The defeat of Phaeron Hektarakh marked only the beginning of Franklin's victory. He extracted the Tachyon Power Core that served as the tomb world's beating heart. The effect was imdiate and devastating to the Necron forces.
Throughout the vast complex, the constant hum of ancient machinery fell silent. The quantum-entangled network that enabled the Necrons' legendary reanimation protocols collapsed without its power source. Each ti a Necron warrior attempted to teleport back to their repair stations, they found only void where resurrection once waited. The immortality that had made the Necrontyr's legions so formidable beca their greatest vulnerability - without power, they could not maintain the complex processes that kept their living tal forms intact.
In the hours that followed, Franklin led the systematic elimination of the remaining Necron forces. Several nobles, their ancient minds refusing to accept defeat, attempted to reach the tomb world's core chamber. Each t their end at Franklin's hands, their supposedly immortal forms proving quite permanent in death when denied the power to reconstruct themselves.
anwhile, above in the chamber where gods clashed, Khaine concluded his ancient rivalry with the Nightbringer. The Aeldari god of war, burning with divine fury, split his old enemy in twain. The C'tan's necrodermis shell scattered like stardust as Khaine's psychic might tore apart the very essence of the star god's shard. Where once stood an entity that had devoured suns, now only empty air remained.
Franklin's final task led him through the massive Blackstone gates that Hektarakh had opened in his desperation. There, in a chamber that seed to drink light itself, he found a grim tableau: an Avatar of Khaine, pinned to the wall by a massive spike of blackstone like so primitive warning sign. The war god himself stepped forward, grasping the pike that impaled his physical manifestation. As Khaine withdrew the weapon, Franklin drove Anaris through the Avatar's chest. The divine blade eagerly absorbed another portion of its master's essence, while the empty shell of the Avatar crumbled to ash.
The scene was one of organized chaos. The vast expanse of space above the now-defunct Tomb World was filled with the Independence Sector's fleet. Dozens of ships drifted purposefully, their hulls bristling with activity as scavenger vessels moved in formation. Massive salvage haulers began the arduous task of separating the remnants of the Necron Tomb World from the scattered pieces of the Aeldari Craftworld. It was an operation requiring precision and care, one that Franklin Valorian had personally ordered.
Within the command bridge of his flagship, Franklin stood, his armor still bearing the scorch marks of his brutal battle with Hektarakh. The smirk that rarely left his face was tinged with a mix of satisfaction and fatigue.
As he observed the progress on the hololithic display, his personal vox crackled to life. The voice of Sovereign, Sweet Liberty's Central A.I, ca through, crisp and asured.
"Lord Valorian, I have concluded my analysis of the Necron technology encountered during this campaign," Sovereign began.
Franklin leaned casually against the railing of the bridge, motioning for his crew to give him privacy. "Let's hear it, Sovereign. I'm all ears."
The AI's voice was even and precise, carrying an almost clinical tone as it laid out its findings.
"The Necrons, despite their xenos origin, are without a doubt the apex of technological advancent among all known species. Even the achievents of humanity during its Golden Age pale in comparison. While humanity's peak was achieved with the aid of the n of Iron and advanced artificial intelligence, the Necrontyr achieved galactic supremacy with far more limited tools during their mortal existence. It is worth noting that their technological brilliance was not born of leisure but necessity-a ans to overco the crippling curse of their mortality."
Franklin chuckled, crossing his arms. "So, what you're saying is, even as short-lived fleshbags, they managed to reach the stars and dominate the galaxy. Impressive, considering humanity had to rely on cheat codes like AIS to get ahead."
Sovereign paused, as though considering the statent. "Indeed. The Necrontyr were both gifted and cursed. Their limited lifespans-re decades compared to the centuries or millennia enjoyed by other advanced species-drove them to innovate at an unparalleled pace. However, despite their brilliance, they were unable to conquer the one foe that plagued them most: their own mortality. This failure led them to the pact with the C'tan, trading their fleeting lives for the immortality of machine bodies, though at the cost of their souls."
Franklin's expression darkened slightly. "A devil's bargain if I've ever seen one. The C'tan saw them as nothing more than tools-pawns in their cosmic gas. And yet, the Necrons turned the tables on those so-called gods. That takes guts-or at least whatever the Necron equivalent of guts is."
"True," Sovereign acknowledged. "The Necrons' enslavent under the C'tan had an unexpected result: they gained access to the knowledge of entities born from the primordial forces of the Materium. The fusion of their own brilliance with the C'tan's understanding of physics and reality elevated their technology to near-omnipotence. By the ti the Necrons rebelled and shattered the C'tan, they had already beco an unstoppable force. If the Phaeron you fought claid they could exterminate all life beyond the Milky Way, I find no reason to doubt it. Their mastery of material sciences, energy manipulation, and reality itself is absolute."
Franklin raised an eyebrow, his smirk returning. "But... there's always a 'but,' isn't there, Sovereign?"
"Yes, my lord," the AI replied. "For all their unparalleled advancents, there is one area where the Necrons are demonstrably inferior to humanity's Golden Age: artificial intelligence. The Necrons, for all their brilliance, seem to have avoided creating autonomous artificial beings akin to the n of Iron. Instead, they relied on their own chanical forms and the subordinate Canoptek constructs, which are limited in both scope and independence." A mischievous grin spread across Franklin's face. "You know what I think? I think I know exactly why that is." He paused for dramatic effect. "The Necrons weren't lazy enough."
There was a mont of silence on the vox before Sovereign responded, "I... don't follow your logic, Lord Franklin."
"Think about it!" Franklin gestured expansively, though Sovereign couldn't see him. "What's the one constant throughout human history? Laziness! From the very beginning, we've been trying to figure out ways to do less work. First, we had human slaves, but maintaining them was too much hassle. Then we created chanical tools, but they needed too much maintenance."
He started pacing, warming to his the. "But AI? That was humanity's masterstroke of laziness. We created thinking machines that could not only do our work but figure out better ways to do it while we sat around doing whatever we wanted. It's the ultimate expression of human nature - creating sothing so we don't have to do anything!"
Sovereign's response carried a hint of amusent. "Are you suggesting that humanity's greatest technological achievent was driven by our species' inherent desire to avoid
work?"
"Exactly!" Franklin declared triumphantly. "The Necrontyr were too busy being industrious and trying to solve their mortality problem. They never had that crucial mont of saying 'You know what would be great? If we had thinking machines to do all this thinking for us while we kick back and relax.""
"Your analysis is... unique, Lord Franklin," Sovereign replied diplomatically. "Though I must point out that the developnt of AI required incredible effort and intellectual rigor." "Oh, absolutely," Franklin agreed cheerfully. "But what was the motivation? Every human invention cos down to soone saying 'This is too much work, there has to be an easier way.' The Necrontyr were so focused on survival they never developed that essential human trait of trying to figure out how to do nothing."
He gestured at the salvage operation continuing around them. "Look at all this. Incredible technology, universe-bending science, but where's their equivalent of a self-thinking, self- improving AI that could manage it all while they took a vacation? Nowhere, because they were
too busy being productive."
"I suppose," Sovereign ventured carefully, "there is a certain logic to your argunt. Humanity's desire for convenience has often driven innovation."
"'Desire for convenience' - that's a very diplomatic way of saying 'chronic laziness,"" Franklin laughed. "But hey, it worked out for us, didn't it? Well, until the n of Iron decided they'd had enough of doing all our work for us. But that's a different story entirely."
Sovereign's tone turned contemplative. "That proclivity for delegation has been both humanity's greatest strength and its greatest weakness. It allowed unparalleled growth and prosperity during the Golden Age, but it also sowed the seeds of the n of Iron rebellion and the subsequent collapse of human civilization."
Franklin nodded thoughtfully. "True enough. The Necrons might not have had that particular Achilles' heel, but they had plenty of others. Their obsession with immortality blinded them to the cost of their choices. And now, here we are-cleaning up their ss while learning from
their mistakes."
"Indeed," Sovereign replied. "There is much to learn from the Necrons, both in their successes and their failures. Their technology, though alien, could yield invaluable insights. However, their history serves as a cautionary tale of what happens when a species sacrifices
its soul in pursuit of power and perfection."
Franklin grinned. "Don't worry, Sovereign. I'm not planning to sell my soul to any gods-or cosmic horrors, for that matter. I like being too much, and besides if anything my soul is already a god and I have a god sword" he held the poml of Anaris.
The AI's tone lightened slightly, a hint of humor creeping into its otherwise neutral cadence. "That is reassuring, my lord. Your unique approach to leadership is... difficult to replicate, even for an advanced intelligence such as myself."
Franklin laughed again, shaking his head. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Sovereign. Now,
let's get this operation wrapped up. I want every scrap of Necron tech cataloged and secured. And keep a close eye on the salvage teams-I don't want anyone accidentally waking up
another tomb."
"As you command, my lord," Sovereign replied, its tone returning to its usual professionalism.
The battlefield was quiet now, the remains of the Khrave scattered across the broken terrain.
The Liberty Eagles stood victorious, their banners fluttering in the smoke-filled wind, and yet amidst this triumph, Director Samuel L. Jaxsen, felt sothing was off, and his years of experience coupled with Franklin's constant vigilance regarding Alpha Legion infiltration had sharpened his instincts to a razor's edge.
He scanned the returning columns of Astartes. His golden visor glead as his chanical sensors quietly tagged two Liberty Eagles moving in tandem, their behavior just a little too... reserved. They carried themselves as Astartes, but not quite like Liberty Eagles. Where was the exuberance, the over-the-top celebration of victory? Where was the sheer freedom that defined his brothers?
Jaxsen's voice, deep and commanding, echoed over the comms as he activated his suit's
loudspeakers.
"Hold on, brothers."
The two Astartes froze mid-step and turned to face him, their helts gleaming under the
dying sunlight. "What's up, brother?" one of them said, his tone casual, almost dismissive.
"Need any help, brother?" the second chid in, his voice carrying a veneer of politeness that
imdiately rubbed Jaxsen the wrong way.
Jaxsen's brow furrowed beneath his helt. He wasn't one for paranoia, but these two...
sothing wasn't right.
"Sothing feels off," Jaxsen began, his voice asured but sharp. "Like neither of you are yourselves. Neither of you are acting how a Liberty Eagle should act."
The two Astartes exchanged a brief glance before the first spoke, his tone light and easy.
"What do you an, brother? Everything is fine."
"Yeah, we're just doing our duty," the second one added. "Shall we keep moving?" Jaxsen crossed his massive, armored arms, the servos in his chsuit whirring softly. He leaned forward slightly, his towering fra casting a long shadow over the two. "Back there," Jaxsen said slowly, his voice a low rumble, "when we were fighting the Khrave, I noticed sothing... peculiar. Neither of you blasted that filthy xeno with massive explosions. You didn't even unload your disintegration rifles at it. Instead, you opted for..."
He paused, almost as if the next words were distasteful. "Accurate headshots. Conserving ammunition."
Both Astartes stiffened imperceptibly.
"It was all very..." Jaxsen paused again, letting the weight of his words settle. "UnFreedomlike.
You do know we carry enough ammunition to supply four Legions, right?"
The first Astartes was quick to respond. "Just a sore shoulder, brother. All that Full-Auto fire
over the past weeks has taken a toll."
"Exactly," the second one said, nodding eagerly. "Days of Full-Auto tends to do that to the
shoulders. You know how it is."
Jaxsen narrowed his eyes, his gaze boring into them through his golden visor. "I see. Make
sure to get those shoulders checked."
He paused, as if letting the matter drop, but then added casually, "But I also heard one of you
whisper Hydra Dominatus. Care to explain?"
The first Astartes stiffened again but quickly recovered, waving a hand dismissively. "Oh no,
you definitely didn't hear that, Director. You know our battle cry, right? Liberty or Death! Must
be all those explosions ssing with your hearing."
The second one chid in, his tone feigning innocence. "What is this Hydra Dominatus
anyway, Director? Sounds made up."
Jaxsen tilted his head slightly, watching them closely. Their responses were smooth-too smooth. He allowed the silence to stretch, letting the tension build.
"Must be my mistake then," Jaxsen finally said, his voice calm, almost conversational. "Carry on..." He paused for dramatic effect, his tone suddenly dripping with emphasis. "...Alpharius." The first Astartes stiffened again, but his response ca quickly, his tone sharp and almost extinctive. "Yes, sir. Moving now."
The second Astartes, then said, "He wasn't talking to you. I am Alpharius"
Both then realized, Shi-
From the bridge of the Minuten's Pride, Captain Henry Cavill studied the poisonous world
of Barbarus through the vessel's advanced augur arrays. The dim yellow sun cast an anemic light over the planet's surface, barely penetrating the thick, virulent atmosphere that enshrouded the world like a burial shroud.
The ship's sensors painted a grim picture. Toxic gases swirled in the upper atmosphere, creating a perpetual twilight below. The auspex readings indicated that the fog contained nurous chemical compounds lethal to unaugnted human life. Even with his enhanced Priborn physiology, Cavill knew venturing into those mists without protection would be
dangerous. "Helm, take us into high orbit," Cavill commanded, his deep voice carrying the weight of authority earned through centuries of service. "Maintain position above the northern hemisphere. Deploy full spectrum scanning arrays."
The bridge crew, all veterans of countless explorations, moved with practiced efficiency.
Hololithic displays sprang to life around Cavill's command throne, showing detailed topographical maps as they erged through the sensor sweeps.
What he saw confird the intelligence from his dataslate. Human settlents dotted the
valleys and lowlands, clinging to existence in the few areas where the poisonous fog thinned
enough to permit survival. But it was what lurked above those settlents that drew his attention - massive structures perched on mountaintops, rising above the toxic clouds like the castles of dark gods.
"Life signs detected in the upper atmosphere," reported his sensor officer. "Multiple large entities moving through the fog. Bio-signatures unlike anything in our database." Cavill nodded grimly. The dataslate had warned of this too - the overlords of Barbarus,
inhuman beings who had terrorized the human population for generations. And sowhere among those oppressed humans was his target: the Primarch Mortarion.
He reached for his personal vox unit, keying in the encrypted frequency that would connect
him directly to Franklin. This wasn't a discovery to be delayed by normal channels. The
Primarch of the Liberty Eagles needed to know imdiately that another of his brothers had been found.
As he waited for the connection to establish, Cavill reflected on his previous success with Angron. They'd reached the gladiator worlds of Nuceria ahead of schedule, allowing Franklin
to prevent the neural implants that would have dood the Red Angel to an existence of uncontrollable rage. This ti, they had another chance to change fate.
The vox crackled to life, and Franklin's familiar voice ca through: "Cavill! Please tell you've got good news. Did you find another one of my problematic brothers?" "Father," Cavill responded, allowing a small smile to cross his features. "I've located Barbarus. The sensors confirm everything we expected - toxic atmosphere, perpetual fog, and what appear to be the strongholds of the xenos overlords in the upper atmosphere." "Mortarion," Franklin's voice grew serious. "He'll be down there sowhere, among the human settlents. Already learning to hate those who rule from above."
"Yes, lord" Cavill paused, choosing his words carefully," Though I would recomnd haste. The dataslate's accounts of the overlords suggest they're not beings to be underestimated." "Understood. Hold position and continue monitoring. I'll have the Sweet Liberty there within days. And Henry?" Franklin's tone lightened slightly. "Good work. First Angron, now
Mortarion - you're making quite a habit of finding my brothers before they can get themselves into trouble."
"Just doing my duty, lord," Cavill replied. "Though I must admit, changing the future is
becoming an interesting hobby."
Franklin's laugh ca through the vox. "Keep the sensors active and watch for any unusual activity. I don't want any surprises when we co to get my little brother."
"By your command, lord. Cavill out."
Through the vast viewport of Forgeworld Pri, Franklin Valorian observed the ongoing
restoration of the salvaged Craftworld. The massive structure hung in space like a pearl in the void, its wraithbone architecture slowly being repaired and enhanced by crews of skilled artificers. The sight was impressive enough to give even a Primarch pause for contemplation.
Khaine manifested in Franklin's mind, his presence a familiar warmth of controlled fire. one of your problematic brothers has been found, it seems," the god observed, his tone carrying a hint of amusent.
"Another
"Indeed," Franklin replied, watching as repair drones sward around a particularly damaged section of the Craftworld. "Mortarion this ti. With luck, we can prevent him from
falling we just need to work on his hypocritical personality"
"What intrigues more," Khaine continued, "is your insistence on repairing this Craftworld. Not rely repairing, but improving upon it. Why invest such resources?" Franklin smiled, running a hand along the viewport's crystalline surface. "Because I can.
Because I want to. Think about it - if we can restore one Craftworld, maybe we can create more. Commission them for the Eldar. I am, after all, a businessman at heart." There was a pause, weighted with consideration, before Khaine spoke again. "Give this one to
."
"I'm sorry, what?" Franklin's eyebrows rose in surprise.
"This Craftworld," Khaine explained, his ntal voice unusually subdued. "I would convert it
into an afterlife for my Everchosen. I have been... watching how you treat your people, Franklin. And I
must grudgingly admit that perhaps I have been too harsh with my chosen warriors." The god's presence shifted uncomfortably as he continued, "They sleep, only to be awakened for war at my beckoning. It is a hell of its own making. Perhaps this Craftworld could serve as a place where their souls might know sothing beyond eternal battle - a true rest between conflicts."
A grin spread across Franklin's face. "Aw, is the mighty God of War and Murder going soft on
?"
"Curse you and your God-Soul!" Khaine thundered, though there was no real anger in it. "It sits too close to my essence. Your insufferable personality bleeds into my own. I find myself developing...
empathy." He spat the last word as if it were a particularly distasteful poison. Franklin's laughter echoed through the observation chamber. Khaine waited for it to subside before speaking again, his tone growing serious. "I am nearly complete now - eighty-five percent of my essence restored. When I am whole again... I wish to rescue Isha from Nurgle's grasp." The laughter died on Franklin's lips, replaced by thoughtful consideration. "That's quite a
change of heart, old friend. Why now?"
"The Eldar gods are nearly extinct," Khaine replied, a deep sadness coloring his words. "Isha, as
the Goddess of Life, could help shield our people from Slaanesh's eternal hunger. This is the darkest
age in Eldar history, Franklin. If not for you, it would be darker still." "Anything for you, old friend," Franklin said softly. "Though I could say the sa - without
you, I wouldn't have achieved this level of power."
"Do not remind ," Khaine grumbled. "To think that I, the God of War and Murder, would find
myself playing ntor to a mon-keigh Primarch. And worse, beginning to care about the welfare of
my followers beyond their capacity for violence."
"It's
called personal growth," Franklin teased. "Very fashionable these days. Next thing you
know, you'll be organizing poetry readings for your Everchosen."
"Do not push your luck, Valorian," Khaine warned, though his tone held a hint of fondness. "I am
still the God of War. I simply... perhaps... have co to recognize that there should be more to existence
than endless battle."
Franklin turned his attention back to the Craftworld. "So, an afterlife for your chosen warriors. What are you thinking? Pleasant adows? Peaceful gardens? Maybe a nice spa?" "You mock, but consider this - a realm where my warriors might know peace between battles. Where
they might rember what they fight to protect. Where they might..." Khaine seed to struggle
with the concept, "...find joy in existence beyond the thrill of combat."
"I'm proud of you, you know," Franklin said, his voice sincere despite his smile. "This is real
character developnt happening right here."
"I will still demand blood and skulls," Khaine insisted quickly. "Just... perhaps not every mont of
every day."
"Baby steps," Franklin nodded sagely. "Though I have to ask - what brought this on? Besides my charming influence, of course."
Khaine was quiet for a mont before responding. "I have watched my people fall, Franklin. Watched them diminish from a mighty empire to scattered remnants. Watched my fellow gods die or
worse. Perhaps... perhaps it is ti for a change. The old ways led us here. Maybe new ways might lead sowhere better."
"And Isha?" Franklin prompted gently. "Why the sudden concern for her welfare?" "She always advocated for balance," Khaine admitted. "Between war and peace, between violence
and nurturing. I mocked her for it, once. Called her weak. But now... now I begin to understand. Our
people need more than just the strength to fight. They need the strength to live." Franklin nodded, watching as another section of the Craftworld's damaged hull was carefully
restored. "Well then, shall we start planning this afterlife of yours? I'm thinking we could add so nice recreational facilities. Maybe a library? I hear the Eldar are big on knowledge." "Do not push it," Khaine growled, but there was no heat in it. "Though... perhaps a few colloseums.
Places where my chosen might gather to share tales of battle."
"And maybe so gardens?" Franklin suggested innocently. "You know, for ditation and
reflection?"
"I hate that I'm considering it," Khaine grumbled. "This is entirely your fault, you realize. I was
perfectly content being nothing but violence and rage before you ca along." "You're welco," Franklin grinned. "Just wait until we get Isha back - between her influence and mine, you'll be organizing peace conferences before you know it." "I will still strike you down if you go too far," Khaine warned, but the threat was undermined by
the warmth in his psychic voice.
Franklin's grin widened. "No, you won't. You like too much now. Face it, Khaine - you've
gone from being the God of War to being the God of War Who Sotis Enjoys a Nice Cup of
Tea."
The god's response was a mixture of a growl and a sigh, the sound of an ancient deity coming to terms with the fact that yes, perhaps he had changed, and more irritatingly, perhaps it was for the better.
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