The Primarch of Liberty

Chapter 128: Solutions



In the depths of the Sweet Liberty's sanctum, reality bent and twisted as Franklin Valorian, engaged in perhaps his most audacious experiment yet. The air crackled with ancient power as he assumed his Aeldari form, his presence radiating with the terrible majesty of Khaine himself – albeit with a distinctly more rakish charm.

"This is beneath the dignity of a god of war", Khaine's voice resonated through Franklin's consciousness, carrying the heat of a thousand forges and the weight of endless battles.

"Consider it a tactical deployment," Franklin replied, his new form's features arranging themselves into an expression that somehow managed to combine divine gravitas with roguish appeal. "Think about it - worship is worship, regardless of what inspires it. And let's be honest, you could use a PR boost among the younger generations."

"I am Kaela Mensha Khaine, the god's response thundered through the chamber, Lord of Murder and Flame, not some divine matchmaker. We already have an entity specializing in... excessive devotion. The temperature in the room spiked momentarily. Perhaps you've heard of Slaanesh?" Franklin's laugh echoed with both human humor and eldrich resonance. "Watch and learn, old friend. Sometimes the most effective conquest requires no bloodshed at all."

With that, he reached out through the infinite paths of the Wraithbone, seeking the dreaming mind of a young Farseer. The connection formed like crystal growing in real-time, beautiful and dangerous in equal measure.

In the Farseer's meditation chamber aboard a craftworld sailing through the void, reality shifted. Where once there was only the infinite paths of possibility, now stood a figure of legend - Khaine himself, yet somehow different. His presence carried all the expected martial power, but tempered with an unexpected warmth.

"My lord?" the Farseer whispered, her voice carrying equal parts reverence and confusion. Her spirit stone pulsed with increased frequency as she beheld what appeared to be her people's god of war, manifesting in a form that spoke of both battle prowess and... something else entirely.

"The paths of fate take unexpected turns, young one," Franklin delivered the line with perfect gravitas, though in his mind he could feel Khaine's growing exasperation. "Sometimes even gods must walk new roads."

The Farseer's confusion began to give way to something else as Franklin moved closer, each step carrying the fluid grace of ancient Aeldari warriors. Her breath caught as he reached out, fingers barely brushing her cheek in a gesture that somehow combined divine blessing with unmistakable attraction.

"This is ABSOLUTELY not what my form was intended for, Khaine's protest carried notes of both horror and reluctant fascination."

The Farseer's composure, maintained through centuries of rigid training, began to crack like ice in spring. "My lord, I... this is most unexpected." Her eyes, ancient and young at once, couldn't seem to leave Franklin's borrowed face.

"The unexpected is merely fate showing us new possibilities," Franklin replied smoothly, letting just a hint of mortal warmth seep through the divine facade. "Even gods can learn new dances."

The Farseer's mental defenses, honed by centuries of craftworld tradition, began to melt like snow before a forge. Her spirit stone's pulsing took on an almost frantic rhythm as Franklin closed the distance between them, each movement a perfect blend of martial prowess and seductive grace.

"I cannot believe this is actually working" Khaine's commentary carried tones of scandalized amazement.

The moment hung suspended between heartbeats, between breaths, between the infinite possibilities of fate. Then Franklin smiled - not the terrible rictus of a war god, but something far more dangerous: the smile of a being who had mastered both divine power and mortal charm.

The Farseer's years of training crumbled like sand castles before a tide. In that eternal moment, she saw not just the god of war, but something new: divinity touched with desire, strength tempered with passion. Their lips met in a kiss that threatened to rewrite several chapters of Aeldari mythology.

Then, like all dreams, the moment shattered. The Farseer snapped back to full awareness, her fingers touching her lips where the phantom kiss still burned. "Why would Kaela Mensha Khaine...?" she whispered to her empty meditation chamber, her worldview thoroughly shaken.

The heat in the chamber spiked. I will not repeat this experiment. Seduction is not a weapon in my arsenal.

"Bummer," Franklin sighed dramatically. "The old guy's really out of touch. Though I suppose that's what happens when you spend millennia being worshipped through blood and violence instead of dinner and dancing."

You are impossible, Khaine declared, though there was a hint of resigned amusement in his tone. A primarch of humanity using my form to seduce Aeldari farseers... what next? Will you teach Khornate Berserkers interpretive dance?

"Now there's an idea..."

Somewhere in the galaxy, a Farseer was questioning everything she thought she knew about the worship of Khaine, while the god himself grappled with the realization that his chosen champion had found entirely new ways of worship - even if some of those ways involved worship more commonly associated with romance novels than battlefield reports.

840.30M

Prospero

Franklin Valorian stood at the edge of one of Prospero's crystal spires, watching his father and brother embrace below. The sight of the Emperor and Magnus reuniting like long-lost friends brought a smile to his face, though his attention was drawn to the fascinating civilization around him. The air practically hummed with psychic energy.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Khaine's voice resonated in his mind, carrying its usual mix of ancient wisdom and barely contained violence. "For humans, at least."

"There's always a qualifier with you," Franklin chuckled mentally. "Can't just give a compliment without adding 'for humans' at the end, can you?"

"When you've lived as long as I have, you develop... standards," Khaine replied, his presence manifesting as a shimmer of heat in the air beside Franklin. "Though I must admit, this comes close to early Aeldari achievements. If you squint. And tilt your head. And perhaps drink several barrels

of mjod first."

"Now you're just being difficult," Franklin rolled his eyes. "Look at what they've accomplished! No disease, perfect harmony between-" He paused as Khaine's laughter

interrupted him.

"Perfect harmony? Oh, my sweet summer Primarch," Khaine's tone dripped with sardonic amusement. "Look closer at your 'enlightened' psykers."

Franklin followed Khaine's mental nudge, his enhanced vision focusing on the various practitioners going about their daily routines. Each was accompanied by a shifting, ethereal

form their tutelaries.

"Ah," Franklin said, understanding dawning. "The daemons."

"The BOUND daemons," Khaine corrected with disgust. "Because apparently, your species sees a creature of pure malevolence and thinks 'yes, this would make an excellent butler.""

"Says the god who's literally bound to me," Franklin couldn't resist the jab.

The temperature around them spiked suddenly, and Franklin felt Khaine's indignation flare like a solar storm. "I am NOT bound to you, you insufferable man-child! I CHOSE to align myself with you. There's a difference!"

"Sure, sure," Franklin grinned. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, oh mighty god of murder

and war."

"I don't sleep," Khaine grumbled. "And the proper title is 'God of War and Murder,' thank you very much. The murder part is just... a hobby."

One of the nearby tutelaries turned to look in their direction, its ethereal form rippling with curiosity. Before Franklin could react, the creature burst into divine flames, its death cry echoing in the warp but unheard by most mortals around them.

"Was that really necessary?" Franklin asked, watching the shocked expression of the psyker

who'd just lost their companion.

"Absolutely," Khaine replied with satisfaction. "I'm doing them a favor, really. These 'pets' of theirs would have turned on them eventually. I've seen your data-slate."

"Still," Franklin watched as another tutelary combusted, "you could be more subtle about

it."

"I AM being subtle," Khaine protested. "If I wasn't, half this spire would be molten glass right now. Besides, none of them can even sense me. I'm basically providing a free pest control service." Franklin watched as a third tutelary noticed them and began to approach. "Don't you dare-"

The daemon exploded in a shower of warp-fire.

"Oops," Khaine said, not sounding sorry at all. "My hand slipped."

"You don't have hands right now," Franklin pointed out. "You're literally just a presence in

my mind at the moment."

"Fine, my metaphysical hand slipped. Happy?"

"You know," Franklin mused, watching another tutelary desperately try to hide behind its master, "for someone who claims to be above these creatures, you sure seem to enjoy toying

with them."

"I do not toy with them," Khaine's voice carried the weight of offended dignity. "I efficiently eliminate them. There's a difference."

"Like there's a difference between being bound to me and choosing to align with me?"

The temperature dropped this time, ice crystals briefly forming in the air. "I will end you,

Valorian."

"No, you won't," Franklin smiled. "You like me too much. Besides, who else would appreciate your unique brand of pest control?"

"I could find another champion," Khaine threatened half-heartedly. "There are plenty of warriors

in the galaxy."

"But none as handsome."

"You do realize I'm a god of war, not aesthetics?"

"Doesn't mean you can't appreciate fine art when you see it," Franklin struck a pose, drawing

confused looks from passing Prosperine citizens.

"Sometimes I wonder if the Emperor mixed in peacock DNA when creating you," Khaine sighed. "Look, another one of those abominations is actually helping with construction. Should I...?" "No," Franklin said firmly. "Let the useful ones be. Even you have to admit efficiency when

you see it."

"Fine," Khaine grumbled. "But only because they're being productive. The moment they slack off - FWOOSH!"

"Did you just say 'fwoosh' out loud?"

"I was providing sound effects for dramatic emphasis!"

"You're literally a god of war, and you're making explosion noises like a child?"

"I contain multitudes, Valorian. Besides, you're one to talk about maturity, Mr. 'Watch me flex for these

civilians.""

Their banter was interrupted by the approach of a particularly bold tutelary, which seemed to

be studying them with unusual intensity. Franklin felt Khaine's presence coil like a spring.

"Don't-" he started.n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

FWOOSH.

"That one was asking for it," Khaine said smugly. "Did you see how it was looking at us?"

"It was looking because you're setting all its friends on fire!"

"Friends? They're daemons, Franklin. They don't have friends, they have future victims and current

victims."

"Speaking from experience?"

"I will rain such devastation upon you-"

"No, you won't." "No, I won't," Khaine admitted. "But I might accidentally set fire to your cape again."

"That was you?" Franklin exclaimed. "You told me it was a random warp discharge!"

"I lied. Gods can do that, you know. Especially when certain Primarchs are being insufferable."

Below them, Magnus and the Emperor were deep in conversation, their powerful psychic auras visible to Franklin's enhanced senses. "We should probably join them soon."

"Probably," Khaine agreed.

Franklin shook his head, smiling despite himself. "Come on, you pyromaniac deity. Let's go

be diplomatic."

"Fine," Khaine sighed. "But if I see one more tutelary trying to act cute..."

"I know, I know. FWOOSH."

"Now who's being childish?"

Their laughter, one heard and one felt only in the warp, echoed across the crystal spires of

Prospero as they made their way down to join the Emperor and Magnus. Behind them, a few

more tutelaries spontaneously combusted, just for good measure.

"I didn't do those last ones," Khaine said quickly.

"Sure you didn't," Franklin replied. "Sure you didn't."

"Good to see you once again, brother," Franklin's voice carried the weight of genuine

warmth. "We meet at last in the flesh - though I suppose our little sojourn in the warp doesn't count." Magnus's laugh echoed with both physical and psychic resonance. "Well met indeed, brother. I must say, your approach to combat in the immaterium was... fascinating." The crimson giant's eyes gleamed with scholarly interest. "That form you took - I've never seen anything

quite like it. The way you manifested..."

"Oh, here we go," Khaine's voice whispered in Franklin's mind. "The scholar-king wants to

dissect your powers. How predictable."

Franklin suppressed a smile as Magnus continued, "The energy patterns were unlike anything

in the ancient texts. Would you be willing to—"

"Trade secret, I'm afraid," Franklin winked, earning an annoyed huff from his scholarly

brother. "Speaking of secrets, how goes the preparation for the Great Crusade? Are the

Thousand Sons ready to bring enlightenment to the galaxy?" Magnus's expression darkened, his massive frame seeming to deflate slightly. "Not... exactly. We face certain genetic challenges that must be overcome first."

"The Flesh Change," Franklin said, his tone growing serious. "YES!" Magnus practically vibrated with intensity. "It's maddening! One moment my sons are perfect examples of transhuman engineering, the next they're sprouting tentacles and extra eyes and EXTRA EXTRA eyes! Do you know how hard it is to fit a helmet on a head with

seventeen eyes? VERY HARD, BROTHER! The requisition forms alone are a NIGHTMARE!" "He's exactly as dramatic as your data-slate suggested," Khaine commented dryly. Franklin's mind raced, accessing the knowledge contained within his future-sourced data slate. The timeline aligned perfectly - it would be another sixty years before the Thousand Sons would march in full force. Sixty years of desperate searching for a cure that would

ultimately...

Franklin's mind raced through the arcane knowledge Khaine had imparted, searching for something - anything - that might help his brother. The runes of the Aeldari scrolled through his thoughts: death, destruction, binding, sealing...

While Magnus continued his impassioned rant about the logistics of non-standard helmet

manufacturing, Franklin delved into his vast repository of Aeldari runic knowledge. Countless

war-runes and death-hexes flickered through his mind, each more destructively impressive than the last.

"Looking for something specific?" Khaine asked, a hint of amusement in his divine voice.

"You wouldn't happen to have any healing runes tucked away in that murderous repertoire of yours, would you?"

"I am the GOD OF WAR, Valorian. My runes are designed to make things STOP living, not help them

live better. Though I suppose you could seal the mutation... if you want your brother's sons to explode spectacularly when the seal inevitably fails."

"You're just full of helpful suggestions today, aren't you?" Franklin thought sarcastically.

"I try my best. Though if you want actual magical knowledge, you'd need the Black Library."

"The what now?"

"Imagine the largest collection of knowledge in the galaxy, hidden in a pocket dimension, created by the most irritating god in our pantheon. That's the Black Library." "Sounds promising! How do we get in?"

"WE don't. Only those who have mastered Chaos's temptations can enter. Your brother here..." Khaine's presence flickered toward Magnus, who was now explaining his theories about using

psychic energy to create self-adjusting helmet sizes, "...would probably explode if he got within a

few Miles of it."

Franklin watched his brother with growing concern. The data-slate from the future painted a grim picture - Magnus's desperate search for a cure leading to increasingly dangerous compromises, like trading one eye, and making a deal with Titsnitch, culminating in the catastrophic destruction of the Emperor's Webway Project.

Franklin processed this information, mentally overlaying it with the reports he'd received

from Dr. Chen and Vladimir regarding the Flesh Change. Their analysis had been thorough,

but perhaps incomplete without the context of ancient Aeldari wisdom. "Actually, brother," Franklin cut in smoothly, "I've been working with some of my on the Flesh Change issue. Dr. Chen and Vladimir have made some interesting observations. Perhaps we could focus our combined intellectual might on that problem first?" Magnus paused, his enthusiasm redirecting like a laser being reflected. "Your researchers?

researchers

Tell me EVERYTHING! Do they have proper documentation? Peer-reviewed studies? POWERPOINT PRESENTATIONS?"

"Scholar-King Indeed," Khaine commented dryly. "Tell him about Ahriman's future folly, why

don't you? Oh wait, you can't without revealing your knowledge of the future. How inconvenient." Franklin smiled as he watched Magnus frantically sketching theories in the air with psychic fire. His brother's brilliant mind would need careful guidance, but with the knowledge of the

future and perhaps a few visits to a certain hidden library, they might just avoid the grimdark

future that awaited in another timeline.

"Just remember," Khaine added, "if all else fails, we can always set everything on fire."

"That's your solution to everything."

"Name ONE problem that can't be solved with sufficient application of divine flame."

"The Flesh Change?"

"...I hate it when you're right."

The two brothers continued their discussion late into the Prosperine night, while an ancient god of war provided increasingly unhelpful commentary about the flammability of various

genetic conditions. And Possibly to prevent Magnus from doing something wrong.