The Primarch of Liberty

Chapter 170: Laziness



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 immediate 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 time 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 became their greatest vulnerability - without power, they could not maintain the complex processes that kept their living metal 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 met their end at Franklin's hands, their supposedly immortal forms proving quite permanent in death when denied the power to reconstruct themselves.

Meanwhile, 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 seemed to drink light itself, he found a grim tableau: an Avatar of Khaine, pinned to the wall by a massive spike of blackstone like some 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, came through, crisp and measured.

"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 advancement among all known species. Even the achievements of humanity during its Golden Age pale in comparison. While humanity's peak was achieved with the aid of the Men 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 means to overcome 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 statement. "Indeed. The Necrontyr were both gifted and cursed. Their limited lifespans-mere 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 games. 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' enslavement 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 time the Necrons rebelled and shattered the C'tan, they had already become an unstoppable force. If the Phaeron you fought claimed 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 advancements, 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 Men of Iron. Instead, they relied on their own mechanical 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 moment 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 mechanical tools, but they needed too much maintenance."

He started pacing, warming to his theme. "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 something so we don't have to do anything!"

Sovereign's response carried a hint of amusement. "Are you suggesting that humanity's greatest technological achievement 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 moment 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 development of AI required incredible effort and intellectual rigor." "Oh, absolutely," Franklin agreed cheerfully. "But what was the motivation? Every human invention comes down to someone 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 argument. 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 Men 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 Men 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 mess 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 me too much, and besides if anything my soul is already a god and I have a god sword" he held the pommel 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 something 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 gleamed as his mechanical 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 helmets gleaming under the

dying sunlight. "What's up, brother?" one of them said, his tone casual, almost dismissive.

"Need any help, brother?" the second chimed in, his voice carrying a veneer of politeness that

immediately rubbed Jaxsen the wrong way.

Jaxsen's brow furrowed beneath his helmet. He wasn't one for paranoia, but these two...

something wasn't right.

"Something feels off," Jaxsen began, his voice measured 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 mean, 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 Mechsuit whirring softly. He leaned forward slightly, his towering frame 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 something... 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 messing with your hearing."

The second one chimed 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 came 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 Minutemen'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 numerous chemical compounds lethal to unaugmented human life. Even with his enhanced Primeborn 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 emerged through the sensor sweeps.

What he saw confirmed the intelligence from his dataslate. Human settlements 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 settlements 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 somewhere 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 immediately 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 doomed the Red Angel to an existence of uncontrollable rage. This time, they had another chance to change fate.

The vox crackled to life, and Franklin's familiar voice came through: "Cavill! Please tell me 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 somewhere, among the human settlements. Already learning to hate those who rule from above."

"Yes, lord" Cavill paused, choosing his words carefully," Though I would recommend 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 came through the vox. "Keep the sensors active and watch for any unusual activity. I don't want any surprises when we come to get my little brother."

"By your command, lord. Cavill out."

Through the vast viewport of Forgeworld Prime, 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 amusement.

"Another

"Indeed," Franklin replied, watching as repair drones swarmed around a particularly damaged section of the Craftworld. "Mortarion this time. With luck, we can prevent him from

falling we just need to work on his hypocritical personality"

"What intrigues me more," Khaine continued, "is your insistence on repairing this Craftworld. Not merely 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

me."

"I'm sorry, what?" Franklin's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"This Craftworld," Khaine explained, his mental 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 something 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

me?"

"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 same - without

you, I wouldn't have achieved this level of power."

"Do not remind me," Khaine grumbled. "To think that I, the God of War and Murder, would find

myself playing mentor to a mon-keigh Primarch. And worse, beginning to care about the welfare of@@novelbin@@

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 come 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 meadows? Peaceful gardens? Maybe a nice spa?" "You mock, but consider this - a realm where my warriors might know peace between battles. Where

they might remember what they fight to protect. Where they might..." Khaine seemed 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 development happening right here."

"I will still demand blood and skulls," Khaine insisted quickly. "Just... perhaps not every moment 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 moment 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 time for a change. The old ways led us here. Maybe new ways might lead somewhere 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 some 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 some gardens?" Franklin suggested innocently. "You know, for meditation 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 came along." "You're welcome," 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 me too much now. Face it, Khaine - you've

gone from being the God of War to being the God of War Who Sometimes 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.