The Primarch of Liberty

Chapter 68: A Yonder into the Warp



The sensation of being dragged into the Warp was unlike anything Franklin Valorian had experienced before. It wasn't the controlled insertion of void travel or even the calculated risks of combat teleportation. No, this was like being caught in a celestial riptide, pulled by ethereal currents that defied mortal comprehension.

"Well," Franklin quipped as he tumbled through reality's membrane, "this is one way to skip leg day."

The azure-tinged Tzeentchian daemons that had initially yanked him into this realm

suddenly found themselves caught in an entirely different kind of chaos. Like sharks drawn to blood, hordes of competing daemons materialized from the shifting nothing. Khornate Bloodletters carved through the air with brass axes while Daemonettes of Slaanesh danced through reality with deadly grace.

"I'm flattered, really," Franklin called out as he watched a Bloodthirster and Keeper of Secrets literally tear into each other over who would claim him. "But I'm not that kind of Primarch. I don't do the whole 'corruption' thing on a first date."

The Nurglite and Tzeentchian forces began retreating, their respective masters apparently deciding this particular game wasn't worth the price of admission. But the servants of Khorne and Slaanesh? They fought with increasing ferocity, turning the local Warpspace into a slaughterhouse of competing desires.

"Your humor, even now, is remarkable," came Khaine's voice from the Deathsword, somehow managing to sound both amused and annoyed.

"Someone's got to keep things light," Franklin responded, right before crashing into what passed for ground in this realm. The impact created a crater in soil that seemed to breathe, surrounded by trees made of ossified nightmares and rivers of liquid darkness.

Rising to his feet, Franklin took in the impossibly twisted landscape. "You know, the interior decorating here really needs work. I'm thinking maybe some throw pillows, a nice area rug..." His witty observation was cut short as a swarm of Furies descended from the crimson sky. Franklin's bullets found their marks with supernatural accuracy, while the Deathsword carved elegant arcs through the air, leaving trails of golden fire.

"Is it just me," Franklin grunted as he bisected three Furies with a single swing, "or am I feeling a bit more... juiced up than usual?"

"Your inner divine essence feeds on the raw Warp energy here," Khaine explained. "Like a parched man discovering an oasis."

"Fantastic," Franklin replied, gunning down more daemons. "Always wanted to know what it felt like to be a living battery- HRNG!"

The pain that shot through his back was sudden and intense. Franklin fell to one knee but kept firing, even as he felt something pushing its way out of his flesh. There was a sound of rending metal and tearing meat, followed by the emergence of massive, metallic wings. They spread wide, each feather a razor-sharp blade glowing with molten energy.

"Okay, that's new," Franklin observed, watching as his wings instinctively sliced through an approaching pack of Bloodletters. "Pretty cool though. Very angel of death meets tech- priest's fever dream."

"This is merely the beginning," Khaine informed him as Franklin's gauntlets began to transform, molten blood dripping from them as they reformed into vicious talons. "Your true form emerges."

"Oh, so these are your famous bloody hands, huh?" Franklin joked, flexing his new claws. "You know, we really need to work on your aesthetic choices. Everything's always blood this, death that..."

The transformation continued, Franklin's Swarmlord helmet morphing into something far more terrifying—a skull-like visage that burned with internal fire, its eye sockets blazing with what could only be described as pure war-light. But beneath the helm, something primal took shape. From the molten shadows, a sharp, predatory beak emerged, obsidian-black and gleaming with the sheen of freshly tempered steel.

"How do I look?" Franklin's voice resonated, no longer tied to the mortal plane, but reverberating with the ethereal might of a god. As he spoke, his newly manifested wings cleaved clean through the head of a Keeper of Secrets, while his talons, dripping with molten power, impaled a Bloodthirster in a single, devastating motion.

"Woah! I sound awesome!"

"Like bird-death incarnate," Khaine replied dryly.

"Aw, you say the sweetest things."

Around them, the battle between the Khornate and Slaaneshi daemons reached new heights of violence. Greater Daemons clashed in spectacular displays of violence and grace, each trying to eliminate the competition for Franklin's soul.

"You know," Franklin mused, casually backhanding a Daemonette through several of her sisters, "I'm starting to think Khorne and Slaanesh might have a thing for me. Should I be worried about getting stalker shrines?"

"They sense your potential," Khaine explained. "Khorne desires your martial prowess and indomitable will. Slaanesh craves your passion for freedom and your ability to inspire devotion."

"Well, they're both going to be disappointed," Franklin declared, his new form moving with impossible grace as he carved through the daemonic hordes. "I'm already in a committed relationship with liberty."

The battle continued, with Franklin testing his new abilities. The wings moved like extensions of his own thoughts, blocking attacks and striking enemies with deadly precision. His transformed armor, now a seamless blend of organic and mechanical components, adapted to his every movement.

"Got to admit though," Franklin added, unleashing a blast of pure warp energy from his transformed helm that incinerated a wave of approaching daemons, "this new look is growing on me. Very intimidating. Think it'll help me win best-dressed Primarch at the next family reunion?"

"Your levity in the face of chaos is either madness or genius," Khaine observed.

"Why not both?" Franklin laughed, the sound carrying an otherworldly resonance through his transformed helm. "Besides, someone's got to lighten the mood in literal hell."

A particularly large Bloodthirster landed before them, its wings spanning the impossible distance of the churning landscape. "BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!" it roared.

Franklin sighed dramatically. "You know, you guys really need some new material. How about 'Cookies for the Cookie Monster' instead?"

The Greater Daemon's moment of confused pause was all Franklin needed to demonstrate his new capabilities, his wings slicing through reality itself to appear behind the monster, talons already deep in its spine.

"THIS FORM SUITS YOU, GODLING," the Bloodthirster managed to growl even as it dissolved back into the Warp. "YOU CANNOT DENY YOUR NATURE FOREVER."

"Watch me," Franklin replied cheerfully, already moving to engage the next wave of enemies. "Besides, I already have a god living in my sword. My dance card's full."

"I am not 'living in your sword,"" Khaine protested. "We are synchronized through the artifact of my

power."n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

"Potato, potahto," Franklin shrugged, his wings creating a tornado of bladed death around him. "Same difference. Hey, do you think this transformation comes with any other cool features? Maybe laser eyes? I've always wanted laser eyes."

As if in response to his question, the war-light in his helm's eye sockets intensified, burning away a group of approaching Daemonettes.

"Nice! Though I was kind of joking about the laser eyes. Not complaining though."

The battle continued, with Franklin adapting to his new form with remarkable speed. The transformation seemed to have enhanced not just his physical capabilities but his natural affinity for combat. Every movement was perfect, every strike precise, yet he maintained his characteristic humor throughout.

"You know what this reminds me of?" Franklin asked as he danced through the impossible architecture of the Warp, his wings leaving trails of molten light in their wake. "That time Leman and I had that drinking contest on Fenris. Same kind of spinning sensation, just with more daemons and less mead."

"Your ability to find humor in transformation and battle is... unique," Khaine commented.

"I'll take that as a compliment," Franklin replied, using his wings to shield himself from a barrage of warpfire before returning fire with his own energy blast. "Besides, what's the point of getting cool new powers if you can't have fun with them?"

The war between Khorne's and Slaanesh's forces showed no signs of abating, but Franklin had already adapted to fighting in this new reality. His transformed state, a perfect fusion of technological sophistication and divine power, proved more than capable of handling whatever the Warp threw at him.

"So," Franklin said as he dispatched another wave of daemons, "on a scale of one to 'definitely not going in the family Christmas card', how dramatic is this new look?"

"Focus on survival rather than aesthetics," Khaine advised.

"Can't I do both? I'm a multitasking kind of guy."

Franklin Took to the Skies.

His metallic wings cutting through reality itself as he soared through impossible geometries.

Each wingbeat left trails of molten light, creating an ethereal pattern that seemed to burn itself into the fabric of unreality. The transformed Primarch moved with a grace, banking and diving through the chaos with the precision of a Bird of Prey.

"Now THIS is what I call air superiority!" Franklin shouted gleefully as he barrel-rolled through a flock of Furies, his wings shredding them to pieces. The metallic feathers, each

sharp as a power sword and glowing with molten energy, scattered the lesser daemons like

leaves in a hurricane.

"Your affinity for aerial combat is... impressive," Khaine admitted, the Deathsword humming with approval as Franklin carved through another wave of airborne threats.

From his vantage point high above, Franklin's transformed helm gazed down at the daemonic hordes below. The war-light in his skull-like visage intensified, and suddenly dozens of daemons found themselves frozen in place, paralyzed by the mere weight of his predatory

stare.

"Check this out," Franklin called out as he tucked his wings and dove, "I call this one 'The Eagle's Justice!""

He plummeted like a meteor of burning vengeance, his arsenal unleashing a storm of missiles and energy beams that turned the paralyzed daemons into a carpet of explosions. As he pulled up from his dive, his talons raked through the survivors, molten blood dripping from his

claws as he carved through their ranks.

"Someone should really tell these guys that anti-air defense is important," Franklin quipped, banking hard to avoid a volley of warp-fire. "Basic military doctrine, really."

But then the air itself seemed to split apart, and a roar of pure hatred echoed across the impossible landscape. A massive figure burst through the tear in reality, axes burning with infernal fire and wings spread wide in challenge.

"FRANKLIN VALORIAN!"

The name was bellowed with such fury that it caused the very fabric of the Warp to ripple.

Skarbrand, the Exiled One, Most Deadly of Khorne's Greater Daemons, flying highspeed to the transformed Primarch. The daemon's wings beat against reality itself, each movement leaving tears in space-time, while his twin axes - Slaughter and Carnage - burned with the memories of billions of murders.

"YOUR SKULL FOR KHORNE!" Skarbrand roared, his voice carrying the weight of endless rage. "MY EXILE ENDS WITH YOUR DEATH!"

Franklin adjusted his flight path, circling the massive daemon while maintaining a combat-

ready position. His metallic wings caught the light of nearby floating fires, creating a corona of deadly radiance around his transformed form.

"Skarbrand, buddy!" Franklin called out cheerfully, though his weapons remained trained on the Greater Daemon. "Long time no see! Still angry about that whole 'getting blasted from

orbit?"

The Exiled One's response was another reality-shaking roar as he charged through the air, axes carving burning paths through the Warp itself. The sheer violence of his approach scattered the lesser daemons, creating a clear arena in the crimson sky.

"I'll take that as a yes," Franklin muttered, his wings flaring wide as he prepared to engage

one of the deadliest entities in existence. The war-light in his transformed helm burned brighter, matching the infernal glow of Skarbrand's weapons.

The collision between Primarch and Greater Daemon sent shockwaves through the Warp itself. But instead of being overwhelmed by Skarbrand's massive bulk, Franklin's transformed body moved with predatory precision. His metallic talons sank deep into the Bloodthirster's flesh, transforming the charge into a devastating aerial grapple.

"Let me give you the grand tour!" Franklin shouted, his wings spreading wide as he twisted in mid-air, maintaining his grip on the struggling daemon. Like a raptor with particularly large and angry prey, he drove Skarbrand downward, using the Greater Daemon's own momentum

against him. They plowed through ranks of Khornate daemons, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake. Bloodletters and Flesh Hounds were scattered like bowling pins, their bodies bursting into clouds of blood and ichor as Skarbrand's massive form was used as a battering ram. "Consider this an express trip to ground level!" Franklin quipped, right before smashing

Skarbrand into the writhing earth with enough force to create a crater in the ever-shifting landscape.

The impact barely slowed the Exiled One. One of Skarbrand's massive axes - Slaughter or

Carnage, it was hard to tell which - swept out in a burning arc that caught Franklin square in the chest, sending him hurtling through the air. Franklin crashed through a mass of Slaaneshi daemons, his metallic wings carving through

their ranks. The sounds that emerged from the dying Daemonettes were... disturbing, to say

the least.

"Okay, that's just wrong," Franklin muttered, quickly launching himself back into the air. "I'm filing that under 'things I never wanted to hear' and moving on."

"Focus!" Khaine's voice rang through their bond as Skarbrand emerged from the crater, his wings beating with fury as he launched himself skyward.

The two met again in mid-air, the Deathsword clashing against Skarbrand's axe with a sound

that shattered reality around them. The impact created a sphere of pure force, vaporizing lesser daemons unfortunate enough to be nearby.

"BLOOD! SKULL! THRONE!" Skarbrand roared incoherently, his second axe sweeping in from

the side in a blow that could have split a Titan.

But Franklin's transformed wings moved with impossible speed, the metallic feathers interlocking to form a shield that caught the burning weapon. Sparks of molten energy scattered through the air as axe met wing, neither yielding.

"You know," Franklin grunted, holding the block while his free hand reached for his archaeotech pistol, "your vocabulary really needs work. Have you considered taking a creative writing class?"

The ancient weapon, now transformed like the rest of Franklin's gear, pressed against Skarbrand's face and fired. A beam of pure destruction punched through the Greater Daemon's head, leaving a smoking, plate-sized hole that would have instantly killed any lesser being. Skarbrand didn't even flinch.

"HARDER TO KILL!" the daemon bellowed through its ruined face, pressing its attack with even greater fury. "EXILE ENDS! SKULL TAKES!"

"Seriously?" Franklin exclaimed, disengaging to create some distance. "That was a headshot!

That's just not playing fair!"

The Greater Daemon pursued relentlessly, its axes leaving trails of fire through the air as it

pressed its attack. Each blow carried the weight of countless murders, each swing backed by rage that had once challenged Khorne himself.

Franklin's transformed body moved with fluid grace, his wings alternating between shield

and weapon as he matched Skarbrand's fury with precision. The Deathsword sang as it parried

blows that could have split planets, while his talons sought any opening in the daemon's

guard. "I've got to admit," Franklin called out as he deflected another world-ending blow, "you're pretty spry for someone with a hole in their head. Is that a daemon thing, or do you just have really good healthcare?"

Skarbrand's response was another reality-shattering charge, axes blazing with infernal light as the duel continued. Around them, the wars between Khornate and Slaaneshi daemons

faded into background noise, mere spectators to the clash between the transformed Primarch

and the Exiled One.

In his sanctum atop the highest spire of Tizca, the City of Light, Magnus the Red sat in meditation, his consciousness expanding into the Great Ocean as he had done countless times before. The giant, skin the color of fresh blood and hair a flame-like mane, sought new knowledge as he always did, pushing the boundaries of his understanding.

But this day would be different.

The first tremor in the aether caught his attention like a discordant note in a familiar

symphony. Magnus's astral form turned toward the disturbance, drawn by both scholarly curiosity and an inexplicable sense of... recognition?

"Fascinating," he murmured, his words echoing both in his physical chamber and across the

immaterial realm. "The very fabric of the Great Ocean ripples with violence beyond anything I've witnessed."

As his consciousness drew closer to the source, Magnus encountered something that challenged his considerable intellect. The realm he discovered was not the familiar sea of possibilities he had navigated countless times before. This was something else - a domain of madness and wonder, of horror and impossible beauty.

"By all the knowledge of Prospero..." Magnus watched as reality twisted itself into impossible shapes, as rivers of emotions made manifest flowed through landscapes born of

dreams and nightmares. His keen mind began categorizing, analyzing, attempting to make

sense of what he witnessed.

And then he saw them.

Two beings locked in combat that defied mortal comprehension. One, a massive creature of

rage incarnate, wielding axes that burned with the weight of endless slaughter. The other...

something that stirred a strange familiarity in Magnus's soul.

The winged warrior, transformed by powers Magnus had never encountered, moved with a

deadly grace that seemed to mock the very laws of reality. His metallic wings caught the light of impossible fires, while his skull-like helm burned with internal power. "Such mastery over the aetheric forces," Magnus observed, his scholarly interest piqued despite the violence before him. "Yet there's something more... something familiar about his

essence."

The battle between these titans sent ripples through the Great Ocean that Magnus could feel even on distant Prospero. Each clash of their weapons tore holes in reality itself, each

movement left trails of power that would have blinded lesser minds.

But it was the realm itself that truly captured Magnus's attention. His powerful intellect began to perceive patterns in the madness, structures within the chaos. This was no random portion of the Great Ocean - this was a domain with purpose, with will.

"These entities..." Magnus's astral form shifted as he observed the lesser daemons warring below the main combatants. "They're not mere manifestations of psychic energy. They're... conscious. Organized. This suggests an entire hierarchy of immaterial beings!"

The revelation both thrilled and disturbed him. Here was knowledge beyond anything

contained in the great libraries of Tizca. Here were answers to questions he hadn't even known to ask.

Yet there was something else, a darkness that his powerful mind couldn't quite grasp. Even in

his astral form, Magnus felt a subtle pull, an alluring whisper of secrets and power that

promised answers to every question he'd ever had.

"There are patterns within patterns," he mused, watching as the winged warrior executed an

impossible maneuver that scattered dozens of lesser entities. "But why does his essence resonate with my own? Could he be..."

Magnus's speculation was interrupted as a particularly violent clash between the combatants sent a shockwave through the Warp powerful enough to make even his astral form flinch. The raw power on display was staggering, beyond anything he had thought possible. "This requires further study," Magnus decided, his scholarly mind already formulating questions and theories. "These realms... these entities... they change everything we thought

we knew about the Great Ocean."

As he prepared to withdraw his consciousness back to Prospero, Magnus cast one last look at

the transformed warrior. Something about him nagged at Magnus's mind, a connection he

couldn't quite grasp yet.

The battle's fury reached new heights as Franklin executed another impossible maneuver, his metallic wings leaving trails of molten light through the impossible space. For the briefest moment, in the midst of dodging one of Skarbrand's devastating attacks, Franklin's transformed skull-helm turned directly toward Magnus's astral form.

Time seemed to slow in that impossible realm. The war-light in Franklin's eyes met Magnus's crimson gaze across the dimensions of unreality. Recognition flashed between them - a connection that transcended the madness of the Warp around them. In that split

second, both Primarchs felt the undeniable pull of brotherhood, a resonance of gene-forged

destiny.

"Well, well," Franklin's thoughts echoed across the Warp, somehow maintaining his characteristic humor even in this moment of profound connection. "Looks like I've got an

audience. Nice hair, by the way-"

The moment shattered as Skarbrand's axe came crashing through the space between them, forcing Franklin to twist away in a shower of sparks and molten energy. The Greater Daemon's

blow carried enough force to rupture reality itself, creating a tear in the Warp that briefly

distorted Magnus's astral vision.

"SKULL! BLOOD! DEATH!" Skarbrand's roar echoed through dimensions, though his target

had already moved to counter-attack.

Magnus watched as Franklin re-engaged the Greater Daemon, but something had changed.

The brief connection had left both Primarchs with an indelible impression of each other - a

memory that would resurface in future encounters.

"A brother," Magnus whispered, his vast intellect racing with implications. "So there are

others... and they too walk the paths of power I seek to understand." With that revelation, Magnus began his withdrawal to Prospero, knowing that this encounter would shape his understanding of both the Great Ocean and his own nature for years to come. Behind him, the battle raged on, Franklin's voice carrying across the Warp one last time: "Catch you later, brother! Kind of busy right now with anger management issues here!"