhere."
"Speaking of impossible things," Franklin leaned forward, his expression thoughtful, "how exactly did you get in here? I had to seal breaches in the Webway and make the Laughing God himself laugh."
Kitten set his book aside, sighing. "You know the Webway Portal beneath the Palace? There's this tiny portal in the wraithbone structure—barely visible unless you're doing a deep clean. Long story short, my Custodian reflexes kicked in. Slipped through at the exact right moment."
Franklin raised an eyebrow. "And ended up here?"
"After a few wrong turns, yes," Kitten admitted. "The first time, I thought I was in trouble. But the Harlequins seemed amused. They let me stay, probably because I reshelve the books properly."
Franklin nodded sagely. "So, how often do you sneak in here?"
Kitten hesitated before producing a crystalline library card, similar to Franklin's but embossed with tiny golden helmets. "Often enough to have one of these."
Franklin stifled a laugh. "And what exactly are you borrowing?"
Kitten looked away, suspiciously nonchalant. "Research. General knowledge. Nothing specific."
"Sure," Franklin drawled, smirking. "Not at all related to the ginger cat I saw napping in the Palace last week."
Kitten coughed. "Unrelated. Entirely."
Franklin decided to let the topic slide, standing and adjusting his stack of books. "Well, I should get going. Got a brother to save, a universe to fix, all the usual Primarch business."
"If you're taking the main exit," Kitten warned, "watch out for the juggling section. The books there tend to… participate."
Franklin laughed, tapping his red nose. "Thanks for the tip. And remember—our deal."
"What deal?" Kitten replied, already back to his reading. "I've seen no Primarchs today. Especially not one wearing excellent clown makeup."
As Franklin strode toward the exit, he could swear he heard Kitten humming circus music. But then again, in the Black Library, absurdity was the rule, not the exception.
With his mission accomplished and an unexpected encounter behind him, Franklin smirked. Knowledge gained, books secured, and plenty of blackmail material about a certain Custodian's reading habits.
All in all, a productive day in the grim darkness of the far future—where, on occasion, even a certain Custodian could find solace in a hidden library of infinite possibilities.
The gilded halls of the Imperial Palace echoed with footsteps that somehow managed to sound irreverent. Franklin Valorian, the 11th Primarch, strode through the corridors with an air that seemed to challenge the very solemnity of his surroundings. Fresh traces of greasepaint still clung to the corners of his face – remnants of whatever mischief had earned him entry into the Black Library. His massive frame carried precious tomes with uncharacteristic gentleness, their ancient bindings protected against his Tyranimite armor.
As the towering doors of the Sanctum Imperialis parted before him, Franklin's face broke into what could only be described as a schoolboy's grin. The chamber beyond held wonders beyond mortal comprehension: impossibly complex machinery, gates to dimensions unknown, and at its heart, the partially-constructed Golden Throne. Beside it stood his father, the Emperor of Mankind, currently elbow-deep in what appeared to be the throne's quantum mechanics interface.
"Hey there, Daddy-o!" Franklin's voice boomed through the sanctum with deliberate cheerfulness. He threw a salute that somehow managed to be both technically perfect and slightly mocking. The Emperor, surrounded by floating hololithic displays and crackling with psychic energy, spared him the briefest of glances before returning to his work. A slight tightening around his eyes was the only acknowledgment of his son's characteristic irreverence.
"You know," Franklin continued, undeterred by the minimal response, "most fathers would at least pretend to be concerned when their son returns from a library full of homicidal space clowns." He approached the throne's platform, carefully setting down the ancient tomes. "Though I suppose most fathers aren't busy building interdimensional subway systems either."
The Emperor's hands continued their precise movements through the hololithic interface, but a barely perceptible sigh escaped him. "Proceed," he commanded, his voice carrying the weight of millennia.
Franklin's grin widened. "Right, so about that little problem with our resident nerd and his sons..." He gestured to the books. "I picked up some light reading material. This one's particularly interesting – 'Minor Warp Gods and Their Interactions When Brought into the Materium.' The checkout policy was murder, by the way. Literally. Had to juggle three Harlequins while reciting Aeldari poetry backwards."
The Emperor's hands paused in their work. His golden eyes fixed upon the books, then moved to his son's mind, scanning the memories of their acquisition. Franklin allowed the inspection with an exaggerated eye-roll.
"Right, so here's the thing," Franklin began, pacing energetically. "The Thousand Sons' gene-seed problem? It's basically a harmony issue. Think of it like a cosmic orchestra where Magnus is the conductor, but half the musicians are playing from different sheet music." He paused, waggling his eyebrows meaningfully at his father. "And I'm pretty sure a certain feathered friend of ours snuck some blue notes into the composition, if you catch my drift."
Franklin continued, "Now, according to these books – and let me tell you, getting them was an adventure involving three mime performances and what I can only describe as interpretive dance – we can fix this. We need three things: the source of the original resonance, that's Magnus; a ritual sacrifice from said source, probably just some psychic energy or something, no need to get dramatic; and..." He paused for effect, grinning widely, "a local Warp deity to keep the other gods from crashing the party."
The Emperor's golden eyes narrowed slightly. "You tread dangerous ground, Franklin."
"Now, now," Franklin held up his hands in mock defense, "I'm not naming names, Man-Emperor of Mankind." He emphasized the title with theatrical gravity.
A heavy silence fell over the chamber, broken only by the distant hum of machinery. The Emperor's psychic presence expanded, filling the room with a weight that would have brought lesser beings to their knees. Franklin merely stood there, still smiling, though his eyes held a serious gleam.
"The real trick," Franklin continued, undaunted by his father's display of power, "is how we're going to involve Magnus without him finding out about the whole 'Chaos Gods' situation. Though between you and me, I'm pretty sure he's already got some ideas. Guy spends more time in the Warp than some demons I know. Not that I know any demons. Officially."
The Emperor rose from the Golden Throne, His massive form towering even over His Primarch son. "Magnus's revelation must come from Me, at the proper time. Your focus should remain on the Thousand Sons themselves."
"Fair enough," Franklin conceded, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Though I hope your idea of 'proper time' isn't going to be like that time you tried to explain the birds and the bees to Leman Russ. Poor guy still thinks Fenrisian Wolves have something to do with it."
The Emperor's stern expression didn't waver, but He reached out and activated the Akashic Reader. Images and information began to flow through the air between Father and Son.
"The timeline remains unchanged," the Emperor stated, showing Franklin visions of possible futures. "Magnus's fall was never born of malice, but of pride and ignorance. His actions, though devastating, were meant to save, not destroy."
"Yeah, that's our Magnus alright. Heart of gold, head of granite." Franklin studied the projected images thoughtfully. "You know, for a guy who can see the future, you sure do let a lot of bad stuff happen."
"The paths of fate are-"
"'Complex and interconnected, requiring careful manipulation lest we cause greater catastrophes,'" Franklin finished in a passable imitation of his father's voice. "I know, I know. But sometimes I think you just like being cryptic. Would it kill you to actually explain things to your kids once in a while?"
The Emperor's response was to show more images: Magnus breaking the wards of the Imperial Palace, the Webway Project in ruins, Terra besieged by demons. "Some truths must be earned through bitter experience."
"Right, because that worked out so well with Horus," Franklin muttered, then quickly raised his hands again as the temperature in the room plummeted. "Sorry, sorry! Too soon? It's still too soon, isn't it?"
The Emperor turned back to the Golden Throne, clearly considering the conversation concluded. "Focus on the ritual. I will handle Magnus."
"You got it, Dad!" Franklin called out cheerfully, gathering up the books. "Oh, and maybe next time we can talk about your tendency to play favorites? I mean, I know I'm clearly the best son, but some of the others are getting jealous."
As he reached the door, Franklin turned back one last time. "You know, a little humor wouldn't kill you. Might even help with the whole 'mysterious all-powerful being' thing you're going for. Try it sometime!"
The only response was the sound of tools resuming their work on the Golden Throne, but Franklin could have sworn he saw the slightest shake of his father's head – whether in amusement or exasperation, even the Primarch couldn't tell.
As the doors closed behind him, Franklin couldn't help but grin. "Well, that went better than expected. Nobody burst into flames this time!"
-----------------------------
The crystal spires of Tizca gleamed under the twin suns of Prospero as Franklin Valorian strode through the corridors of Magnus's personal sanctum. The scent of ancient parchment and psychic residue permeated the air, mixing with the distinct aroma of frustrated Primarch – a bouquet Franklin had become quite familiar with during his visits to his various brothers.
He found Magnus exactly where he expected: hunched over a massive tome, his crimson form radiating waves of psychic energy that made the nearby crystals hum in sympathetic resonance. The floor around his desk was littered with discarded scrolls and failed experimental notes, all bearing the telltale signs of research into the Flesh Change.
"Knock knock!" Franklin called out cheerfully, rapping his knuckles against a crystal column. "Your favorite brother brings gifts from the nerdiest library in existence!"
Magnus looked up, his eyes focusing on Franklin with a mixture of curiosity and mild exasperation. "Franklin. I wasn't expecting you until next month. Don't tell me you've managed to set another sector on fire with one of your... experiments."
"That was ONE time," Franklin protested, producing the copied tomes from his Mechsuit's storage compartment. "And technically, it wasn't fire – it was synchronized quantum destabilization that just happened to look like fire. Totally different thing."
Magnus's eye fell on the books' titles, and his eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline. "'Minor Warp Gods and Their Interactions When Brought into the Materium' and 'Warp Corruption and Remedies: A Practical Guide for the Chronically Screwed'?" He read aloud, his voice caught between amusement and concern. "Do I want to know how you acquired these?"
"Probably not," Franklin grinned, settling himself into a chair that creaked ominously under his Primarch-sized bulk. "Let's just say I now have a newfound appreciation for mime artistry and leave it at that. But check out page 394 – I've got a solution to your legion's little mutation situation."
Magnus carefully opened the first tome, his scholarly instincts temporarily overwhelming his curiosity about his brother's latest escapade. As he read, his expression shifted from skepticism to growing interest. "This ritual... it's surprisingly straightforward. But the components required..." He paused, focusing on a particular passage. "It requires a sacrifice of significance from the progenitor?"
"Yep!" Franklin popped the 'p' sound enthusiastically. "Something personally meaningful that can act as an anchor for the stabilization effect. I was thinking maybe your stamp collection, but you struck me more as the 'dramatic gesture' type."
Magnus stroked his chin thoughtfully, his mind already racing ahead. "My left eye," he declared after a moment. "It would serve as both sacrifice and eternal watchful guardian over my sons, preventing the Flesh Change from ever returning."
"Wow, way to one-up everyone in the dramatic department," Franklin whistled. "But yeah, that'll work. Very symbolic. Very you. Though I was serious about the stamp collection thing – everyone needs a hobby that doesn't involve potentially reality-breaking magic."
Magnus continued reading, then stopped abruptly. "This third component... it requires a local Warp deity to prevent interference from other powers?" His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Franklin, who exactly did you have in mind for this role?"
Franklin's grin widened to near-impossible proportions. "Oh, you know him, I know him – our great golden daddy himself, the one and only Man-Emperor of Mankind!"
Magnus let out a long-suffering sigh, one that seemed to contain millennia of dealing with his brother's irreverence. "You know, sometimes I forget that beneath all the jokes and pop culture references, your mind is actually quite formidable."
"Aww, thanks bro! That's the nicest thing you've said to me since that time I turned Leman's wolves pink for a week."
Magnus's gaze drifted to his personal library shelf, where another book – one of Franklin's previous "gifts" – sat ominously. "Speaking of your mind, that spellbook you gave me... The Imperium really should establish some form of psychic Geneva Convention, if only to prevent you from creating more spells like 'Manual Breathing Awareness' or 'Itchy Bones.'"
"Hey, those are classics! Though I admit, the Testicular Torsion spell might have been a bit much. But you should have seen Angron's face when I used it during our last sparring match!" Franklin chuckled at the memory. "Though maybe we should keep that one between us brothers. The Inquisition might get ideas."
"Franklin," Magnus pinched the bridge of his nose, "the Inquisition doesn't even exist yet."
"Details, details! Speaking of details, we should probably do this ritual on a nice, empty planet. You know, just in case things get a bit... explosive. I know this great spot in Segmentum Pacificus, right on the edge of the Galactic Rim. Perfect for potentially reality-altering rituals that may or may not involve our secretly-a-warp-god father."
Magnus nodded slowly, his tactical mind already working through the logistics. "I'll need time to gather my sons. A few Terran weeks, perhaps?"
"Works for me! I'll send word to dear old dad and get my Techno-seers ready. They've been dying to try out their new Warp-stabilizing algorithms anyway." Franklin stood up, his armor whining slightly from the crystal dust that had somehow accumulated on it. "Just try not to make any deals with suspicious warp entities before then, okay? I hate it when people steal my dramatic timing."
"Franklin," Magnus said as his brother turned to leave, "thank you. Despite your... unique methods, you've provided a solution that might save my sons. I won't forget this."
Franklin waved dismissively. "Hey, what are brothers for? Besides, someone has to keep you from doing something monumentally stupid like, oh, I don't know, breaking through father's psychic barriers and ruining his secret project."
Magnus blinked. "His what project?"
"Nothing, nothing! Forget I said anything. Just focus on getting your legion ready, and I'll handle everything else." Franklin paused at the doorway. "Oh, and Magnus? Maybe lay off the warp-diving for a few weeks? The last thing we need is some overgrown bird daemon trying to crash our party."
As Franklin's footsteps echoed away down the crystal corridors, Magnus returned to studying the ritual texts, a small smile playing at his lips. His brother might be the most irreverent being in the galaxy, but there was no denying his effectiveness. Though he did make a mental note to hide that spellbook better – the last thing the galaxy needed was Leman Russ discovering the "Spontaneous Fur Braiding" enchantment.
In the distance, he could hear Franklin's voice echoing: "Hey, anyone know where I can find a planet-sized ritual circle? Asking for a friend!"
Magnus shook his head and returned to his studies, grateful that at least one of his brothers combined brilliant intellect with enough chaos to make the Warp itself seem orderly by comparison. Though he did wonder if he should warn their father about Franklin's tendency to add explosions to all his rituals...
----------------------------
Magnus the Red stood in quiet reflection, his psychic senses extending outward to absorb the captivating scene unfolding before him. The Techno-seers of the Liberty Eagles presented an intriguing paradox – an immaculate blend of technological precision and psychic potential that challenged everything Magnus thought he understood about the nature of psychic power.
A group of Techno-seers was currently stabilizing a Thousand Sons Marine, who had begun exhibiting signs of the dreaded Flesh Change. Their movements were seamless, executed with a degree of coordination that Magnus could only describe as unnatural. Through his psychic sight, he detected the subtle hum of machine-spirit communication that connected them – an intricate web of unseen technology. Their neural-link visors glowed with a soft blue radiance as data flowed between them, their augur staffs pulsing in perfect synchrony.
"Impressive," Magnus whispered, his scholarly mind cataloguing every detail. "They're not merely containing the mutation – they're actively reversing its progression by manipulating the fabric of reality itself." His gaze remained fixed on the afflicted Marine, whose twisted form gradually returned to its original state, though he noted the effect lasted only as long as the Techno-seers sustained their effort.
"To restrain an Alpha-level psyker," Magnus mused, mentally running through calculations, "they would likely need three Battalions. That assumes a purely defensive operation." He paused, analyzing the situation further. "Their reluctance to employ offensive capabilities introduces an unpredictable factor. A margin of error must be factored in."
The Crimson King paced slowly, his mind swirling with the broader implications of what he was witnessing. The Liberty Eagles' approach to psychic warfare was unlike anything he had ever encountered – perhaps unlike anything in all of galactic history. While most Legions treated their Librarians as specialist combatants, Franklin had molded his into a versatile support network capable of manipulating both technology and the Warp.
His thoughts wandered to combat records he had reviewed. The Liberty Eagles' engagements were often marked by overwhelming force, yet their casualties remained notably low. The Helican Campaign against the Legion of Ouroboros stood out in his memory. A xenos threat that could have dragged on for years had been eradicated in just seven days, thanks to the combined efforts of the Liberty Eagles and the Custodes.
"Seven days to obliterate a hivemind species," Magnus mused with disbelief. "Though perhaps I shouldn't be surprised. Franklin has always had an uncanny ability to find the most efficient path to victory, even if his methods do seem... unconventional."
A grimace flickered across Magnus's face as the memory of the Razing of Commorragh resurfaced. The Dark Eldar, among the most ancient and dangerous species in the galaxy, wielded technology that was incomprehensible to most of the Mechanicum. Yet Franklin had taken the battle straight to their doorstep and emerged victorious.
"Millions dead," Magnus acknowledged quietly. "But against the Dark Eldar, on their own turf... that's practically restraint."
Magnus returned his focus to the ritual instructions Franklin had sent him. As he read through them, he saw the connection unfold. The Techno-seers' ability to temporarily stabilize the Flesh Change suggested that the ritual's approach was sound. Their fusion of technology and psychic power might even offer new insights into how to improve the cure once it was finalized.
"My brother," Magnus chuckled softly to himself, "you disguise yourself as a fool, but in truth, you may be the wisest among us. You've crafted a Legion that perfectly balances brute force with defensive measures, overwhelming power with precise control."
As the demonstration concluded, Magnus watched as the Techno-seers powered down their equipment, and the drones returned to their dormant positions. Each one bore the symbol of the FBI – a mark that seemed both ancient and futuristic, much like the Liberty Eagles themselves.
"The largest concentration of Librarians in any Legion," Magnus mused aloud, "yet their focus is almost entirely on defense and support. An ideal counter to enemy psykers who might attempt to disrupt their technology." A smile tugged at his lips as he realized the brilliance of it. "One reality-bending attack could deactivate their equipment, but good luck getting past their psychic shields to even try."
Magnus turned back to the ritual instructions, his mind suddenly filled with renewed hope for his sons. If Franklin could create such an effective synthesis of technology and psychic power, surely the ritual would work to cure the Flesh Change permanently.
"Soon," Magnus whispered to himself, as if reassuring his Legion, "we will take our rightful place in the Great Crusade. No more fear of sudden transformation, no more holding back." He glanced once more at Franklin's ritual instructions, noting the marginal notes that had become his brother's signature – including a crude sketch of the Emperor with a smiley face. "Though perhaps with slightly less dramatic flair than Franklin might prefer."
The twin suns of Prospero bathed the crystal windows in long shadows as Magnus settled into his preparations. In the distance, he heard the Techno-seers begin their next demonstration, chanting a blend of technological incantations and psychic formulas that somehow reminded him of Franklin's irreverent humor.
"The perfect trade-off," Magnus concluded, understanding fully now why his brother's Legion was so effective. "Unleashed destructive power, tempered by equally absolute defensive measures. Franklin, you magnificent fool, you've created something truly extraordinary."
With fresh determination, Magnus immersed himself in mastering the ritual that would save his sons. Soon, the Thousand Sons would stand alongside their cousins in the Great Crusade, and Magnus anticipated how their unique psychic approaches might complement the Liberty Eagles' unparalleled capabilities.
Still, he made a mental note to ensure that any joint operations avoided Franklin's more... creative battle strategies. The galaxy might not yet be ready for the chaotic mix of traditional psychic power and whatever Franklin might consider "tactically appropriate fireworks deployment."
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