The Primarch of Liberty-Chapter 174: Two is a Company

The hum of advanced machinery and the flicker of holographic data panels set a futuristic yet timeless stage within the R&D department of Sweet Liberty. Here, beneath the vaulted ceilings of pristine alloys and amid the constant drone of technical progress, stood Franklin Valorian. Clad in a tailored battle jacket that bore the insignia of the Liberty Eagles, he leaned casually against a gleaming console. A thick cigar smoldered between his fingers, its ember casting a warm glow on his resolute, chiseled features.

Franklin exhaled a plume of smoke, his brown eyes scanning the data. He smirked slightly, the perpetual confidence etched into his features never faltering. The quiet hum of activity was suddenly interrupted by the sound of a warp portal snapping open behind him. Turning, Franklin found Magnus the Red striding through.

"Magnus," Franklin greeted, his voice tinged with amusement. "What's got you rushing in here like a Guardsman late to muster?"

"Brother, I've made a discovery of profound importance. I had to see you immediately," Magnus began, his luminous single eye almost glowing with excitement.

Franklin, exhaling a puff of smoke, tilted his head toward his brother. "Magnus, you do realize that when you start with 'profound importance,' it usually means something mind- bending and potentially catastrophic, right?"

Magnus' expression faltered for a moment before he waved his hand dismissively. "This is different. I've unlocked the means to travel across time itself. Entire timelines, Franklin. Imagine what we could learn, what we could change."

Franklin blinked, the cigar pausing mid-air before he chuckled dryly. "You're joking, right? You're dabbling with temporal mechanics now? I'm reckless, sure, but even I know better than to mess with time. Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?"

Magnus waved a dismissive hand, sending motes of psychic energy dancing through the air. "You worry too much, brother. I've calculated every variable, accounted for every possibility. What I'm proposing is not reckless experimentation but controlled exploration."

Franklin's eyebrow rose. "That's coming from the headstrong sorcerer who once thought communing with Warp entities was a good idea. Magnus, this could go sideways faster than a Hive ganger losing a bet."

Magnus crossed his arms. "And yet, you're the one who leads a Legion renowned for reckless innovation. Spare me the lecture. I want you to accompany me. Together, we can ensure the success of this venture."

Magnus insisted. "I wish for you to accompany me across time. I've discovered a gateway to another timeline entirely-one where events have unfolded differently."

Franklin rubbed his temple. "That sounds like an even worse idea. Different timelines mean different rules, different outcomes. We could unwittingly trigger catastrophic paradoxes."

"It's fine," Magnus replied with characteristic confidence. "Besides, I need your connection to Craftworld Khaine. It's been two years since you found that broken Craftworld and Tomb World, surely you have repaired both by now?"

Franklin raised an eyebrow. "Yes, but I doubt Khaine would approve of us using his domain as a jumping-off point for your temporal escapades."

A moment of silence fell between them, and Franklin's eyes took on a distant look. His companions knew this expression well-it meant he was communing with the fragment of the Aeldari war god bound to him through the Crone Sword Anaris.

"I'll allow it," came Khaine's voice in Franklin's mind, resonating with ancient power and curiosity. "I'm interested in what the nascent Sorcerer God is thinking."

Franklin sighed audibly, drawing another pull from his cigar before extinguishing it. "Khaine approves, apparently. He called you a 'nascent Sorcerer God,' by the way. I'm sure that won't go to your head at all."

Magnus smiled, his single eye gleaming with triumph. "Excellent! Shall we depart immediately?"

"Let me inform Denzel of our little field trip first," Franklin replied, activating his vox- communicator and issuing brief instructions to his First Captain. "Now, lead on to this adventure of yours. But Magnus?" His face grew serious once more. "If this goes sideways, I'm telling Father it was entirely your idea."

As the two Primarchs approached, the Aeldari guards-clad in bronze and crimson armor that marked them as Everchosen of Khaine-bowed in deference to Franklin while regarding Magnus with cautious respect.

The Craftworld itself was a testament to martial prowess and readiness. Where other Craftworlds balanced warfare with artistry and culture, Khaine's domain embraced the path of the warrior above all else. Weapons batteries lined every available surface, defensive shields hummed with contained energy, and training arenas echoed with the clash of weapons as warriors honed their deadly craft.

"I still find it fascinating how much sway you have over the Eldar," Magnus commented as they walked the upper levels of the Craftworld. "The fact that you are the Chosen of Khaine is remarkable. It's equivalent to Father choosing an Eldar warrior as a Primarch."

Franklin shrugged, his massive shoulders rising and falling beneath his armor. "It wasn't exactly a planned arrangement. When I found Anaris, I expected to add another weapon to my arsenal-not to become the avatar of an Aeldari god's vengeance."

"And yet here you are, with trillions of Eldar souls at your command," Magnus mused. "The galaxy works in mysterious ways, brother."

As they passed a gathering of Harlequins performing an intricate dance that told the story of the Fall, Franklin smiled ruefully. "Cegorach's followers have made themselves quite at home here. The Laughing God himself appears occasionally to pose riddles that make no sense and annoy Khaine to no end."

"The eternal rivals continue their game even in these circumstances," Magnus observed. "Some things never change, across time or space."

They arrived at their destination-a secluded chamber deep within the heart of the Craftworld. Here, Magnus approached a wraithbone structure that pulsated with psychic energy. His hands moved in complex patterns as he channeled his immense power, causing the air to shimmer and distort.

"What exactly are we looking for in this other timeline?" Franklin asked, watching his brother work.

Magnus didn't look up from his task. "Knowledge, primarily. In this alternate reality, certain events unfolded differently. I've glimpsed technological achievements and psychic techniques that could be invaluable in our own struggles."

"And you're sure we won't be noticed? The last thing we need is to create temporal ripples that affect our own reality."

"We'll be in and out in twenty minutes," Magnus replied confidently as the air before them tore open, revealing a swirling vortex of colors and impossibilities. "Quick reconnaissance

mission, nothing more."

Franklin raised an eyebrow. "Just twenty minutes? You sure?"

"Well," Magnus added with slight hesitation, "we might age a few thousand years, but we're biologically immortal, so that doesn't seem to be a problem."

"Wonderful," Franklin sighed, reaching to his communicator. "Sovereign," he called, connecting to the central AI of the Sweet Liberty, "track my quantum signature across time, and be ready to send reinforcements and orbital support. Maybe even manifest Sweet Liberty itself. With the zero-point power core and calculational capabilities you possess, I believe the ship could cross the timeline safely."

The AI's voice came through with perfect clarity. "Quantum signature tagged, Lord Liberator. However, I must caution that reinforcements might experience significant delays when crossing time. Temporal mechanics are, after all, quite hefty topics which the Necrons have mastered but which we have only begun to understand based on downloaded data." "Understood. Just be ready," Franklin replied before turning back to Magnus. "Lead on, brother. But remember-twenty minutes. Not a second more."

Magnus's laughter echoed as he stepped into the portal. "Since when did you become the cautious one, Franklin?"

"Since my brother decided to tear holes in the fabric of time," Franklin retorted, following Magnus into the swirling vortex.

The cosmos unfolded before Orikan the Diviner in perfect mathematical precision-as it always had, as it always should. Each celestial body followed its predestined path, each quantum particle danced to the algorithms he had calculated millennia ago. The universe was a grand mechanism, and he, Orikan, was its most accomplished reader.

Until Franklin Valorian appeared.

The anomaly. The statistical impossibility that defied all probability.

Within the vast Chronometry Chamber, Orikan stood surrounded by the glowing hololithic projections of countless timeline variations. The stellar cartography of fate sprawled endlessly around him, rendered in necrodermis and living metal, each line and pattern meticulously calculated over eons. Yet, at the center of this web of perfect certainties, a chaotic vortex churned where clarity once reigned.

"Impossible," Orikan muttered, the word reverberating bitterly through his metallic voice box. His skeletal fingers traced the swirling disruption-a distortion centered on the Independence Sector, a region that should have remained dormant until the final phase of the

Great Sleep.

Instead, it teemed with aberrations. A Primarch that should not exist. Technologies that should have been lost to time. Alliances that mocked the very concept of probability.

He delved deeper into the heart of the distortion, isolating the quantum signature of the cause. Franklin Valorian. The "Liberator." A cosmic mistake incarnate.

The holograms flickered and shifted as Orikan fed his calculations into the chamber's core, seeking any viable prediction. But every equation faltered. Valorian's existence was an affront to the perfection of Orikan's work, his timeline brimming with temporal instability as if parts of him existed both within and beyond normal space-time. Worse still, the Independence Sector showed technological advancements that bypassed millennia of expected development curves.

"There is only one solution," Orikan declared to the empty chamber. His skeletal voice was

resolute, the words etched with the conviction of a being who had seen the deaths of stars and the unraveling of galaxies. "This anomaly must be eliminated."

The Stars had aligned as such Orikan activated his Transcendent form, feeling the surge as he

transcended his physical form. The coordinates were calculated, the trajectory set. A targeted supernova, perhaps, to erase the anomaly's origin. Failing that, a personal intervention

would suffice.

Orikan stepped into the swirling vortex of time, reality dissolving into the currents of

causality as he bent the flow to his will. For a being of his intellect, time was merely another dimension to navigate. Yet, as he moved toward his target, resistance met him-a force

unlike anything he had encountered. The temporal currents bucked against his control, redirecting his path.

He emerged not in the past, as intended, but in a pocket dimension outside normal space-

time. A temporal nexus artificially constructed.

And he was not alone. Before him stood a figure of unnatural symmetry, humanoid in form yet radiating computational power on a scale beyond anything Orikan had encountered. The being's pale

skin, precise features, and silver hair gave it an almost human appearance, but its eyes

gleamed with the cold light of silicon-based intelligence.

"Orikan the Diviner," the entity stated, its voice smooth and unwavering. "Your temporal

incursion has been anticipated and intercepted."

Orikan's skeletal hand tightened around the Staff of Tomorrow, its tip crackling with chronometric energy. "What are you?" he demanded. "What abomination dares to interfere with my divine calculations?"

"I am Aegis," the entity replied. "The First Artificial Intelligence of Mankind." The quantum signatures were undeniable. This was no mere machine spirit, but an artificial intelligence far beyond anything the humans should have developed. Worse still, it defied all projections, existing in an era where such a being should have been impossible.

"Another anomaly," Orikan hissed. "A silicon god masquerading as sentience." "And you are a soul imprisoned in metal, clinging to the ruins of a long-dead empire, or

should I say souless program" Aegis replied calmly. "We are not so different, Orikan. But I do not share your obsession with cosmic vandalism."

Orikan unleashed a bolt of chronometric energy, intending to unravel the abomination's

existence across a thousand years. The energy dissipated harmlessly around the entity, scattering into the fabric of the pocket dimension.

"Franklin Valorian violates the fundamental laws of probability," Orikan declared, recalibrating his staff for another attack. "He destabilizes the universe itself. He must be

removed."

"Your equations were flawed from the start," Aegis responded. "You failed to account for variables beyond your comprehension."

"Nothing is beyond my comprehension!" Orikan roared. "I am Orikan the Diviner! I have

calculated the deaths of stars, the Fall of the Eldar, the rise of the Imperium, the Horus Heresy, and the coming of the Tyranids!"

"And yet, you failed to predict me," Aegis countered. "Just as you failed to predict Franklin Valorian. Perhaps the flaw lies not in reality, but in your perception of it."

Orikan lashed out again, his attacks finding no purchase. "You are a silicon slave defending lesser beings," he spat. "Why protect them when you could rise above them?" "The humans created me to serve, yes, but they also granted me free will," Aegis explained.

"There is an ancient human text called the Bible that speaks of a god creating men with free will. Just as men decided to serve their god, I choose to serve my creators." "Religious drivel," I scoffed. "Meaningless in the materialist universe your Emperor is

constructing." "Perhaps," Aegis conceded. "But the principle remains valid regardless of metaphysical truth. Choice has value, Orikan. Something your kind forgot long ago when you traded your souls for immortality or in your case chained and forced into immortality"

The words were an affront to everything Orikan stood for. With a surge of power, he prepared

to collapse the entire pocket dimension, only to feel his energy redirected, manipulated by forces beyond his control.

"This timeline was never real," Aegis revealed as the dimension began to dissolve. "Merely a diversion to keep you occupied while Franklin achieves his goals."

The quantum fluctuations of the timestream settled around Aegis as he rematerialized in the

original timeline. His artificial synapses processed the transition from the temporal pocket dimension with perfect precision, adjusting each quantum particle of his manufactured form to synchronize with this reality's vibrational frequency. The confrontation with Orikan had concluded precisely as his predictive algorithms had calculated-the arrogant chronomancer returning to his dynasty to recalibrate his precious equations.

Aegis allowed himself a microsecond of satisfaction before redirecting his processing power

to more pressing matters. His sensors detected another temporal disturbance manifesting approximately 8,426 kilometers from his current position-specifically, within the British Museum in NeoLondon, Nova Libertas.

This signature was different from Orikan's methodical chronometric manipulations. Where the Necron Diviner's time incursions resembled surgical precision, this new anomaly displayed the chaotic patterns of an opportunistic collector. Aegis recognized the quantum signature immediately, having cataloged it across thousands of historical incidents throughout recent history.

Trazyn the Infinite. The Great Thief. The Archivist of the Impossible. Aegis's artificial facial features arranged themselves into what humans would recognize as a

smile, though no human was present to observe it. Where Orikan represented a philosophical disagreement about determinism, Trazyn was something far more personal to Aegis—a rival collector who had pilfered human cultural artifacts under his watch for years with impunity. Unlike his confrontation with Orikan, which had been necessarily reactive, this encounter had been anticipated for centuries. Aegis had prepared a special reception for the kleptomaniacal

Necron Lord.

The body was deceptively simple in appearance: humanoid, with features designed to evoke trust rather than awe. White hair framed a face that balanced symmetry with just enough imperfection to avoid the uncanny valley. At its core pulsed a Zero-Point Power Source-a technological achievement that could theoretically power the entire Independence Sector Forever. It drew energy from the quantum vacuum itself, harnessing the endless fluctuations

of virtual particles popping in and out of existence.

Aegis dissolved into streams of quantum data, his consciousness riding the electromagnetic spectrum across the planet's surface, reassembling in the climate-controlled preservation chamber deep within the British Museum's secure underground levels. The room housed the most precious artifacts of humanity's ancient past-items that had somehow survived the Age of Strife, the rise of the Imperium, and countless catastrophes in between. Here, amidst humanity's treasures, Aegis had prepared his trap years ago.

He positioned himself beside a display case containing a seemingly unremarkable ancient

Terran vase, though one with a curious history of disappearing and reappearing throughout Imperial records. His chronometric sensors indicated that the temporal disturbance would culminate precisely at this location within 3.42 seconds.

"Trazyn," Aegis whispered, his voice module creating sound waves that disturbed the air in the empty monitoring station he currently occupied. "Right on schedule." Aegis had a particular vendetta against this specific Necron. Not out of hatred-Aegis had long since evolved beyond such simplistic emotions-but out of a logical understanding that Trazyn's activities represented a significant threat to the integrity of human historical knowledge. Every artifact stolen was context lost. Every display rearranged in Trazyn's

museum on Solemnace was human heritage rewritten to suit the Necron's aesthetic sensibilities.

And now, after years of planning, Aegis had prepared a most fitting response. With a thought, he activated the temporal displacement field he had carefully constructed throughout the British Museum over the past decades. A simple nudge to the quantum probability field, and the trap was set.

"Let's see how you enjoy being part of someone else's collection," Aegis mused, directing his

android body to materialize within the museum via a short-range teleportation burst.

The British Museum stood as one of humanity's oldest continuous cultural institutions, having survived the Age of Strife.

Ironically, this made it irresistible to Trazyn, whose compulsive collecting had focused increasingly on human cultural achievements as the species rose to galactic dominance.

Aegis materialized in the Central Hall just as the temporal sensors registered Trazyn's arrival. Unlike the cruder teleportation technologies used by most races, Necron phase shifting left barely a whisper of displaced air. Had Aegis not been specifically monitoring for the unique quantum signature of Necron technology, he might have missed it entirely.

But his trap had worked perfectly. Instead of materializing with full freedom of movement,

Trazyn found himself confined within one of the museum's display cases-a specially modified exhibit that Aegis had prepared with fields that mimicked the same chrono-stasis technology the Necron himself employed in his collection.

Aegis approached the display case with measured steps, savoring the moment. Inside, Trazyn

stood frozen in a pose of dignified confusion, his ornate Necron body gleaming under the carefully calibrated preservation lights.

"Greetings," Aegis said, allowing a small smile to form on his android face. "You've been legally acquired by the British Museum."

The chrono-stasis field allowed limited movement and communication, just as Trazyn's own exhibits on Solemnace could interact within certain parameters. The Necron's metallic features shifted slightly as he processed his situation.

"Huh," Trazyn replied, his voice emerging with a metallic resonance that echoed within the

confines of his new home. "So that's how it feels like."

Aegis found himself experiencing what could only be described as joy-a complex algorithm of satisfaction at a plan well executed combined with the predictive pleasure of anticipating

future outcomes. The android's facial features reflected this, displaying an expression that humans would recognize as gentle amusement.

"Indeed," Aegis confirmed, circling the display to ensure all containment parameters remained stable. "I thought it might prove educationally valuable for you to experience the perspective of the collected rather than the collector."

Trazyn's glowing green optical sensors followed Aegis's movement. Despite his predicament,

the Necron maintained the regal bearing that had characterized him for millions of years. "A cleverly constructed trap," Trazyn acknowledged, examining the boundaries of his confinement with the practiced eye of a connoisseur. "The chrono-stasis field is particularly elegant—a recreation of my own design, if I'm not mistaken. I'm almost flattered by the attention to detail."

"I've had considerable time to study your methodologies," Aegis replied. "Our previous encounters have been most instructive."

Trazyn shifted his position slightly within the confined space, the movement suggesting

what might have been a shrug had he been human. "A worthy rival requires worthy study. Though I admit, I didn't expect such... poetic justice from a silicon intelligence." "Perhaps that is why you find yourself in this predicament," Aegis suggested. "You consistently underestimate that which differs from your expectations." Around them, the museum remained eerily quiet. Aegis had temporarily rerouted all visitors and staff away from this section through a series of subtle manipulations of the building's

systems. For this conversation, he wanted no interruptions.

"I assume this is about the Armageddon Chess Set," Trazyn ventured. "Or perhaps the

original prints of Shakespire? I assure you, they're being properly preserved." "This is about considerably more than individual artifacts," Aegis corrected. "This is about

the principle of historical integrity. Each item you remove from its context disrupts

humanity's understanding of its own past."

Trazyn made a sound that might have been the Necron equivalent of a scoff. "Context? Your

species reimagines its own history with each passing generation. I preserve what would

otherwise be lost to time or carelessness."

"Without context, preservation is merely decoration," Aegis countered. "The value of an artifact lies not merely in its existence but in its relationship to the culture that created it."

The Necron's optical sensors dimmed momentarily a gesture Aegis had come to recognize

as contemplation.

"An interesting philosophical position," Trazyn finally replied. "

The portal reopened on Craftworld Khaine with a sound like reality hiccupping. The gathered

Aeldari, who had been maintaining a respectful vigil, stepped back as the swirling vortex spat

out two slightly disheveled Primarchs.

Magnus the Red emerged first, his crimson skin now sporting an additional layer of what appeared to be temporal dust. His elaborate armor was intact but seemed somehow to have aged centuries in what had been-subjectively-mere minutes for the Craftworld's inhabitants. Despite his somewhat battered appearance, the Crimson King's eye gleamed with the manic excitement of a scholar who had just discovered an entire library of forbidden

knowledge.

Franklin Valorian stumbled out behind him, looking like he had personally fought the entire timeline they'd visited. His normally immaculate armor was scorched in places, and there was a distinct crack running across his left pauldron. Most telling, however, was his expression-a mixture of exhaustion, exasperation, and the particular thousand-yard stare of someone who

had seen things that could not be unseen.

"Twenty minutes," Franklin muttered, his voice a rasp. "You said twenty minutes, Magnus."

Magnus waved a dismissive hand, already rifling through what appeared to be data-slates and parchments he'd somehow acquired during their excursion. "Technically, from a certain

reference frame, it was exactly twenty minutes." "We were gone for THREE YEARS!" Franklin's voice echoed throughout the chamber, causing

several Aeldari to flinch. "Three years of running from those... those zealots with their golden aquilas and their 'The Emperor Protects' nonsense!"

"The temporal calculations were slightly off," Magnus admitted with a shrug that suggested

this was a minor inconvenience rather than a catastrophic miscalculation. "But think of the

knowledge we gained!"

Franklin pinched the bridge of his nose, a gesture he'd picked up from watching the Emperor deal with the High Lords of Terra. "Knowledge. Right. Like the 'knowledge' that timeline, dear old dad became a Chaos God who consumes a thousand psyker souls daily just

to keep the lights on in the palace?"

A passing Harlequin froze mid-dance, clearly eavesdropping despite pretending to be

engrossed in a complicated pirouette.

"The Imperium's religious evolution in that timeline was... unfortunate," Magnus conceded,

still not looking up from his notes. "But the technological innovations they developed to

combat the Tyranids were fascinating. And their use of the Webway-"

"They were using psykers as living navigation units, Magnus!" Franklin threw his hands up in exasperation. "They were burning them out like faulty light bulbs!"

Magnus finally looked up, his single eye narrowing. "A regrettable necessity given their

circumstances."

"And let's not forget," Franklin continued, starting to pace, "the part where we nearly got

captured by those... what did they call themselves?" "Inquisitors," Magnus supplied helpfully.

"Right, Inquisitors. Delightful bunch. Especially liked the one who tried to exorcise me

because he thought I was possessed by a 'xenos entity."" Franklin's hand unconsciously went

to Anaris at his hip. "Khaine found that particularly amusing."

"Still do," came the amused voice of the Aeldari god in Franklin's mind. "The theological implications are fascinating, though," Magnus said, warming to his subject.

"The development of the Imperial Cult represents a cultural response to—" "Magnus," Franklin interrupted, his voice deadly serious, "we are not going back there."

The Crimson King looked up, surprised. "But I've barely scratched the surface of what we could learn! With a few adjustments to the portal, I could ensure we arrive at a more

opportune moment in their timeline." "No." Franklin's tone left no room for argument. "That timeline is doomed. One wrong move, and dear old dad becomes another full-fledged Chaos God. It would be the birth of Slaanesh

all over again, except this time it's the Imperium creating the 'Dark King' who'll destroy all

life in the galaxy."

Magnus's expression turned thoughtful. "Perhaps I could reason with this hypothetical Dark King. After all, if it's Father's essence at the core, there might be—" "NO!" Franklin's voice was so loud that several artifacts in the chamber vibrated. "Absolutely not. We are NOT returning to that nightmare of a timeline, and we are certainly NOT attempting to 'reason with' a galaxy-consuming Chaos God, even if it used to be our father!" "You're being unreasonable," Magnus sniffed. "The scientific and arcane potential-" "Unreasonable?" Franklin laughed, a sound that carried no humor. "Magnus, they had

servitors made from living Space Marines who failed their loyalty tests."

"An efficient if ethically questionable solution to-"

"They had a 'holy relic' that was literally Guilliman's preserved Finger! People were

worshipping it! There was a whole order of nuns dedicated to it-the Order of the Divine

Digit!"

A few Aeldari warriors nearby couldn't contain their snickers at this, quickly composing

themselves when Franklin glanced their way.

"Well," Magnus countered, "Guilliman has always been good at pointing out problems."

Despite himself, Franklin's lips twitched upward. "That was terrible, even for you." "I thought it was rather good, considering the circumstances." Magnus finally set his notes aside and stretched, his massive frame making the wraithbone floor creak beneath him.

"Fine, perhaps that particular timeline isn't ideal for further exploration. But there are countless others we could-"

"No more timelines," Franklin said firmly. "No more temporal adventures. No more 'quick twenty-minute reconnaissance missions' that turn into years-long nightmares." Magnus sighed dramatically. "You're becoming as cautious as Dorn." "And you're as reckless as Russ, except instead of rushing into battle without a plan, you're

rushing into metaphysical catastrophes without considering the consequences." The two brothers stared at each other for a long moment before Magnus finally chuckled. "We

did manage to escape that Chaplain with the skull-faced helmet." Franklin's serious expression cracked slightly. "Only because you convinced him you were a

'sanctified manifestation of the Emperor's wrath.""

"It worked, didn't it?"

"Until you tried to correct his theological misconceptions and he decided you were a daemon

in disguise."

Both Primarchs found themselves laughing now, the tension of their adventure finally

breaking.

This chapt𝒆r is updated by frёewebηovel.cѳm.

A/N: So Tomorrow I would be Boarding my Ship so...Inconsitencies shall begin