The Primarch of Liberty

Chapter 69: Noice



Amidst the carnage of the Warp, where Khornate daemons clashed violently with the grotesque legions of Slaanesh, Franklin Valorian and Skarbrand continued their titanic duel. The ground beneath them cracked and burned, their every strike shaking the very fabric of reality.

"You know," Franklin called out, his transformed helm gleaming with war-light, "most folks would have called it quits after losing their face. But you? You're really committed to this whole 'undying rage' thing!"

"RAGE ETERNAL!" Skarbrand roared, bringing down one of his massive axes. "SKULL FOR THE SKULL THRONE!"

"Still with the limited vocabulary," Franklin sighed, raising one of his molten wings to block the strike. Sparks exploded as blade met wing. "Have you considered audiobooks? Great for building word power!"

The force of the impact reverberating across the battlefield only seemed to fuel Franklin's banter. In a single fluid motion, he spun and slashed with the Deathsword, severing Skarbrand's arm at the shoulder in a shower of dark blood and molten ichor.

"A solid strike," Khaine commented through their bond.

"Thanks! Though I think we just made him angrier," Franklin replied as Skarbrand, undeterred, roared in defiance and grabbed his own severed limb.

"BLOOD! BLOOD! MORE BLOOD!" The Bloodthirster bellowed, using his detached arm as a makeshift weapon.

"Okay, that's just unsanitary," Franklin quipped, dodging the grotesque improvised club. "And probably against several health codes."

Each blow from Skarbrand shook the air with the force of a storm, but the Primarch stood resolute. With only one arm remaining, Skarbrand was less precise, his rage making him more brutal but predictable.

"Here's a thought," Franklin called out as he unleashed a barrage of searing energy blasts from his Disintegration Pistol, "maybe this exile thing is a blessing in disguise? Perfect time for self-improvement, maybe take up pottery..."

"EXILE ENDS WITH YOUR DEATH!" Skarbrand charged forward, a living embodiment of Khorne's bloodlust.

"Sorry to disappoint," Franklin replied, extending his wing to catch Skarbrand's final axe swing, "but I've got prior commitments. Can't die today - promised my sons I'd review their marksmanship scores."

The clash of weapon and molten wing created a burst of light as energy crackled around them. When Skarbrand lunged forward for a desperate headbutt, Franklin's war-light eyes flared with deadly purpose.

"You know what your problem is, skarbrand?" Franklin asked, positioning the Deathsword. "You're all rage, no strategy."

"Now, Primarch!" Khaine's voice rang through their bond.

The Deathsword thrust upward, its blade empowered by Khaine's essence, piercing through Skarbrand's skull. As the molten metal erupted through the back of the daemon's head, Franklin couldn't resist one final quip:

"Consider this a lesson in anger management."

Skarbrand's mighty roar became a choked growl as his massive form began to dissolve back into dust, his essence banished to the Blood God's realm.

"Well," Franklin said, straightening up and rolling his shoulders, his metallic wings adjusting themselves, "that was a work- INCOMING!"

His wings snapped up just in time to parry a strike that would have taken his head off. The new attacker moved with impossible grace, their blade leaving trails of poisoned light through the air.

Franklin's transformed helm tilted slightly as he recognized his assailant. "Shalaxi Hellbane! Long time no see. Love what you've done with your hair - very 'murder with style.""

The Keeper of Secrets laughed, a sound that would have driven mortals mad with desire. "Oh, sweet Franklin. Poor, stupid Skarbrand. Even with Khorne restoring his wit, repairing that broken mind..." Shalaxi gestured dismissively. "Such a one-dimensional approach. Charge, swing, roar. No finesse."

"I don't know," Franklin responded, keeping his guard up. "He had a certain straightforward charm. Very consistent brand messaging."

"The Dark Prince has such plans for you now," Shalaxi purred, circling the transformed Primarch. "Before, you were just another of the Anathema's stolen prizes. But now?" The daemon's eyes gleamed. "Now you've proven yourself worthy of true attention."

As if summoned by these words, a figure emerged from the twisted shadows of the Warp. She was beauty incarnate, every step a dance that spoke to desires buried in the deepest parts of the soul. Her presence made the very air sing with promise and possibility.

Shalaxi Hellbane immediately prostrated itself before the newcomer, showing a submission that spoke volumes about their relative status.

"Franklin Valorian," the woman's voice was honey and poison, silk and steel. "Such potential you have shown. Such power you have claimed." She moved closer, each step making the immaterium ripple. "You could have so much more..."

"Be wary," Khaine warned, though the tension in his voice suggested the War God prepared for the being before them.

"The gifts I could give you," the woman continued, her form shifting subtly, always becoming whatever would most appeal to the viewer. "The pleasures I could show you. Freedom beyond your wildest-"

The archaeotech pistol's beam took her head clean off.

"Sorry," Franklin said cheerfully, weapon still raised. "I have a strict 'no solicitors' policy."

The woman's form reconstructed itself, her laugh echoing through reality. "Oh, you are delicious! Such spirit!"

"And you're clingy," Franklin retorted. "Not to mention the whole futanari thing you've got going on. I prefer my dating life less... complicated."

The being that was Slaanesh smiled, the expression containing infinite promise and endless doom. "Your resistance only makes you more appealing, little eagle. Your transformation has opened such possibilities..."

"Yeah, about that," Franklin's wings spread wide, their metallic feathers catching the light. "I'm kind of in an exclusive relationship with liberty. Very committed. No room for side pieces, especially ones with identity issues."

Slaanesh's form rippled again, power radiating from her like heat from a sun. "You think your clever words and steadfast heart will save you? I am patient. I am eternal. And you..." Her

smile widened impossibly. "You are already changing."

"Into something awesome, yes," Franklin agreed, his transformed helm gleaming. "But let's be clear - this is a me thing, not a you thing. I'm not interested in your OnlyGods

subscription."

The Dark Prince's laughter echoed through the impossible landscape. "Such wit! Such defiance! It will make your eventual submission all the sweeter."

"Sorry to disappoint, but I'm more of a democracy guy myself. Not big on submission in

general."

Shalaxi Hellbane rose gracefully, moving to stand beside its master. "The Prince of Pleasure does not accept rejection, little eagle."

"Then the Prince of Pleasure should work on their personal growth," Franklin replied. "Healthy relationships are built on respect and boundaries."

"Boundaries?" Slaanesh's voice was amused darkness. "In the Warp? Look at yourself, Franklin Valorian. Your very form speaks of transformation. Of change. Of becoming."

"True," Franklin admitted, his wings creating a defensive wall of metallic feathers around him. "But here's the thing - I choose what I become. Not you, not Khorne, not anyone else. That's kind of my whole thing, you know? Liberty, freedom, choice - it's right there in the

branding."

The Dark Prince's smile was a promise of exquisite torment. "We shall see, little eagle. We shall see. After all..." The being's form began to fade. "You still have such a long way to fly." "And I hear the weather forecast is perfect for staying the hell away from your general direction," Franklin called out as the manifestation of Slaanesh dissolved into the Warp. Shalaxi Hellbane lingered for a moment longer. "The Prince's attention is a gift, Franklin

Valorian."

"So is herpes, but I'm not interested in that either."

The Keeper of Secrets vanished with a final laugh, leaving Franklin alone in the twisted

landscape.

"Your mouth will get you killed one day," Khaine observed dryly.

"Maybe," Franklin agreed. "But at least I'll die with good material."

The departure of Slaanesh and their legions left a curious quiet in the Warp - or at least as quiet as the realm of chaos could ever be. Lesser daemons still attacked periodically, but to Franklin's transformed state, they were little more than nuisances.

"You know," Franklin said, casually backhanding a Pink Horror into non-existence while his wings shredded a group of Furies, "this is getting kind of routine. Like swatting flies, if flies were made of nightmare fuel and bad decisions."

"Do not grow complacent," Khaine warned, though there was a hint of amusement in his tone. "The Warp is treacherous even in its calmest moments."

"Speaking of which," Franklin pivoted, his talons briefly emerging to tear through a charging Bloodletter before shifting back to armored feet, "any idea where we're heading? Because all this twisted landscape is starting to look the same. Very heavy on the 'halls of madness'

aesthetic."

"We seek the Webway," Khaine responded. "But first... there is somewhere you should see. The realm

of the Eldar Pantheon."

Franklin's transformed helm tilted curiously as he took flight, hovering above the ever- shifting ground. "I thought that was destroyed during the Fall. You know, when everything went sideways with the whole Slaanesh situation?"

"The physical manifestations were destroyed, yes. But the realm itself? No. Like the domains of the Chaos Gods, our pantheon's realm is a permanent fixture in the Warp. Though..." There was a note of pride in Khaine's voice. "Ours is considerably more artistic."

"Well, that's not exactly a high bar to clear," Franklin observed, gesturing at the nightmarish

landscape around them. "I mean, look at this place. It's like someone threw a haunted house, an abattoir, and an M.C. Escher painting into a blender."

As they talked, Khaine began directing Franklin through specific paths in the Warp. The directions were precise and sometimes counterintuitive.

"Step exactly three paces to your left- no, your OTHER left."

"You know, for immortal beings, you gods sure make things needlessly complicated," Franklin commented, following the instructions while absently swatting away a swarm of

Nurglings with his wings.

"Blame Cegorach," Khaine grumbled. "That cosmic jester and his endless tricks. To this day, I question Asuryan's wisdom in giving him dominion over these paths."

"The Laughing God? Let me guess - he's the one who put up all these metaphysical 'one way'

signs?"

"Make one mistake in these paths, and you could find yourself on the other side of the Warp. Cegorach always did have an... unusual sense of humor."

As they traveled, Franklin took the opportunity to examine his transformed state more closely. His wings spread wide, the dark metallic silver catching impossible lights like the hull

of a void ship, leaving trails of flames as it moved.

"Got to admit, these are pretty impressive," he said, flexing the wings and watching the

metallic feathers shift and realign. "Very on-brand for the whole 'Liberty Eagles' thing." He looked down at his feet, consciously shifting them between armored boots and vicious talons. "And this transformation thing is handy. Though I notice everything still has that 'blood and death' theme you're so fond of."

His gauntlets morphed back into hands, though molten blood still dripped from them continuously. "Speaking of which, what's with the constant bleeding? Not that I'm complaining, it looks pretty metal, but it's got to be hell on the upholstery."

"A side effect of our bond, my bloody hand Kaela Mensha" Khaine explained. "When we first met,

when you took up the Deathsword... a connection was formed. Now that you've awakened your inner divinity, that connection manifests physically."

"So basically, you're saying this is your fault," Franklin chuckled. "How's that working out for you, by the way? Being bound to the galaxy's most charming Primarch?" There was a long pause before Khaine responded, and when he did, there was definite amusement in his voice. "Entertaining. Though your constant jokes in the face of cosmic horror

are... an acquired taste."

"Aw, you're growing fond of me," Franklin grinned behind his transformed helm. "Don't worry, I won't tell the other Eldar gods you're going soft."

"Left here," Khaine directed, pointedly ignoring the comment. "And be precise. Cegorach once

redirected an entire Legion of Enslavers into the heart of a Quasar because they missed this turn." "Remind me never to play practical jokes on that guy," Franklin muttered, following the instruction exactly. "Though I have to admire his commitment to the bit."

They continued their journey through the impossible geometries of the Warp, Franklin casually eliminating any daemons foolish enough to attack while maintaining his running commentary. The bond between Primarch and War God had grown into something almost companionable, despite their vastly different natures.

"You take to godhood with remarkable ease," Khaine observed as Franklin executed a particularly

elaborate aerial maneuver to dispose of a group of attackers.

"Well, you know what they say - if you can't beat 'em, become an aspect of divine war and

freedom while making bad puns." "Nobody says that."

"They do now. I'm starting a trend."

The banter continued as they made their way deeper into the Warp, following paths invisible

to any being less than divine. Franklin's transformed state drew attention from the denizens of the Warp, but none dared to mount a serious challenge - not after word of Skarbrand's defeat had spread, none except for fellow Blood thirsters and Khornite daemons, constantly following the Primarch like a shark to blood.

"So," Franklin asked as they navigated another impossible turn, "this pantheon realm of

yours does it have better decor than this place? Maybe some nice throw pillows, artwork that doesn't scream in agony?"

"You jest, but you will see. The realm of the Eldar gods reflects the height of our civilization's artistry.

Even in its current state..."

"Can't wait," Franklin replied sincerely. "Though fair warning - if Cegorach tries to play any pranks, I'm blaming you for bringing me there."

"Just keep walking, Primarch," Khaine sighed. "Just keep walking."

Next he found himself standing before a massive, shattered gateway that seemed to pierce

the very fabric of the Warp itself. The architecture was unlike anything he'd seen before - elegant yet powerful, beautiful even in its broken state.

"So... did I just hit the cosmic emergency exit or what?" Franklin asked, examining the

blown-open gates.

"This was once the entrance to the Eldar Pantheon's realm," Khaine explained, his voice carrying a

weight of memory. "Slaanesh's birth... changed things."

"That's putting it mildly," Franklin muttered as he stepped through. The realm beyond was a

masterpiece of devastation - imagine the greatest palace ever built, then imagine it being hit by a psychic nuclear bomb. Fractured spires of impossible materials reached into a sky that couldn't decide what color it wanted to be.

Following Khaine's directions, Franklin made his way through the ruins until he reached what

appeared to be a colosseum of cosmic proportions. The structure would have made the greatest arenas of Ancient Terra look like children's playgrounds. "My domain," Khaine said simply. "The arena where gods once trained for war." "Nice place you got here. Very... stabby," Franklin commented, noting the various weapon

motifs worked into the architecture. "Though it could use some renovations. Maybe a fresh coat of paint?"

"Place the Deathsword in the heart of the arena," Khaine instructed, ignoring Franklin's interior decorating suggestions. "There is power here that should not go to waste."

"You sure about this?" Franklin asked, walking to the center. "I mean, this is basically your

divine man-cave we're talking about."

"The Eldar pantheon is virtually extinct. Leaving such power here serves no purpose. Better serve our

-cause."

Franklin plunged the Deathsword into the red soil at the arena's heart. The effect was immediate - the entire colosseum began to collapse, but rather than creating debris, it seemed to dissolve into pure energy that flowed into the sword. "Well, that's neat," Franklin observed as the last of the structure disappeared, leaving only

crimson earth behind. "Though I feel like we should have taken some pictures for the scrapbook." "We are done here," Khaine stated, the Deathsword practically humming with its new power. "Right, time to find the Webway," Franklin said, then paused. "By the way, how long do you think has passed in realspace? I've got reports to file, and I really don't want to explain to HR

why I'm ten thousand years late."

"Time flows differently here, especially now that the Ruinous Powers dominate the Immaterium. It could be seconds, hours... or millennia." "Great. Just great. Guess I'll have to wing it- oh come on!"

The last exclamation came as Franklin found himself suddenly teleported into what appeared

to be a maze designed by someone who'd never heard of Euclidean geometry. Impossible

staircases led to doorways that opened onto their own tops, while knowledge literally whispered from the walls.

"Let me guess - Titsnitch's realm?" Franklin sighed, hearing the promises of forbidden

knowledge being whispered from every direction. "Indeed. The Architect of Fate's labyrinth."

"Yeah, no. I didn't sign up for an escape room from hell," Franklin declared, turning away from the maze's entrance. "I've seen this movie, and I'm not playing that game." As he walked away, cutting through the waves of lesser daemons that tried to bar his path

(and making the occasional quip about how they really needed to work on their coordination), Franklin spotted a familiar figure ahead - massive, red-skinned, with flowing hair. "Hey there, Brother! Nice hair!" Franklin called out cheerfully, his wings spreading in

greeting. "Love what you've done with it. Using a new conditioner?"

The red-skinned giant raised an eyebrow, studying Franklin's transformed appearance with obvious fascination. "Your essence... it's similar to mine, yet different. Are you perhaps...?" "Franklin Valorian, Primarch of the Liberty Eagles, currently rocking this new 'metal angel of

death' look," Franklin introduced himself with a theatrical bow, his wings spreading for effect. "Though I usually look less... stabby. And you are?"

"Magnus," the scholar replied, his eyes practically glowing with excitement. "I've been studying the metaphysical nature of the Warp for years, but I've never encountered another being quite like myself. Your transformation is particularly intriguing - a perfect fusion of technological and warp-based enhancement!" "Oh great, another brother! and this one's big on talking instead of punching nice!" Franklin's skull-like helm somehow managed to convey enthusiasm. "Though I've got to say, your timing is impeccable. I just finished redecorating Skarbrand's face. Care to join? It's a fun

family activity."

Magnus barely seemed to register the joke, already circling Franklin with scholarly interest. "Fascinating! Your wings appear to be a manifestation of your innate connection to the Warp, yet they maintain technological properties. And that sword - the energies it emanates are

unlike anything I've encountered!"

"Another son of the Emperor," Khaine's voice echoed through the Deathsword. "Though this one courts dangerous knowledge."

"Hey, easy on the personal space there, brother," Franklin chuckled as Magnus peered at his

transformed armor. "I usually require dinner first before letting someone study me this closely."

Magnus looked up, momentarily confused by the humor. "Oh, my apologies. It's just... there

are so many questions! Your presence here seems to be stabilizing local Warp currents, and your transformation appears to be a unique example of controlled Warp mutation. How did

you achieve this state?"

"Would you believe me if I said 'extensive workout routine and a balanced diet"?" Franklin quipped. "Though honestly, it mostly involved getting dragged into the Warp by some very persistent daemons and intensive training by dying a thousand times. Speaking of which, how are you just... hanging out here?"

"The

Warp is a realm of infinite knowledge!" Magnus declared, his enthusiasm evident. "I've

spent years exploring its depths, learning its secrets. Though I must admit, your method of

manifesting power is quite different from my own approach."

"Let me guess - lots of books, scrolls, and late-night study sessions?"

Magnus nodded eagerly. "Exactly! The theoretical foundations of Warp manipulation are fascinating. I've compiled several volumes on the subject. Would you be interested in-"

"Incoming daemon at four o'clock," Franklin interrupted, his wings snapping up to block a stray warp bolt. "Rain check on the book club?"

"Oh, of course," Magnus said, almost disappointed at the interruption. "Though I do have so many more questions. Your weapon, for instance - I sense an ancient consciousness within it.

And your armor's adaptation to the Warp energies is remarkable!" "Tell you what," Franklin offered, his talons flexing as more daemons approached, "how

about we schedule a proper family reunion once we're both back in realspace? I'll bring

snacks, you bring less daemon-infested surroundings?"

Magnus smiled, a gesture that somehow made him look younger despite his imposing

presence. "I would like that. Though I do hope you'll allow me to document your transformation. The theoretical implications alone-"

"Already starting with the familial awkwardness - you're definitely a brother!" Franklin

laughed. "But seriously, you might want to step back. These guys aren't big fans of civil conversation."

As if to prove his point, another wave of daemons burst into view, forcing the brothers' first

meeting to a premature end.

"Until next time then," Magnus said, already beginning to fade from view. "And Franklin? Do

try to survive. I have at least several hundred more questions for you." "No promises on the survival, but I'll do my best!" Franklin called out as his brother disappeared. "After all, someone has to keep things interesting in this family!" "Your brother seeks dangerous knowledge," Khaine commented as Franklin readied himself for

more combat.

"Yeah, well, every family has one," Franklin replied cheerfully. "At least he seems nice. Now,

where were we with our finding an entrance to the Webway?" In the midst of the daemonic onslaught, Khaine's voice resonated through their bond with

what could only be described as an excited teacher's tone.

"Franklin, I believe you're ready to access more of my power," Khaine announced as Franklin

beheaded three Bloodletters with a single wing sweep.

"Oh?" Franklin replied, punting a smaller daemon into its larger brethren. "Is this like a

level-up situation? Do I get skill points?"

"This is serious," Khaine grumbled. "The Suin Daellae - the Wailing Doom - is one of my most potent weapons. It can transform between sword, spear, and axe forms at will." Franklin ducked under a daemon's claws while processing this information. "So it's basicallyn/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

a Swiss Army Knife of death?"

"It can cut through virtually anything," Khaine continued, choosing to ignore the comparison.

"Given our training together, you should be able to wield it effectively in any form."

"Alright, how do we do this? Is there a special pose? Magic words? Do I need to shout 'By the power of Khaine' or something?"

"Simply will the Deathsword to change," Khaine explained with divine patience.

Franklin concentrated, and the Deathsword elongated into a gleaming spear. "Oh neat!" he

exclaimed, promptly impaling a line of lesser daemons like a daemonic shish kebab. "Very

efficient!"

The weapon shifted again, becoming a mighty axe that bisected a larger daemon in one sweep. "The customer service department is really working overtime today!"

"Your technique is... acceptable," Khaine admitted reluctantly. Then Franklin got that look in his eye - the one that usually preceded something either

brilliant or horrifying. The kind of look that made even a god of war nervous. "What are you-"

The Wailing Doom twisted and reformed, its shape changing into something completely

unexpected - a massive, ornate revolver. "WHAT?!" Khaine's shock echoed through their bond. "That's- that's not possible! The Wailing Doom was never designed to become a firearm! In all my millennia of existence-" "If it makes you feel better," Franklin said, plucking one of his wing-feathers and loading it

into the chamber, "I'm improvising!"

"Asuryan damn it all!" Khaine exploded as Franklin fired the weaponized feather, which pierced

through multiple daemons like a divine bullet. "It's always another gun with you! Can't you stick

to the traditional forms? The PROPER forms?"

Franklin grinned behind his transformed helm as he loaded another feather. "Hey, you're the

one who said 'will it to change.' You didn't specify what it could change INTO."

"In all my years... in all the battles... not ONCE did any of my Avatars think to-"

"Think

outside the box?" Franklin suggested cheerfully, firing another shot. "Innovate?

Bring war god weapons into the 30th Millenium?"

"This is SACRILEGE!"

"I prefer to think of it as 'tactical adaptation,"" Franklin countered, returning the weapon to

its sword form. "Besides, I won't do it too often. Don't want to strain our lovely death-stick

here."

"Death-stick?!" If it was possible for a god's essence bound to a sword to have an aneurysm, Khaine was getting close. "This is an ancient and holy weapon of incredibly sophisticated design-" "That can now shoot things!" Franklin finished brightly. "Talk about weapons development!

We should patent this."

"I don't even know how to respond to this," Khaine muttered. "Eons of martial tradition..." "Being improved upon!" Franklin insisted, the weapon shifting back to spear form as he carved through another wave of daemons. "Besides, did you see how effective it was?

Sometimes the old ways could use a little updating."

"When we collect my other shards," Khaine said with what sounded suspiciously like resignation, "please at least TRY to show some respect for traditional combat forms." "No promises!" Franklin sang out, wielding the Wailing Doom with deadly efficiency despite

his irreverent attitude. "But hey, look on the bright side - at least I didn't try to turn it into a

rocket launcher!"

There was a long pause in their bond. "Don't you dare."

"I mean, now that you mention it-"

"NO."

Franklin laughed as he continued his battle against the daemon hordes, the Wailing Doom shifting between its (traditional) forms with fluid grace. But Khaine couldn't help noticing

that his host kept eyeing the weapon speculatively, probably calculating the logistics of

various projectile weapon configurations.

The God of War and Murder had a feeling this was going to be a very long partnership.

A/N: 69.

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