The Primarch of Liberty-Chapter 164: Treachery and Purge

The Battlefleet Liberty loomed above the tranquil planet of Balam, its sleek ships casting ominous shadows across the system's celestial canvas. Onboard the flagship Sweet Liberty, Franklin Valorian's expression was as confident as ever, his mind already calculating the moves that would follow. Before departing, he gave his Primeborn Captains their orders: "Once the action starts, leave none alive."

His Stormbird sliced through the atmosphere, descending toward an open field dominated by a lavish open-air tent. Franklin's sharp eyes noted the strategic placement of potential sniper nests, a subtle acknowledgment of the treachery awaiting him. Standing prominently before the tent was Bolam Haardiker, the Paternoval Envoy, his demeanor betraying a thinly veiled desperation masked as diplomacy.

As Franklin disembarked, he strode toward Bolam with an air of casual confidence. The two clasped hands, their expressions a stark contrast. Bolam's was tense; Franklin's was unreadable.

"A nice morning, isn't it?" Bolam began with forced geniality.

Franklin's smirk deepened. "It is, Envoy. Now, what brings you to this remote corner of the galaxy?"

Bolam wasted no time. "Let's cut to the chase, Lord Primarch. The Paternova and the entirety of the Navis Nobilite are prepared to place themselves in your debt if you delay your plans indefinitely. Whatever you ask, the Navigator Houses will gladly answer."

Franklin let the offer hang in the air for a moment before responding, his tone measured yet edged with amusement. "Bolam, Bolam... that's not how deals are struck. A true agreement benefits both parties. Let me counter with this: embrace the inevitable. Tell your Paternova that the age of reliance on mutations and monopolized Warp travel is over. My Father's vision for Humanity demands independence from such constraints. The Prognosticators and Void Abacuses are merely transitional measures, join us"

Bolam's face hardened. He sighed deeply, his resignation palpable. "Then we have war," he declared, his voice shifting as his form began to melt and twist. The Envoy's flesh contorted unnaturally, revealing the lithe, serpentine figure of a Callidus Assassin.

She lunged at Franklin with liquid grace, her polymorph blade aimed for his throat. But Franklin had already anticipated the attack. He sidestepped fluidly, his movements precise as a sniper's shot whistled past him. Without hesitation, he raised his pistol, The Last Word, and fired at the distant glint of the Vindicare's perch. Even as the shot rang out, a tingle rippled through his senses-the unmistakable presence of a blank.

The battlefield erupted into chaos. From the shadows, a Culexus Assassin emerged, its null- field suppressing Franklin's psychic potential. At the same time, an Eversor charged toward him, its skull-like visage glowing red with lethal intent. Franklin drew Anaris, in one seamless motion. The Callidus's blade clashed against the shimmering edge of Anaris, but her assault was short-lived. With a single devastating strike, Franklin bisected her, her lifeless form crumpling to the ground.

The Culexus unleashed a psychic barrage, its soul-annihilating energy crashing against Franklin's void shields. A shot from the Vindicare followed, overloading the shields entirely. The Quantum Shielding kicked in just in time, absorbing what would have been a fatal strike. Franklin's response was immediate. He unleashed a volley of homing smart missiles, their deadly trajectories locking onto the Vindicare's position.

The Eversor closed the gap with terrifying speed, its power weapons slashing with inhuman ferocity. Franklin parried the strikes, his strength and precision sending the frenzied assassin hurtling backward. The Last Word barked again, its lethal round finding the head of the Culexus and reducing it to a gruesome mist. The psychic suppression lifted instantly, and Franklin's awareness expanded, detecting yet another foe.

An Adamus Assassin darted toward him, its Nemesii blade honed for a decapitating strike. Franklin chuckled, even as he deflected the deadly attack. "An Execution Force? My, the Navigator Houses have been busy. Malcador will be livid when he hears about this, The Grand Master of Assassins could not control his own assassins."

The Adamus struck with blistering speed, but Franklin's reflexes were unparalleled. He fired The Last Word mid-parry, the bullet piercing the assassin's chest and detonating in a burst of kinetic force. The Adamus disintegrated in a violent explosion, leaving only the Eversor to contend with.

The Eversor fired its executioner pistol, melta rounds splaying harmlessly off Franklin's Quantum Shields. Undeterred, it leapt forward, its power weapons aimed directly for Franklin's chest. This time, the assassin's strike connected, the energy weapons gouging into his armor. Franklin's smirk didn't falter. He grabbed the Eversor by its head, his voice dripping with amused disdain. "That's all you could manage? Rejoice, for you are the sole mortal to land a hit on me."

With a sickening crunch, Franklin crushed the Eversor's skull, its lifeless body convulsing as the bio-meltdown process began. The assassin's corpse exploded in a blinding flash, the force akin to a plasma bomb. When the light subsided, Franklin stood unscathed, his Quantum Shield shimmering faintly amidst the newly formed crater.

He dusted himself off, his expression unfazed. "I wasn't expecting a bio-meltdown, but this is the Officio Assassinorum we're dealing with, after all."

Franklin Valorian's command bridge aboard Sweet Liberty was alive with activity as a secure transmission came through from none other than Fabricator-General Belisarius Cawl. A holo- image of the ancient, sprawling techno-savant materialized before Franklin.

Cawl's voice, a mechanical symphony of tones and inflections, echoed across the chamber. "Ah, Lord Valorian. It seems our esteemed allies have decided to extend their hospitality in the form of assassins. Have you had the pleasure of such company recently?"

Franklin's perpetual smirk grew slightly. He leaned back in his command chair, radiating confidence. "Cawl, you could say that. A Callidus, a Vindicare, a Culexus, an Eversor, and even an Adamus decided to crash my meeting on Balam. Let's just say they didn't leave in one piece."

Cawl's photonic eyes brightened with interest. "Impressive. They must have deemed you a high-value target indeed to deploy such resources. I, too, had the pleasure of entertaining four assassins. One even managed to disable my secondary cogitator network temporarily.

How quaint."

Franklin raised an eyebrow. "Temporarily? Let me guess, you've already adapted to counter their methods."

Cawl's mechanical limbs clattered as he gestured in what could only be described as a shrug. "Of course. Their tactics were predictable once analyzed. On a related note, I've observed that the Sigillite appears to have tightened his control over the Assassinorum, likely to avoid further such... inconveniences."

Franklin chuckled. "Sounds like Mal is trying to keep the leash tight. Can't have the dogs running wild, can we?"

Cawl's voice took on a slightly teasing tone, a rare glimpse of humor in the ancient Mechanicum's personality. "Speaking of leashes, I must commend the Independence Sector. Your innovations are outpacing expectations. The Void Abacuses and Prognosticators are being adopted far more swiftly than I projected."

Franklin leaned forward, his smirk turning into a playful grin. "You snooze, you lose, Cawl. We're pioneers here. If you can't keep up, that's on you."

Cawl's photonic eyes dimmed briefly, a gesture akin to a human narrowing their eyes. "An interesting sentiment, Primarch. However, I should inform you that while you were... handling assassins and philosophical debates with the Navigator Houses, the Mechanicum has secured over 40% of their assets. It seems, my dear Lord Valorian, that it was you who was

snoozing."

The transmission abruptly ended, leaving Franklin staring at the now-blank holo-console. His smirk shifted to a bemused shake of the head. "That cheeky cog-head," he muttered, a hint of admiration in his voice.

Just then, the voice of First Captain Denzel Washington, "Frank, the ambushing fleet has been dealt with. No survivors, as per your orders. Segmentum Solar is reporting that their forces are effectively crushing the rebellion across its sub-sectors. And... you'll want to hear this. The Palace of the Navigators is currently under siege by the Custodian Guard."

Franklin stood, his towering frame casting a long shadow across the command deck. His voice carried an edge of satisfaction. "The Custodians themselves? It seems the endgame for the Navis Nobilite is unfolding even faster than I anticipated. Excellent work, Denzel. Make sure our forces are on standby for further orders.

Belisarius Cawl loomed forward with his towering, multi-limbed form, accompanied by an army of Skitarii and Kastelan Robots as they advanced on the Palace of the Navigators. The Mechanicum forces moved with cold precision, the rhythmic clanking of servos and the hum of arcane machinery filling the air. While the Custodian Guard breached the main entrance with their characteristic directness, Cawl opted for a different approach. He directed his forces to blast through the reinforced walls, targeting weak points identified by his Omnissian auguries. To Cawl, efficiency outweighed theatrics.

This assault was not only strategic but opportunistic. The Navigators, with a lineage as ancient as the Mechanicum itself, undoubtedly hoarded priceless Standard Template Constructs (STCs) and technological relics within their stronghold. With the emergence of the Independence Sector and its advancements in technology and governance, Cawl had negotiated the Libertas-Mars Treaty with Franklin Valorian. The treaty divided production responsibilities: Mars would handle mass production while Nova Libertas focused on crafting high-quality, bespoke equipment. This arrangement created a competitive but cooperative dynamic, ensuring the Imperium of Man's survival while cementing both factions as essential

pillars of progress.

Cawl's eyes glimmered with the glow of his internal cogitators as he pondered the implications. The treaty not only made Mars and Nova Libertas indispensable but also fostered innovation through competition. However, for competition to flourish, more STCS and ancient technologies were needed. The Navigators' cache would be invaluable.

The Skitarii Legions advanced in disciplined waves, clearing resistance with calculated efficiency. As they moved deeper into the palace, the Mechanicum encountered increasingly desperate defenders. The Navigators themselves were not psykers, but their Auxilia troops were well-trained and fiercely loyal. Despite this, they were no match for the Skitarii Mandragora, Cawl's elite bodyguards, who dispatched them with surgical precision. Their galvanic rifles and transonic blades tore through the defenders, leaving nothing but silence in

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their wake.

Cawl's stride was unhurried, his augmented limbs carrying him forward with mechanical precision. Reports from the Vanguard Skitarii indicated a heavy deadlock ahead, where Auxilia forces had fortified their position. Without hesitation, Cawl ordered the Kastelan Robots to break through. The lumbering constructs, programmed for relentless destruction, surged forward. Their fists pummeled through barricades, and their incendine combustors spewed flames that reduced the defenders to ash. Explosions rocked the palace as the Kastelans breached the defensive line, clearing the path for Cawl and his retinue.

As he entered the grand complex at the heart of the palace, Cawl's optics scanned the vast chamber. Ornate architecture surrounded him, with frescoes and tapestries depicting the Navigators' storied history. At the center of the room stood the Paternova, resplendent in his ceremonial robes. Despite his regal bearing, the Paternova's expression was twisted with rage

and desperation. "Fabricator-General Belisarius Cawl," the Paternova snarled, his voice echoing through the chamber. "You dare violate the sanctity of the Navigator Houses? This is betrayal of the

highest order!"

Cawl's voice, cold and metallic, echoed back. "Betrayal, Paternova? That implies a bond of

trust, which I assure you never existed. Your reliance on archaic practices and monopolistic control over warp travel has made you an obstacle to progress. You cling to a crumbling foundation, blind to the inevitable march of change."

The Paternova's face darkened with fury. "Your arrogance knows no bounds, Mechanicum dog! Do you not see that the Emperor's tyranny will eventually turn on you? Your religious dogma will be next on the chopping block. The Emperor will purge all parasites, and your kind will burn with the rest of us!"

Cawl tilted his head, his voice laced with mockery. "You misunderstand the Mechanicum's

evolution. While some cling to the title of Omnissiah for the Emperor, it is merely a designation—a cultural relic. Mars has adapted and will continue to do so, unlike your stagnant houses. Your inefficiency and resistance to change have sealed your fate." The Paternova's hand trembled as he pointed at Cawl. "This is not evolution; it is treachery!

You will doom us all with your hubris."

Before the Paternova could continue, a golden blur streaked into the chamber. Captain-

General Constantin Valdor, resplendent in his auramite armor, strode forward with the unstoppable force of the Custodian Guard. His blade glinted in the dim light as he closed the distance to the Paternova. Without a word, Valdor seized the man by the arm and began dragging him out of the chamber.

"This one is coming with us," Valdor stated curtly, his tone brooking no argument. "The Emperor has plans for him."

Cawl barely spared a glance at the spectacle. His focus was on the massive, reinforced gate at

the far end of the chamber. It bore the sigils of the Navigators and radiated an aura of secrecy.

Cawl's logic engines hummed as he calculated the odds. This was likely the repository of the Navigators' most valuable relics—including, perhaps, STCs. The Fabricator-General extended a cluster of mechadendrites toward the gate, his augmented fingers beginning to work on its intricate locking mechanisms.

"While you enjoy your political theater, Captain-General," Cawl said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "I shall see what treasures the Navigators have been hoarding. Competition drives progress, and for Mars to compete with Nova Libertas, we shall need every advantage." Valdor didn't reply, his focus remaining on the struggling Paternova. The Custodian Guard exited the chamber, leaving Cawl and his retinue to their task.

As Cawl worked, the palace continued to shake with the sounds of battle. Skitarii forces clashed with remaining Auxilia troops, and explosions echoed through the halls. Despite the chaos, Cawl was unperturbed. His logic engines calculated every variable, and his faith in the efficiency of his forces was absolute.

Finally, the gate's locking mechanisms yielded with a resounding clang. The massive doors creaked open, revealing a chamber filled with ancient relics. STC fragments, technological schematics, and artifacts of unimaginable value were arrayed before him. Cawl's optics flared with excitement as he stepped inside, his mechadendrites reaching out to catalog and analyze the treasures.

"Ah, the Navigators have indeed been hoarding quite the haul," Cawl mused aloud. "This will

do nicely."

As he began the process of securing the relics, Cawl couldn't help but reflect on the significance of this moment. The Mechanicum of Mars and the Independence Sector were not merely allies; they were competitors in the truest sense, driving each other to greater heights. With these discoveries, Mars would solidify its position as an unshakeable pillar of the

Imperium, ensuring that no force-not even the Emperor's wrath-could threaten its

survival.

The Fabricator-General's mechadendrites worked tirelessly, dismantling the Navigators' legacy piece by piece. Outside, the battle raged on, but within the chamber, the future of Mars and the Imperium was being rewritten, one relic at a time.

The air within the bri of the ngeful Spirit was tense as the news of the Novis Nobilite

purge reached Horus Lupercal. The Primarch of the Luna Wolves stood at the command dais,

his imposing figure silhouetted against the void beyond. His wolfish features were set in a contemplative grimace, his piercing gaze fixed on the hololithic display of Terra. Around him stood the Mournival-Abaddon, Tarik Torgaddon, Little Horus Aximand, and Hastur Sejanus -along with his ever-watchful equerry, Maloghurst.

"A bold move by our brother," Horus muttered, his voice a low rumble. "To eradicate the

Navigator Houses so completely, and yet, it seems... decisive."

Maloghurst stepped forward, his pale face marred with the scars of his station. His sharp eyes gleamed with the glint of hidden knowledge. "My lord, this purge did not begin with Franklin's retaliation. This has been decades in the making. The Emperor himself, in his ineffable wisdom, has likely orchestrated this moment, ensuring that when the Navigators overstepped, there would be no recourse but annihilation."

The Mournival exchanged glances, their expressions varying from curiosity to unease. Abaddon, ever the staunch warrior, was the first to break the silence.

"If the Navigators dared to target a Primarch, then they are nothing less than traitors. Their

monopoly over Warp travel has made them arrogant, blind to their fragility. I say we support

the purge. Franklin's actions send a clear message-a message that no one is beyond the Emperor's justice."

Torgaddon chuckled, his humor a balm against the tension. "A bit extreme, wouldn't you say?

Though I can't deny the irony. For all their vaunted power, they now find themselves at the mercy of the very tools they sought to control."

"Extreme, but effective," Little Horus interjected, his tone measured. "The Emperor has

always valued efficiency. If Franklin's actions are part of a larger plan, then we would do well to align ourselves with it."

Hastur Sejanus, his face calm and reflective, stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Yet, we cannot act in ignorance. Franklin's purge has far-reaching consequences. Warp travel, trade, even the cohesion of the Crusade-all hang in the balance. We need clarity, my lord. What does the Emperor intend as a replacement for the Navigator Houses?"

Maloghurst's voice cut through the discussion, sharp and insistent. "The Navigators have

always been a liability. Their mutations, their secretive ways, their hunger for power-all of it undermines the Imperium's unity. The Emperor's vision has no place for such weaknesses. It is only logical that he has foreseen this and prepared an alternative."

Horus nodded slowly, his mind a whirlwind of calculations. He could see the merit in Maloghurst's argument, yet the practicalities gnawed at him. The Navigators were a necessary evil, their gene-linked abilities the cornerstone of Warp navigation. Without them, the Crusade's momentum would falter. But to let such treachery go unpunished?

Unthinkable.

"Enough," Horus said, his voice firm. The Mournival fell silent, their attention snapping back to their lord. "To attempt the assassination of a Primarch is the highest treason. Franklin's actions, though severe, are justified. The Navigator Houses have proven themselves unworthy

of their station."

He turned to face the hololith, the image of Terra looming large. "We will change course. The Vengeful Spirit will make for Terra. Once there, we will take our Navigators into custody and deliver them to the Emperor. If this is indeed part of His plan, then He will have the solution we seek." The Mournival exchanged glances once more. Abaddon's expression was one of grim satisfaction, while Torgaddon's bore a flicker of amusement. Little Horus's brow furrowed in thought, and Sejanus's calm remained unshaken.

"A prudent course, my lord," Maloghurst said, inclining his head. "The Emperor's wisdom

will guide us through this upheaval."

"And what of Franklin?" Torgaddon asked, his tone light but curious. "Do we offer him our support directly, or simply observe from afar?"

Horus's smirk was cold, calculating. "Franklin needs no aid from us. He is more than capable of handling this on his own. But our presence on Terra will send a message to all who watch.

The Luna Wolves stands with his brothers. Let the Imperium know that treachery will not be tolerated, no matter its source."

The Mournival straightened, their lord's resolve inspiring their own. Abaddon's hand rested

on the hilt of his sword, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. "Then let us make for Terra. The Navigators will answer for their crimes."

Torgaddon grinned, his usual levity returning. "I do hope the Emperor has something spectacular planned. I'd hate for all this drama to end in disappointment."

Little Horus shot him a look, though a faint smile tugged at his lips. "Always the comedian,

Tarik." Hastur Sejanus's voice was calm, steady. "Whatever lies ahead, we will face it as we always have-together."

Horus turned to his equerry, his expression inscrutable. "Maloghurst, prepare the fleet for the change in course. Inform the Navigators that they are to be confined to quarters the moment we arrive in Segmentum Solar, until further notice. Any resistance will be met with force." Maloghurst inclined his head. "It will be done, my lord."