The Primarch of Liberty

Chapter 96: Primarchs and Galactic Infrastructure



The wind carried ash across the ruined cityscape of Nuceria, a world reduced to cinders and broken marble. Angron stood amidst the devastation, his massive frame silhouetted against the smoke-filled sky. Without the Butcher's Nails that had defined his fate in another time, his eyes held clarity instead of rage - though they burned no less intensely as he looked down at the last High Rider squirming beneath his boot.

With a motion faster than thought, Angron's blade flashed. The High Rider's words ended in a wet gurgle as his body fell in two perfect halves. It was done. Nuceria belonged to the dead. Around him, the combined forces of four Legions were withdrawing through the shimmering portals that had brought them here. The Liberty Eagles in their gleaming blue armor, the perfectionist Emperor's Children in their royal purple, his own Warhounds in their Blue and bone ash, and the Space Wolves in their stormy gray. Only the Liberty Guard remained, their advanced scanning equipment sweeping the ruins, documenting everything for posterity and Terraforming.

"Brother."

The word caught his attention, pulling him from his reverie. Turning, Angron saw them standing together: Leman Russ, wild and proud as a winter storm; Fulgrim, resplendent even in battle-stained armor; Franklin Valorian, wearing that impossibly confident grin; and behind them all, the Emperor himself, golden light seeming to emanate from His very being.

"Come here," Franklin called out, waving him over with characteristic enthusiasm. "This is going to be the cornerstone of Imperial propaganda! The first official documentation of the Imperial Family-the gathering of the Primarchs!"

Angron approached cautiously, still unused to such casual familiarity. The blood of his enemies still dripped from his weapons, his gladiator's attire marked with fresh stains. He felt out of place among his regal brothers.

Franklin, ever perceptive, stepped forward and clasped Angron's shoulder. "Stand tall, brother," he said, adjusting Angron's posture with surprising gentleness. "Don't worry about the gladiator gear—the Remembrancers can edit that. What matters is who you are now: one of the Twenty, a son of the Emperor of Mankind." His voice dropped lower, meant for Angron alone. "Let the past burn with Nuceria's ashes."

The Emperor moved to the center, His presence drawing them naturally into formation. Fulgrim took his place with practiced grace, while Russ planted himself firmly, arms crossed in his characteristic pose. Franklin positioned himself next to Angron, providing an anchor of stability.

The strange device-the picter, Angron reminded himself-whirred and clicked, its mechanical eye focusing on them. Angron fought the urge to tense, remembering the maggot-eyes that had once recorded his battles. This was different. This was family.

"Ready?" Franklin called out, his voice carrying the weight of history in the making. "This one's for posterity!"

The picter's flash illuminated the scene for a brief instant, burning away the shadows cast by Nuceria's funeral pyre. In that moment of frozen time, they were captured together: the Emperor, resplendent and powerful; Fulgrim, the perfect prince; Russ, the proud wolf-king; Franklin, the confident liberator; and Angron, no longer a slave but a Primarch among Primarchs.

Behind them, Nuceria continued to burn, its ashes carrying away the last remnants of Angron's chains. Before them lay the future-the Great Crusade, brotherhood, and a galaxy to conquer. The picter had captured more than just an image; it had captured the moment when Angron truly became what he was always meant to be: a son of the Emperor, a brother among brothers.

As the flash faded, Franklin was already reviewing the image in the picter's display. "Perfect," he declared. "The first official portrait of the Imperial Family. Though we'll need to get the rest of our brothers in here eventually." He grinned at Angron. "Think you can manage another smile when we do the full family portrait?"

For the first time since his rescue, Angron felt his lips twitch in what might have been the beginning of a smile. Perhaps, he thought, there was something to this brotherhood after all.

Onboard Adamant Resolve

The observation deck of the Adamant Resolve offered a panoramic view of the void, the stars casting their eternal light across the armored giant who stood contemplating them. Angron's new battleplate bore the colors of his Legion - blue like the skies he had rarely seen in the fighting pits, and bone white like the sands that had drunk so much blood. The armor felt strange after years of gladiatorial gear, but there was an undeniable rightness to it, as if it had been waiting for him all along.

Legion Master Ibram Gheer approached with measured steps, his own armor bearing the same colors but adorned with the additional honors of campaigns fought in his Primarch's name. When Angron turned to face him, Gheer dropped to one knee, head bowed in reverence.

"My lord," Gheer's voice carried the weight of decades of leadership and warfare, yet trembled slightly with genuine awe. "To finally stand in your presence, after fighting alongside you on Nuceria... it is an honor beyond words."

Angron studied the Legion Master for a moment, noting the battle scars that marked his armor, each one telling a story of survival and triumph - something the Primarch understood intimately. "Rise, Legion Master. We have much to discuss, and I would rather do so as warriors who have shared a battlefield than as lord and servant."

Gheer rose, and Angron gestured to a strategic display table nearby. "Tell me of our Legion's status. I saw how they fought on Nuceria - disciplined, coordinated, effective. This speaks well of your leadership."

"Thank you, my lord. The Warhounds number approximately 90,000 warriors, spread across five expeditionary fleets. We've maintained above-average combat effectiveness, though..." Gheer hesitated briefly, "we've always felt the absence of our Primarch's guidance."

Angron nodded, his expression thoughtful rather than angry. The memories of his gladiator brothers and sisters rose in his mind, and with them, a question of possibility rather than regret. "Tell me, Legion Master, what do you know of the process of creating Astartes? My brothers and sisters from the pits - they fought beside me for years. Their hearts are as worthy as any I've known."

Gheer shifted slightly, choosing his words carefully. "The standard process requires candidates to be young, pre-adolescent. However..." he straightened, meeting his Primarch's gaze, "the Liberty Eagles possess technology that pushes these boundaries. While I'm not privy to the details, they've successfully enhanced adults in ways previously thought

impossible."

"And the women among my gladiator kin?"

"They cannot become Astartes, my lord, but the Liberty Guard program..." Gheer's voice took on a note of admiration. "It's a remarkable middle ground between baseline human and Astartes. Many of their enhanced soldiers can fight alongside us effectively." Angron absorbed this information, his hand unconsciously tracing the newly carved Legion symbol on his pauldron. Where once he thought of the red dust the gladiator fights, now he saw possibilities. "Then I shall speak with my brother Franklin about this. He has already done more than I could have hoped in helping free Nuceria. Perhaps he can help save more of my brothers and sisters."

He turned back to Gheer, his voice taking on the natural command that had once led gladiator rebellions. "Begin preparations for Legion consolidation. Recall our scattered forces - it's time the Warhounds fought as one pack again. Once we have gathered our strength and integrated any of my gladiator kin who can join us, we will take our place in the Great Crusade

properly."

"By your command, my lord," Gheer responded, pride evident in his bearing. "The Legion will be overjoyed to fight under your direct leadership."

"One more thing, Legion Master," Angron said thoughtfully, his voice carrying a rare softness. "The name 'Warhounds'-that was chosen before I was found, wasn't it?"

"Yes, my lord. Would you wish it to be changed?"

Angron's expression softened, his stern features taking on a fierce pride. "Yes. Dogs are loyal, fierce, and bound to each other-qualities I value. But we will be more than weapons of war. We will be protectors of the weak, avengers of the oppressed." His eyes grew darker, shadowed with memories of his past. "There are too many tyrants left in this galaxy, and not all wear their chains as openly as those on Nuceria. Just as I was called the Eater of Cities, so shall we become known as the World Eaters."

"A noble cause, my lord," Gheer replied, feeling the weight of this new direction settling onto his shoulders. "I will begin the preparations immediately."

"Good." Angron turned back to the void, his posture relaxed but alert. "Send word when my

brother Franklin is available. Until then, I would hear more about the campaigns my sons have fought in my absence. Tell me of their victories, Legion Master, and of their losses. A father should know these things."

The stars continued their eternal dance beyond the armored viewing ports as Primarch and Legion Master began the work of forging a new destiny for the Warhounds, far from the blood-soaked sands where their father had first learned of brotherhood and sacrifice.

The golden halls of the Imperator Somnium hummed with psychic resonance as father and son stood before a massive hololithic display of the Segmentum. Franklin Valorian, towering even by Primarch standards, manipulated the display with casual familiarity, his fingers dancing through the projection as he highlighted various sectors and trade routes. "With Angron secured," Franklin began, a slight smile playing across his features, "we should turn our attention to my brother in Ultramar given that both their planets are in this Segmentum we could go for him as well. The data from the future suggests he's quite the interesting character." He pulled up a series of projections showing theoretical economic and logistical analyses. "Roboute Guilliman - the accountant of the family, if you will."

The Emperor raised an eyebrow, golden light playing across his features. "Elaborate." Franklin chuckled, pulling up more detailed projections. "According to the historical data or History-In-Waiting since this is from Ten Thousand years later, he becomes quite the administrator. Perfect grasp of logistics, brilliant command capabilities, wrote the book on Space Marine organization 'The Codex Astartes' - literally, quite Frankly it would work as great toilet paper" He paused, studying the data streams. "Though I can't help but notice a pattern of rather... rigid thinking. Very systematic, very by-the-book. Which, again, he

wrote."

The Emperor's presence filled the room, not overwhelming but certainly focused. "And you believe you can locate him?"

"Already have the coordinates," Franklin confirmed, zooming in on a particular sector. "Given the constant movement of the galaxy, he should be just a few hundred light years from

this position. I've taken the liberty of contacting the XIII Legion - their representatives are en route to rendezvous with us."

"Speaking of liberties," the Emperor's voice carried a note of amused observation, "I'm

assigning Angron to your tutelage."

Franklin's hands paused over the controls. "Father? Wouldn't that delay the Great Crusade's

progress in my sector?"

The Emperor fixed his son with a look that seemed to say 'Really?' Before speaking, he gestured at the massive display showing the Independence Sector's sphere of influence. "The last time I checked, your sector alone was maintaining 4,000 Expedition fleets through

various corporate entities."

Franklin had the good grace to look slightly abashed. "The Valorian Megacorporation does try

to maintain an efficient operation..."

"Indeed." The Emperor's golden eyes fixed on His son. "You understand, Franklin, that I

would never allow such consolidation of power if you weren't so transparent with Me. Your willingness to share your thoughts, to let Me verify your intentions, has earned that trust."

"Trust goes both ways, Father," Franklin replied seriously. "You've given me autonomy, and I've given you assurance. Speaking of which..." He manipulated the data-slate, bringing up two new project proposals. "I have some initiatives that could use your approval."

The Emperor gestured for him to continue.

"First, the Impossible City in the Webway. I've already begun allocating resources - sector scientists, allied tech-priests, and specialized automata. We can begin construction as soon as you give the word."

"And the second?"

Franklin's eyes lit up with enthusiasm. "The Galactic Internet Project. Using quantum

entanglement principles, we can theoretically connect the entire Imperium into a single, secure network that operates independently of the Warp."

He brought up a technical display showing an intricate web of nodes and connections. "We could gradually phase out reliance on astropathic choirs, which, let's be honest, are vulnerable to Warp predation. The network would provide instantaneous communication across any distance, immune to Warp interference."

The Emperor leaned forward slightly, His interest evident. "The technical requirements

would be substantial."

"We've already solved the key challenges in the Independence Sector," Franklin explained, bringing up detailed schematics. "The quantum entanglement nodes are stable, and we've developed protocols to prevent any potential security breaches. Each node is protected by both technological and psychic safeguards."

He manipulated the display to show a larger strategic view. "Implementation would be gradual, starting with key command and control centers, then expanding to major worlds and fleet assets. We could maintain the astropathic choirs during the transition period, phasing

them out as the network proves itself."

"The Mechanicum will have strong opinions about this technology," the Emperor observed.

Franklin's expression turned shrewd. "They already do, hence our ongoing cold war. But we've been careful to frame this as an evolution of existing Imperial technology rather than pure innovation. Besides, they're more likely to accept it if it comes with your direct

approval."

The Emperor was silent for a moment, considering. Finally, He spoke: "Begin the preliminary

work on both projects. The Webway City takes priority - it's crucial to humanity's future. But your communication network..." He paused, thoughtful. "It could provide the infrastructure we need for what's to come."

"Thank you, Father." Franklin began making notes on his data-slate. "I'll have preliminary reports on both projects within the week. Now, about Guilliman..."

"You have concerns about your brother?"

"Not concerns, exactly. More... observations. The future-data suggests he's brilliant but can

be inflexible. I'm thinking we might want to expose him to different organizational paradigms early, before his methods become too entrenched. The Independence Sector's corporate structure could provide an interesting counterpoint to his theoretical approaches." The Emperor nodded slowly. "You're already thinking about how to complement your

brothers' strengths and address their weaknesses."

"Isn't that what family's for?" Franklin replied with a grin. "Besides, can you imagine the

efficiency when we get the Family's Accountant working with my logistics networks? We could revolutionize Imperial supply chains."

"Focus on finding him first," the Emperor advised, though there was warmth in His tone.

"And Franklin?"

"Yes, Father?"

"Remember that not all of your brothers will share your sense of humor."

Franklin laughed. "Don't worry, Father. I'll save my best accounting jokes for private conversations with Guilliman. Now, shall we discuss the deployment patterns for the Quantum Network nodes? I have some thoughts about prioritizing key strategic locations..."

The discussion continued as father and son planned the future of an empire, their words echoing in a chamber that had seen the birth of humanity's greatest endeavor. Outside, the stars wheeled in their ancient dance, unaware that their light would soon be joined by a web of human communication spanning the galaxy.

A Valorian Conglomerate expedition fleet materialized in the Palomar system with the

characteristic absence of turbulence that marked inertialess drive technology. Dr. Marcus Hawthorne stood on the bridge of the flagship Innovation's Edge, his weathered hands clasped behind his back as he studied the rust-red world before them. As the naval architect responsible for both the Imperator Somnium and Sweet Liberty, he knew exactly what he was

looking for.

"Begin deep-scan protocols," he ordered, his voice carrying the quiet authority of someone

who had designed ships larger than cities. "Focus on the northern hemisphere's western quadrant. The data suggests our prize lies beneath those mountain ranges."

The fleet's augury arrays hummed to life, their quantum-scanning beams penetrating layers of rock and metal. Hawthorne watched as the three-dimensional display built up layer by layer, his eyes lighting up as familiar shapes began to emerge from the digital reconstruction.

"There you are," he whispered, reaching out to manipulate the hololithic display. "The Speranza - or at least, what would have been the Speranza in another timeline."

The scans revealed the true scale of their discovery: a partial vessel chassis embedded in

Palomar's bedrock, measuring approximately 130-150 kilometers in length (or as Hawthorne's more traditionally-minded colleagues insisted on noting, 80-93 "Freedom Units"). The unfinished vessel was a testimony to the ambitions of the Dark Age of Technology, a cubic structure that could house entire cities within its frame. "Begin volumetric analysis," Hawthorne commanded. The computer systems churned through calculations, mapping out the potential internal space. "This isn't just a ship chassis - it's the foundation for something greater. The Sweet Liberty was already a masterpiece at 70

kilometers. With this..."

He turned to his chief engineer. "Deploy the Inertialess rods. We're taking the whole planet." The engineer's eyes widened. "The entire planet, sir?"

"The chassis is integrated too deeply into the planetary structure for conventional extraction," Hawthorne explained, pulling up detailed subsurface scans. "Besides, we can use

the planetary mass itself as raw material. The rods will allow us to move the entire world

using our inertialess drive technology."

Teams of automated constructors and drones began deploying massive poles across Palomar's surface, each containing the precious inertialess drive technology that had revolutionized void travel for the Independence Sector. The rods would essentially trick physics itself, allowing the entire planet to bypass normal mass limitations. "Primary concern," Hawthorne dictated into his personal log, "will be ensuring we don'tn/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

materialize near any inhabited systems during transport. A planet suddenly appearing in close proximity to another world would have... unfortunate gravitational consequences." He studied the preliminary structural analysis of the chassis. The cubic design was elegant in its efficiency, offering unprecedented volume for internal systems. The edges alone could house weapon batteries that would make the current Sweet Liberty look like a frigate by

comparison.

"Begin mapping out potential integration points," he ordered. "I want to know exactly how

we can incorporate this into the Sweet Liberty's existing superstructure. This isn't just an

upgrade - it's a metamorphosis."

The fleet maintained position around Palomar as the inertialess rods were planted deep into the planet's crust. Hawthorne couldn't help but smile as he thought of the Mechanicum Magos who, in another timeline, would have discovered this prize. The Independence Sector's policy of aggressive technological acquisition had served them well once again. "To think," he mused, "in another timeline, this vessel would have slumbered here for millennia more, waiting to be discovered. Instead, it will serve as the foundation for the most powerful warship the galaxy has ever seen. The Sweet Liberty will be more than a flagship - it

will be a mobile civilization unto itself."

As the final inertialess rods locked into position, Hawthorne began drafting the preliminary redesign plans. The cubic chassis would need significant modification to integrate with Sweet

Liberty's existing systems, but the potential was staggering. Weapon systems that could crack planets, shields that could withstand the mightiest weapons known and unknown to man, and enough internal space to house entire armies.

"Begin final preparations for planetary transport," he announced. "Plot a course for the Independence Sector shipyards. We have work to do."

The fleet prepared to escort their planetary prize home, while deep in the metal world's heart,

an ancient vessel stirred, ready to be reborn as part of something even greater than its original designers had envisioned.