The Primarch of Liberty

Chapter 33: A Unique Case



Franklin Valorian, Primarch of the Liberty Eagles, stood in his personal training ground, sweat glistening on his brow as he swung the massive Deathsword in precise arcs. The blade hummed with eldritch energy, a testament to the ancient power contained within.

"Not bad, for a mon-keigh," came the sardonic voice of Khaine, the Aeldari God of War and Murder, from within the blade.

Franklin grinned, his chest heaving slightly from exertion. "Coming from you, Oh Bloody- Handed One, I'll take that as high praise."

"Don't let it go to your head," Khaine retorted. "You're learning fast, but you've got millennia to go before you can match true Aeldari battle prowess."

"Aw, shucks," Franklin drawled, his accent thickening with mock disappointment. "And here I thought I was ready to challenge the Phoenix King himself."

Khaine's laughter echoed in Franklin's mind, a sound like clashing blades. "Your humor never ceases to amuse me, Primarch. But come, it's time we moved beyond mere swordplay. Let us delve into the arcane arts of war."

Franklin cocked an eyebrow. "Arcane arts? You mean like... magic tricks? Gonna pull a rabbit out of your helmet, Khaine?"

The god's sigh was almost audible. "Spells, you dimwitted giant. The psychic techniques that have made the Aeldari the terror of the galaxy for millions of years."

"Hold up," Franklin said, lowering the Deathsword. "You know spells? I thought you were just a musclehead with a cool sword."

Khaine's indignation flared like a supernova. "A musclehead? Me? If you want a musclehead, go chat with Khorne, you overgrown infant! I am Khaine, the Aeldari God of War and Murder! I am the epitome of martial prowess, the very essence of combat distilled into divine form!"

Franklin held up his hands in surrender, trying not to laugh. "Alright, alright! No need to blow a gasket. So, you're saying you're going to teach me some of your fancy Aeldari magic?"

"Indeed," Khaine replied, his tone softening slightly. "Now, focus your mind. Reach out to the Warp and channel its energy."

Franklin closed his eyes, his face scrunching up in concentration. After a few moments, he opened one eye. "Uh, Khaine? I think the Warp's ghosting me. I'm not feeling anything." Khaine's disbelief was palpable. "What do you mean, you're not feeling anything? You're a Primarch, a being of immense psychic potential! A Warp God in flesh!Surely you jest?"

Franklin shrugged. "No jest, buddy. My Warp powers are like that flaky friend who only shows up when there's free food. They don't come when called."

"Impossible," Khaine muttered. "I saw you unleash tremendous psychic might against Kairos Fateweaver. Your powers seared it's flesh!"

"Oh, that?" Franklin scratched his head. "Yeah, that only happens when Chaos shows up. It's like my powers have a 'In Case of Chaos, Break Glass' policy."

Khaine was silent for a moment, processing this information. "You mean to tell me that you, a scion of the Emperor himself, can only access your psychic abilities in response to Chaos?"

Franklin nodded. "Pretty much. Makes family reunions with dear old dad a bit awkward, let me tell you."

"By the Bloody Gates of Khaela Mensha Khaine," the god swore. "This is... unprecedented. Very well, we shall have to awaken your latent abilities through more... direct means."

"Uh, what exactly do you mean by 'direct means'?" Franklin asked, a hint of nervousness creeping into his voice.

"Meditation," Khaine replied. "Sit, Primarch. We shall delve into the depths of your psyche and drag your powers kicking and screaming into the light."

Franklin plopped down cross-legged on the training room floor, the Deathsword across his knees. "Alright, but fair warning: last time I tried meditation, I fell asleep and dreamed I was a potato. It was a very enlightening experience."

Khaine chose to ignore that comment. "Close your eyes and focus on your breath. Feel the energy flowing through your body, the connection to the Warp that lies dormant within you."

Franklin did as instructed, his massive frame going still as he concentrated. Minutes ticked by in silence, broken only by the Primarch's steady breathing.

Suddenly, Khaine's voice rang out, startling Franklin. "By the Warp, you truly are a psychic imbecile!"

Franklin's eyes snapped open. "Hey! I resemble that remark!"

Khaine's frustration was evident. "Your psychic potential is vast, yet you fumble with it like a child trying to grasp smoke. How have you managed to survive this long?"

"Well, I eat my vegetables and always look both ways before crossing the street," Franklin quipped.

"Enough of your jests!" Khaine snapped. "We must find a way to unlock your abilities. Perhaps... yes, that might work. Primarch, take up your bolter."

Confused but curious, Franklin stood and retrieved his personal bolt pistol from its rack on the wall. "Okay, got it. Now what?"

"Now," Khaine instructed, "I want you to aim at that target and fire, but focus on the bullet. Will it to hit the mark."

Franklin raised an eyebrow but complied. He raised the pistol, took aim, and squeezed the trigger. The bolt round erupted from the barrel with a thunderous crack.

To Franklin's amazement, the bullet curved in mid-air, spiraling around in an impossible arc before striking the dead center of the target.

"Holy Emperor on a pogo stick," Franklin breathed. "Did you see that?"

Khaine's voice was filled with a mixture of awe and exasperation. "Indeed I did. It seems, Primarch, that you have been channeling your psychic abilities through your weapons all

along."

Franklin stared at the smoking gun in his hand. "So, that's why I never miss? And why my shots sometimes do those fancy tricks?"

"Precisely," Khaine confirmed. "You, Franklin Valorian, are a gifted psyker... and also, if you'll pardon my Aeldari, a complete moron."

Franklin grinned. "Aw, Khaine, you say the sweetest things. So, does this mean I get to skip the meditation and go straight to the cool stuff?"

Khaine's sigh echoed through the Deathsword. "I suppose we'll have to work with what we've got. But mark my words, Primarch, by the time I'm done with you, you'll be wielding psychic power with the same skill you wield that oversized gun of yours."

"Sounds like a plan," Franklin said, holstering his bolt pistol. "But first, how about we take a break? All this psychic awakening has made me hungry. You want anything? I make a mean grilled cheese sandwich."

"I am a god trapped in a sword," Khaine replied flatly. "I do not eat grilled cheese

sandwiches."

Franklin shrugged. "Your loss. More for me then. After lunch, you can teach me how to make my bullets do loop-de-loops. That'll really freak out my opponents."

As Franklin sauntered out of the training room, whistling a jaunty tune, Khaine found himself wondering, not for the first time, about the strange twists of fate that had led him to this moment. Here he was, the mighty God of War, reduced to teaching psychic tricks to a Primarch who thought "focus" was something you did with a camera.

Franklin Valorian sauntered back into his personal training ground, a satisfied grin on his face and a few crumbs still clinging to his chin. He patted his stomach contentedly. "Alright, Khaine, my murderously inclined mentor," he announced, "I'm back and ready for Warp 101. Or is it Psyker 101? Spooky Space Magic 101?"

The Deathblade pulsed with an exasperated energy as Franklin unsheathed it. Khaine's voice resonated from within. "If you're quite finished with your culinary adventures, perhaps we

can return to the matter at hand."

"Right, right," Franklin nodded, adopting a comically serious expression. "I'm all ears. Well, technically, I'm mostly genetically enhanced superhuman tissue, but you get the idea." Khaine sighed, a sound like wind whistling through ancient ruins. "Very well. Listen closely, Primarch, for I shall explain the nature of the Warp and how to harness its power." What followed was a comprehensive lecture on the Immaterium, delivered with all the gravitas befitting an Aeldari god. Khaine spoke of the Sea of Souls, the raw stuff of creation and destruction, of the psychic energies that flowed through all living things. He explained how psykers could tap into this realm, shaping reality itself with the power of their will.

Franklin listened intently, his brow furrowed in concentration. As Khaine's explanation wound down, the Primarch's face lit up with understanding.

"Oh, I get it!" he exclaimed. "So the Warp is basically reality manipulation. If you're strong enough, you can do pretty much anything!"

Khaine's surprise was evident in his tone. "That's... a surprisingly succinct summary, yes."

Franklin grinned, clearly pleased with himself. "See? I'm not just a pretty face and

devastating good looks. I've got brains too!"

"Indeed," Khaine drawled. "You continue to astonish me, Primarch."

"So," Franklin mused, stroking his chin thoughtfully, "what's stopping me from just, I don't

know, throwing around miniature suns at my enemies during battles? That seems like it

would be pretty effective."

Khaine chuckled, a sound like grinding obsidian. "Nothing, absolutely nothing... except

perhaps the trifling matter of incinerating the entire planet along with yourself if you were to conjure too many stellar bodies. And your control over the warp"

Franklin blinked. "Ah. Yeah, that might put a damper on things. Bit of a PR nightmare too. I can see the headlines now: 'Primarch's Stellar Performance: Billions Vaporized!"" "Quite," Khaine replied dryly. "Now, shall we begin with some practical applications?"

For the next few hours, Franklin practiced channeling his psychic energy through the Deathblade. Under Khaine's guidance, he learned to infuse the weapon with warp energy, enhancing its already formidable cutting power.

"Hey, I think I'm getting the hang of this!" Franklin exclaimed as the blade sliced through a reinforced adamantium target like it was made of parchment.

"Indeed," Khaine acknowledged. "Your progress is... adequate."

Franklin held the Deathblade on one hand and raised his other empty hand targeting the

dummies, he stood in the center of the training ground, his face scrunched up in concentration. After several minutes of intense effort, the best he managed was a faint flicker

of energy around his fingertips.

"Huh," Franklin said, staring at his hand. "Is it supposed to tickle like that?" Khaine's exasperation was palpable. "No, Primarch, it is not supposed to 'tickle.' You should

be able to conjure storms of psychic energy, not produce a light show fit for an Administratum

clerk's retirement party."

Franklin shrugged. "Hey, Rome wasn't built in a day. Or was it? I always get my Terran history

mixed up. Did the Emperor build Rome? He seems like the type who'd build a city in a day just

to show off."

"Focus!" Khaine snapped. "Your inability to channel your powers without a focus is... perplexing. Even for one as uniquely dense as yourself."

"Hey now," Franklin protested, "I'll have you know my density is perfectly calibrated for

maximum Primarch-iness."

Khaine ignored the quip. "Perhaps we're approaching this from the wrong angle. Tell me, Primarch, how do you perceive your connection to the Warp?"

Franklin scratched his head. "Well, it's kind of like... you know when you're trying to remember the name of that one guy, and it's right on the tip of your tongue, but you just can't

quite grab it? It's like that, but instead of a name, it's unfathomable cosmic power."

"I... see," Khaine replied, clearly not seeing at all. "And when you channel your power through your weapons?"

"Oh, that's easy," Franklin grinned. "It's like playing one of those old Terran video games.

You just point, click, and boom! Enemy go splat!"

Khaine was silent for a long moment, processing this uniquely Valorian perspective on

psychic warfare. "You are, without doubt, the strangest being I have encountered in my long existence, Primarch."

"Aw, thanks!" Franklin beamed. "I do try."

"It was not a compliment," Khaine growled. "But perhaps... yes, maybe we can work with this

peculiar mindset of yours."

The god instructed Franklin to pick up his bolt pistol again. "Now, imagine you're playing one

of your 'video games.' The Warp is your controller, reality is the screen, and your will is the

game's code."

Franklin nodded enthusiastically. "Ooh, I like this analogy. Does this make you the tutorial

NPC?"

"I am the god of war and murder," Khaine replied flatly. "I am no one's 'NPC."" "Right, right, sorry," Franklin said, not sounding sorry at all. "So, what you're saying is, I

should try to... hack the game?"

"If that helps you conceptualize it, then yes," Khaine sighed. "Now, focus on the bolt round

in the chamber. Visualize its path, its impact. Will it to do the impossible." Franklin took a deep breath, raised the pistol, and fired. The bolt round erupted from the

barrel, then suddenly split into a dozen smaller projectiles, each one striking a different target around the room with pinpoint accuracy.

"Holy Terra!" Franklin exclaimed. "Did you see that? I just turned one bullet into, like, a

whole bullet family!"

Khaine's voice held a mix of impressed and disturbed. "Indeed. It seems your... unique perspective on psychic manipulation has some merit after all."

Khaine, ever the patient mentor (or so he told himself), decided it was time to introduce Franklin to some of the more advanced Aeldari psychic techniques. "Now, Primarch, we shall delve into the manipulation of fire, temperature, auras, sound, and even the very statistics of

reality itself."

Franklin's eyes lit up like a child on Sanguinala morning. "Ooh, fancy! So, I get to be a space wizard now?"

"Please," Khaine sighed, "refrain from using such crude terminology. These are ancient and revered Aeldari techniques, not parlor tricks."

"Right, right," Franklin nodded solemnly. "Ancient and revered space wizardry. Got it."

As Khaine began his instruction, Franklin proved to be an unexpectedly apt pupil. He quickly grasped the concepts of elemental manipulation, combining them in ways that even Khaine found impressive (though he'd never admit it).

"Hey, watch this!" Franklin exclaimed, concentrating intensely. Suddenly, an aura of searing heat enveloped him, the temperature rivaling that of a star's surface. "Impressive," Khaine admitted, before noticing a slight problem. "Though perhaps you

should-"

"Is it hot in here, or is it just me?" Franklin grinned, oblivious to the fact that the floor beneath him was starting to melt. "Primarch! The ship!" Khaine shouted.

"Oh, crap!" Franklin quickly shut off the effect, leaving a Franklin-shaped indent in the now-Nôv(el)B\\jnn

cooling metal floor. "Uh... I meant to do that. It's a... tactical floor modification. Yeah." Next, they moved on to manipulating statistics and physical properties. Franklin practiced on a combat training dummy, focusing his will on altering its attributes.

"Behold!" he announced dramatically as he pointed the Deathsword at it, "I shall now make

this foe cower before my might!"

To Khaine's surprise, the dummy indeed began to shrink, becoming comically small.

"Ha!" Franklin laughed. "Not so tough now, are you, tiny?"

Khaine observed these displays with growing amazement and concern. "You are... surprisingly adept at this, Primarch. Your raw psychic potential is truly staggering." "Aw, shucks," Franklin grinned. "You're making me blush." However, Khaine soon noticed a peculiar limitation as Franklin used the Deathsword on his

hand to cast spells. "Why do you seem to be unable to manifest these abilities without holding a weapon. How... inconvenient."

Franklin shrugged. "Hey, a guy's gotta have a gimmick, right?"

In a flash of divine inspiration (or perhaps desperation), Khaine suggested, "Try wearing these gauntlets. Perhaps they will serve as a focus."

Franklin slipped on the ornate gauntlets, which immediately crackled with warp energy. "Oh ho! Now we're cooking with promethium!"

What followed was a display that would have made even the most flamboyant Eldar Farseer

raise an eyebrow. Franklin pranced around the training room, shooting warp lightning from

his fingertips and gleefully shouting, "I CAST Magic Missile!" and "Eldritch Blast!" and, most frequently, "FIREBALL!"

At one point, he even attempted to cast something he called "The Emperor's Crushing Hand," aiming at the dummy's nether regions while yelling, "Testicular torsion!" Khaine, for perhaps the first time in his long existence, was rendered speechless. After hours of magical mayhem, Franklin finally seemed to tire of his newfound "space

wizardry." He picked up his trusty bolt pistol and the Deathblade, a content smile on his face. "You know, Khaine," he mused, "this magic stuff is fun and all, but I think I'll stick to being a gunslinger with a side of swordsmanship. It's who I am, you know?" Khaine's exasperation was palpable. "After all that... you're just going back to your guns?"

Franklin shrugged. "Hey, a man's gotta know his limitations. And his strengths. And I'm really, really good at shooting things."

The god of war couldn't argue with that logic, as much as he wanted to. "You are, without

doubt, the most infuriating being I have ever encountered." "Thanks!" Franklin beamed, completely missing the insult. "Oh, hey, I just had an idea! What

if we set up a Librarium for the Legion? You know, teach some of the boys these nifty tricks?"

"An intriguing proposition," Khaine admitted. "Though I was under the impression that psykers were... not well-regarded in your cluster."

Franklin waved dismissively. "Details, details. We'll just need to do some rebranding. Instead of 'dangerous psykers,' we'll call them 'tactical reality adjusters' or something." As Franklin rambled on about his plans for a psychic training program, a mischievous glint

appeared in his eye. "You know, with these new abilities, we could come up with some really interesting combat techniques. Ones that might make the old Geneva Conventions look like a children's tea party rulebook."

"Geneva Conventions?" Khaine queried, unfamiliar with the term. Franklin grinned. "Oh, just some ancient Terran guidelines for warfare. But in the grim

darkness of the far future, we call it the Geneva Checklist!"

Khaine, despite his better judgment, found himself intrigued. "And what sort of techniques did you have in mind?"

For the next hour, Franklin excitedly outlined various combat applications of his newfound psychic abilities, each one more outlandish and potentially devastating than the last. Ideas ranged from psychically guided smart bullets to localized time dilation fields to something

he called "the brown note amplifier."

As he listened, Khaine found himself torn between horror at the potential consequences of

these ideas and a grudging admiration for the Primarch's creativity. "Alright, Khaine," Franklin grinned, giving the sword a casual twirl. "Let's see if we can't

spice up this sword and sorcery routine a bit."

The Aeldari God of War's voice emanated from the Deathblade, a mix of curiosity and

resignation. "Very well, Primarch. Show me what you've concocted." Franklin's grin widened as he launched into motion. The Deathblade sang through the air,

leaving trails of distorted reality in its wake. Suddenly, he pivoted, bringing the disintegration pistol to bear. A beam of coherent energy lashed out, vaporizing a target dummy before it had time to register the hit.

"Not bad, eh?" Franklin called out, already moving into his next sequence. "I call this one

'The Liberator's Lament.""

Khaine's sigh was almost audible. "Must you name every technique?"

"Of course!" Franklin replied, executing a flawless pirouette that somehow ended with three

more dummies reduced to atomic dust. "It adds flair!"

As the Primarch continued his deadly dance, the interplay between sword, gun, and psychic power became increasingly complex. The Deathblade cleaved through the air, whilst his Pistol fired disintegration beams striking targets from impossible angles.

"You know," Franklin mused, casually deflecting an incoming projectile with a psychic barrier, "I think I'm starting to get the hang of this whole 'reality manipulation' thing." Khaine's voice held a note of genuine impressment. "Indeed. Your progress is... remarkable, if somewhat unorthodox."

Franklin beamed at the praise, then suddenly froze mid-motion. His eyes gleamed with that

particular light that Khaine had come to recognize as the precursor to something either

brilliant or catastrophic. Often both.

Franklin raised the Deathblade high, channeling psychic energy into the blade until it glowed like a miniature sun. With a theatrical flourish, he brought the sword down in a devastating arc. A crescent of flames erupted from the blade, racing across the training deck and reducing

a whole row of target dummies to ash.

"Booyah!" Franklin whooped, pumping his fist in the air. "How's that for a finishing move?"

Khaine was silent for a moment, processing what he had just witnessed. "I must admit, Primarch, that was... impressive. Though I don't recall teaching you that particular technique."

Franklin shrugged, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Eh, I figured if I could do the swooshy sword thing and the fiery magic thing separately, why not combine them? It's like peanut

butter and jelly, but with more explosions."

"A... unique perspective," Khaine replied diplomatically. "I suppose there is merit in

adapting and combining techniques to suit one's individual style." "Exactly!" Franklin nodded enthusiastically. "Why limit myself to just sword and sorcery

when I can throw some good old-fashioned gunslinging into the mix?"

As if to emphasize his point, Franklin holstered his disintegration pistol and reached into thin

air. With a flourish that defied the laws of physics, he pulled out a massive rotary cannon that

by all rights should not have fit in the non-existent space he drew it from. Khaine's surprise was evident in his tone. "Primarch, where did you... how did you..." Franklin grinned, hefting the improbably large weapon with ease. "Oh, this old thing? Just a

little dimensional storage embedded into my suit"

Before Khaine could formulate a response, Franklin was already in motion again. The rotary cannon roared to life, spewing a torrent of explosive rounds that somehow curved in mid-air, weaving between the psychic fire slashes he was still sending out with the Deathblade. The resulting destruction was as impressive as it was excessive. When the smoke cleared, the

training deck looked less like a military facility and more like the aftermath of a particularly enthusiastic Ork WAAAGH!.

Franklin surveyed the carnage with a satisfied nod. "Now that's what I call a grand finale!"

As Franklin began excitedly brainstorming names for his new techniques ("The Liberty Lambada? No, too dancey. The Freedom Fandango? Hmm, getting warmer..."), Khaine found himself reflecting on the strange twists of fate that had led him to this point. "Alright, Khaine," Franklin said, twirling the pistol with practiced ease. "I've been thinking

about this whole psychic business."

The Aeldari God of War's voice emanated from the Deathblade, a mix of curiosity and trepidation. "Oh? And what profound insights have you gleaned, Primarch?" Franklin grinned. "Well, you know how my bullets always seem to hit their mark, no matter

how impossible the shot?"

"Yes," Khaine replied cautiously. "Your aim is... unnaturally accurate." "Exactly!" Franklin exclaimed. "I think that might be some kind of built-in Primarch power.

Like, psychic stuff that's hardwired into my very being."

Khaine was silent for a moment, processing this. "An intriguing theory. It would explain

certain... anomalies in your abilities."

Franklin nodded enthusiastically. "Right? And I've got this feeling there's more where that

came from. Like, untapped potential just waiting to be unleashed."

A few Minutes later...

"Well," Franklin said finally, clapping his hands together, "I think that's enough mad science

for one day, we can explore my Primarchy abilities next time. What do you say we grab some dinner? I'm thinking of trying to psychically enhanced my grilled cheese making skills." As Khaine watched Franklin sauntered away, Khaine felt respect growing for this odd, irreverent giant approach to the warp. Perhaps, just perhaps, Franklin Valorian's unorthodox approach to psychic warfare might prove to be exactly what the galaxy needed in these dark

times.

Or it might lead to unmitigated disaster. With Franklin, it was always a toss-up.

Either way, Khaine mused, it would certainly be interesting to watch unfold.

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