The Primarch of Liberty

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."

The harsh landscape of Medusa stretched out before Ferrus Manus, its rugged terrain a mirror to his own unyielding nature. The Primarch of the Iron Hands stood motionless, his metallic hands gleaming in the dim light as he watched his Legion assemble before him. But it wasn't just his own sons that caught his attention. His gaze was drawn to the approaching figure of Franklin Valorian, the self-styled Liberator, and his Liberty Eagles.

Franklin's gait was relaxed, almost carefree, a stark contrast to the grim determination etched into every line of Ferrus's being, The Primarch of the Liberty Eagles, his cape adorned with an ancient Terran flag fluttering dramatically behind him.. As the Liberator drew near, Ferrus couldn't help but reflect on what he had learned of this peculiar Primarch and his

Legion.

Ferrus's lip curled slightly, a mixture of disdain and grudging respect warring within him. Franklin's jovial demeanor, his constant jests and easy smiles, grated on Ferrus's stoic

sensibilities.

The Liberty Eagles. Even their name spoke of ideals that Ferrus found... frivolous. And yet, the records spoke for themselves. The least casualties among the four active Legions with a Primarch at their helm. The highest rate of bloodless compliances. It was a record that demanded respect, even if Ferrus struggled to understand the methods behind it.

Franklin's personality grated on Ferrus. The constant jokes, the irreverence, the seeming lack of proper decorum - it all felt wrong to the Primarch of the Iron Hands. War was serious business, the forging of an empire a task of utmost gravity. How could one approach it with

such... levity?n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

And yet, results were results. Ferrus was nothing if not practical, and he couldn't deny the effectiveness of Franklin's approach. Propaganda, misdirection, false control - these were weapons as surely as any bolter or chainsword, even if they were not the type Ferrus preferred

to wield.

As Franklin drew closer, flashing that infuriating grin of his, Ferrus's mind turned to the broader implications of his brother's methods. The concept of "managed democracy" that he had read about - it was a time-consuming process, yes, but one that seemed to yield greater control over the populace in the long run. It was... efficient, in its own way.

Ferrus's metallic hands clenched involuntarily as he watched his brother's approach. His mind, as unyielding as the iron that coursed through his veins, began to process his thoughts on this most unusual of his siblings.

Franklin Valorian, Ferrus mused, a riddle wrapped in an enigma, shrouded in a jester's motley.

The Primarch of the Iron Hands had to admit, albeit grudgingly, that there was more to Franklin than met the eye. Their earlier confrontation, followed by Franklin's nonchalant reaction to being hit, had left Ferrus with a mix of confusion and reluctant respect.

He possesses strength, Ferrus acknowledged, though he seems loath to display it without cause. A curious trait in one bred for war.

As Franklin drew nearer, his trademark grin visible even from a distance, Ferrus found himself comparing their legions. The Iron Hands stood in perfect formation, they are already showing early augmentation, to their pursuit of strength through unity with the machine. In contrast, Ferrus had observed the Liberty Eagles during their brief interaction - disciplined, yes, but with an air of individuality that seemed at odds with the uniformity Ferrus prized.

His legion reflects him, Ferrus thought. Capable, yet lacking the rigid structure that true strength requires. Or does it? The thought gave him pause. Franklin's methods were undeniably effective, his combat record beyond doubt. Perhaps there was merit in his approach, unorthodox as it seemed.

Ferrus's gaze drifted to Franklin's mechsuit, his iron eyes analyzing its construction with the

keen insight of a master craftsman. Despite himself, he found the design intriguing. It was clearly advanced, incorporating technologies that even Ferrus, with his intimate knowledge

of machinery, found novel.

He understands the strength of the machine, Ferrus conceded, though he does not embrace it as fully as he should. There is potential there, untapped.

He watched as Franklin approached, that insufferable grin plastered across his face. The Liberator was flanked by his Astartes and their mortal counterparts, the Liberty Guardsmen. Both groups were clad in exo-suits that put the Imperium's standard power armor to shame. In their hands, disintegration weapons hummed with barely contained energy. Ferrus's analytical mind couldn't help but admire the technical prowess on display. The Independence Cluster, that shard of humanity's Golden Age that Franklin shepherded, was clearly a technological powerhouse. The report in his hands confirmed it: 80% of the Imperium's highest quality equipment came from the Cluster.

And therein lay the rub. The Mechanicum of Mars, that other technological titan of the Imperium, was at odds with the Cluster. Two behemoths of innovation and production, locked in a cold war of ideology and patents.

Ferrus's mind raced with possibilities. Could he bridge the gap between these two giants? Could he leverage their rivalry to benefit his own Legion? The Iron Hands, augmented by both Martian and Cluster technology... the potential was staggering.

But as Franklin drew closer, Ferrus's thoughts turned back to the Liberator himself. What

manner of man was he truly? A jester, using humor to disarm and manipulate? A man of war, hiding his true nature behind a façade of joviality? A conqueror masquerading as a savior? Ferrus recalled the interaction he had witnessed between Franklin and the Emperor. There had been... something there. A warmth, a familiarity that went beyond the usual relationship between the Emperor and his sons.

"Favored son?" Ferrus mused, the words bitter on his tongue. But no, that wasn't quite right. It wasn't favoritism he had sensed, but rather... understanding. As if the Emperor and Franklin spoke a language all their own, one of shared experiences and mutual respect.

It irked Ferrus, this easy rapport between his brother and their father. He had challenged the Emperor, had fought with all his might to prove his worth. And yet, it was Franklin - with his jests and his smiles - who seemed to truly comprehend the Emperor's vision. Ferrus's gaze swept over the assembled Liberty Eagles once more. Their arsenal was diverse, a far cry from the specialized approach favored by most Legions. "They bring every weapon to bear," he realized. Not just in terms of physical armaments, but in strategy as well. Diplomacy, subterfuge, open warfare - all were tools in Franklin's arsenal.

It was... impressive. Loathe as Ferrus was to admit it, there was a cunning to Franklin's

approach that he couldn't deny. The Liberator's methods might lack the straightforward honor that Ferrus prized, but their effectiveness was undeniable.

As Franklin finally reached him, that infuriating grin still in place, Ferrus made a decision. He would watch this brother of his closely. He would learn from Franklin's successes, adapt what strategies he could to suit the Iron Hands. And perhaps, in time, he would come to understand

the man behind the jester's mask.

"Brother," Ferrus greeted, his voice gruff but not openly hostile. "Your Legion is...

impressive."

Franklin's grin, if possible, grew even wider. "Why, Ferrus! Was that almost a compliment?

Be careful, you might pull something if you're not used to it."

Ferrus grunted, already regretting his decision. But as Franklin launched into what was undoubtedly going to be a long-winded and pun-filled explanation of his Legion's capabilities, Ferrus found himself listening intently.

The Gorgon of Medusa, the Iron-Handed Lord of the Tenth, was not one for subtlety or

diplomacy. But even he could recognize the value of a different perspective. And Franklin Valorian, for all his irritating qualities, offered just that.

As the two Primarchs stood there, one grim and unyielding, the other animated and jovial, the

future of the Imperium seemed to shift ever so slightly. The Great Crusade was still in its early

stages, and the bonds forged between brothers in these moments would shape the fate of humanity for millennia to come.

The galaxy was vast, the enemies of mankind numberless. But with brothers like Franklin at

his side - infuriating as they might be - perhaps victory was not as impossible as it sometimes seemed.

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 ice 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."