The Primarch of Liberty

The Stormbird's ascent through Caliban's atmosphere gave Lion El'Johnson his first true glimpse of the Sweet Liberty, and the sight made his transhuman mind struggle to process its scale. The vessel stretched beyond his field of vision, its white hull trimmed with gold seeming to extend infinitely. Massive weapon batteries dotted its surface, some familiar, others completely alien to his extensive knowledge of warfare. The sheer firepower concentrated in one vessel was staggering.

Lion's enhanced senses tingled with warning, every instinct honed in Caliban's deadly forests screaming at the implications. This wasn't merely a warship - it was a mobile fortress capable of destroying entire systems, and it belonged not to the Emperor, but to his most cavalier brother. The thought sent waves of unease through his carefully controlled mind.

As the Stormbird entered the first hangar bay, the Lion's gaze was drawn to a Gloriana-class battleship docked within. Dark Angels iconography adorned every surface, the winged sword prominent against the dark hull. His analytical mind noted the perfect maintenance, the pristine condition, the obvious care taken in its preparation.

"Like what you see, brother?"

The Lion barely suppressed a start at Franklin's voice beside him. When had his brother approached? How had he failed to notice? Such lapses in awareness had meant death on Caliban. He forced his features to remain impassive, even as his mind raced through the implications of Franklin being able to move without triggering his enhanced senses.

"Isn't she a beauty?" Franklin continued, gesturing toward the Gloriana-class vessel. "The Invincible Reason, waiting for her Primarch."

"Me?" The question escaped before the Lion could stop it, immediately irritating him with its obvious nature.

Franklin's chuckle grated against the Lion's nerves like sandpaper on ceramite. "Who else is the Lord of the Dark Angels?"

The Lion remained silent, his eyes cataloging every detail of his surroundings. The hangar bay alone could have housed entire fortress-monasteries. The casual display of such resources made his suspicion deepen further. No one gave away such power without expecting something in return.

"Come now, brother," Franklin said, moving toward a shimming portal that appeared to ripple like water. "Follow me to the Arsenal." Without waiting for a response, Franklin stepped through and vanished.

The Lion studied the portal with narrowed eyes, his tactical mind analyzing possible threats. The technology was clearly advanced, far beyond the technology in Caliban. Another demonstration of power? Another reason for concern? Nevertheless, duty demanded he proceed.

Stepping through felt like walking through water, a momentary sensation of resistance before emerging into a vast chamber. Franklin stood waiting by a gate so massive it could have accommodated an Imperator Titan with room to spare. The casual display of such engineering capabilities only added to the Lion's growing unease.

"Welcome to the Arsenal, brother," Franklin announced with another of his easy smiles. "Take your pick."

The Lion's enhanced senses continued to ring with warning. Every lesson learned in Caliban's forests told him to distrust such generosity, to look for the hidden blade behind the offered hand. Yet Franklin's openness seemed genuine, which somehow made it even more suspicious.

The Lion maintained his practiced stoicism as they moved through the initial weapons displays, though his mind was racing with calculations and implications. These weren't what truly concerned him - weapons, no matter how advanced, were still just tools. It was the vessel itself that demanded his attention.

"This ship," he began, his tactical mind dissecting the strategic implications, "a vessel this size is a symbol, as much as it is a weapon. Its existence alone is enough to intimidate." His eyes narrowed slightly as he continued, "But symbols can become targets."

Franklin's response was that same infuriating chuckle that seemed to dismiss concerns while simultaneously acknowledging their validity. "Yes, she could be targeted," his brother agreed with an ease that continued to unsettle the Lion, "but chances are she would find them first. Did you know Sweet Liberty could target everything in a Solar System?"

The Lion's enhanced senses flared with warning at this casual revelation. His mind immediately began calculating the strategic implications - a vessel capable of engaging every target in an entire solar system simultaneously. The power requirements alone would be staggering, let alone the targeting systems needed for such a feat. Nothing would be safe if the Sweet Liberty entered a system. No defense could be adequate against such overwhelming firepower.

But the Lion's tactically-oriented mind immediately identified a potential weakness. "And what happens if the enemy is able to board her?" he pressed, searching for the flaw in this seemingly perfect weapon. "Surely you cannot defend every part of this massive vessel? She would be vulnerable to boarding parties that are able to survive her initial barrage."

Franklin's response was not the defensive justification the Lion expected. Instead, his brother cackled - a sound that set the Lion's teeth on edge - and said, "At the small chance they could, let me show you who they are up against."

A simple clap of Franklin's hands transformed the environment around them. Glowing blue eyes appeared everywhere - in every corner, every crevice, every shadow suddenly alive with mechanical awareness. The Lion's combat instincts surged to full alert, his hand flying to his sword's hilt as his enhanced senses registered the sheer scale of what he was witnessing.

Mechanical Scarabs emerged from seemingly solid walls, their metallic bodies moving with impossible precision. Mechanical Spiders descended from above, each one a deadly combination of efficiency and lethality. Massive quadrupedal constructs stalked through the corridors like mechanical predators, their movements suggesting both power and terrible purpose. Most disturbing of all, centipede-like constructs crawled along the walls at speeds that even his transhuman eyes struggled to track.

The Lion's combat-oriented mind rapidly processed the tactical implications. Any boarding action would be suicide. These mechanical defenders were everywhere, their numbers seemingly infinite, their coordination perfect. There would be no blind spots, no safe zones, no possibility of establishing a beachhead. Every corridor would be a killing ground, every chamber a death trap.

When Franklin clapped again and the constructs vanished - some melting into walls, others simply disappearing from sight - the Lion maintained his combat stance. His senses told him they were still there, watching, waiting. The casual display of such comprehensive internal defenses added another layer to his growing concerns about his brother's power.

"That was just a small portion of the internal defenses of Sweet Liberty," Franklin said, his tone light as if he hadn't just demonstrated enough military might to conquer worlds. "And I am not here to showcase her but give you an arsenal of extinction. Come brother, we have much to cover."

The Lion followed, his mind racing with implications. The mechanical guardians he'd seen represented a level of technological sophistication that rivaled or exceeded anything he'd read in the dataslates. The coordination they'd displayed suggested an underlying intelligence that raised its own set of concerns. And the fact that Franklin controlled all of this...

Every instinct honed in Caliban's deadly forests screamed that this level of power concentrated in one individual was dangerous. Yet his brother treated it all with a casualness that was either the height of arrogance or indicated access to even greater powers that made these displays trivial by comparison. The Lion couldn't decide which possibility concerned him more.

As they continued deeper into the Arsenal, the Lion maintained a heightened state of awareness. His brother might act the gracious host, but the Lion had seen enough to know that the Sweet Liberty was more than just a vessel - it was a mobile empire, capable of both system-wide destruction and perfect self-defense. The implications were staggering, and the fact that Franklin seemed so unconcerned about sharing this information only added to the mystery.

The Lion found himself wondering if perhaps this openness was itself a form of deception - showing so much that the true capabilities remained hidden in plain sight. Yet every attempt to detect deception in Franklin's manner came up empty, which only served to increase his suspicion. No one with this much power should be this casual about it.

"And besides," Franklin mentioned with characteristic nonchalance, "Pops has Imperator Somnium, Sweet Liberty's sister ship."

"What?" The word escaped the Lion's lips before he could contain it, his composure briefly cracking at this casual revelation.

"Yes," Franklin replied, as if discussing nothing more consequential than the weather.

Their arrival in the Artillery section confronted the Lion with rows upon rows of devastating weaponry. Doomsday Super-Heavy Grav-Tanks stood like sleeping giants, their massive forms promising apocalyptic destruction. Super-Heavy tanks stretched into the distance, each one a fortress unto itself.

"How many of the Doomsday Grav-Tanks could I request?" the Lion asked, his tactical mind already calculating potential deployments.

Franklin's response came after a moment's contemplation, delivered with that same maddening casualness. "You could take them all - one thousand of them."

The number sent the Lion's mind racing. Such generosity defied logic, screamed of hidden purpose, yet his brother's manner suggested nothing more than simple sharing between siblings. Before he could fully process this, Franklin gestured toward another section.

"Would you like some Titans?"

The sight that greeted the Lion's eyes would have staggered a lesser being. Titans of every class stood in solemn grandeur - from nimble Scout Titans to towering Imperators, and beyond them, the legendary Castigator class each one bearing it's title for ease of observation. Each war machine represented power enough to level cities, and they stood here like toys in a merchant's display.

"Two Legions of Titans," the Lion stated, adding after a moment's consideration, "and a Castigator."

Franklin's response was a simple nod and a few presses on his data-slate. The Titans began moving of their own accord, walking toward the exit with earth-shaking steps. The Lion watched them go, his enhanced senses registering every detail while his mind struggled to process the casual distribution of such devastating military might.

In the Automata section, the presentation of the Excindio Battle-Automata came with a kill switch - a rare moment of practical caution from his brother that the Lion found almost reassuring. Finally, something that acknowledged the dangerous nature of these weapons.

Their final stop brought them to the ship-grade weapons, where Franklin's casual demeanor continued to grate against the Lion's sensibilities. "Only one can be fitted to Invincible Reason," his brother explained, "due to fusion reactor limitations. Would you prefer the Black Hole Cannons or the Temporal Batteries?"

The Lion's question was terse: "The difference?"

"The Black Hole Cannons open spatial rifts at the target location," Franklin explained, as if discussing weather patterns rather than weapons of system-wide devastation. "The Temporal Batteries force targets to collide with their past selves. Reality doesn't appreciate such paradoxes - the results are... explosive, regardless of size."

After careful consideration, the Lion chose the Temporal Batteries. Franklin handed him an Armament Order, explaining that installation would need to happen at Forgeworld Prime in the Independence Sector. Each casual display of power and technology added to the weight of questions in the Lion's mind.

Finally, the Lion voiced the question that had been building throughout their tour. "Since you know everything, what about the situation of the rest of the Dark Angels? Why did the Emperor ask you to give these weapons to me, to my Legion?"

Franklin's answer came with uncharacteristic directness. "You, my brother, are the Emperor's Exterminator. Your Legion is currently scattered across the known galaxy, beset by strife after suffering greatly in reckless campaigns, overcome by pride and vainglory." He handed over another data-slate containing the Emperor's standing orders - complete annihilation of all hostile xenos, with noted exceptions for the Craftworld Eldar and the Exodites.

"The Craftworld Eldar are cooperating with some of our Special Projects," Franklin added. "That's all the information I can share. The rest is classified."

"Classified?" The Lion bristled at the word, but forced himself to accept it. "Loyalty is its own reward," he stated, more to himself than his brother.

Then came the moment of formal exchange. Franklin's bearing shifted, his usual casual demeanor replaced by something ancient and proper. The transformation was subtle but absolute - no longer the grinning brother but a representative of the Emperor's will.

"As of this moment, as per the Emperor's orders," Franklin intoned, his voice carrying the weight of imperial decree, "The Eleventh Legion will take a step back and hand over the duties of Extermination to Lion El'Johnson and the First Legion."

The Lion recognized the gravity of the moment, the passing of a mantle older than their brotherhood. His response came with equal formality: "The First Legion accepts this duty."

As they concluded their meeting, the Lion found himself awash in contradictions. His brother had handed over enough military might to conquer sectors, yet treated it as casually as lending a book. The power Franklin wielded so lightly should have corrupted absolutely, yet his brother seemed genuinely uninterested in wielding it for personal gain.

It defied everything the Lion had learned about power and survival in Caliban's deadly forests. Perhaps that was the greatest deception of all - or perhaps, most unsettling of all, his brother truly was exactly what he appeared to be.

Or is he?

The formal exchange of duties had barely concluded when Sovereign's alerts reached Franklin. "Primarch, Macragge's Honour, Photep, Burden of Duty, Red Tear, and Hrafnkel request permission to dock."

"Granted," Franklin responded with his characteristic ease, turning to the Lion with a hint of amusement. "Well brother, looks like you'll be meeting some of our brothers ahead of time."

For perhaps the first time since their meeting, the Lion found himself in genuine agreement with Franklin. The prospect of meeting multiple brothers at once presented both opportunity and challenge - a chance to gauge alliances and measure potential threats.

The Grand Meeting Chamber lived up to its name, a space worthy of hosting demigods. As the doors slid open, conversations and the rough scent of smoke wafted out to greet them. The chamber was already alive with the presence of several Primarchs, each gathering creating its own gravity well of power and personality.

Near one of the chamber's vast viewports, Magnus the Red and Sanguinius were deep in discussion, their conversation drifting across the space. Magnus, his single eye gleaming with intellectual curiosity, leaned forward. "How progresses the cure for the Red Thirst?"

Sanguinius shifted his magnificent wings, a subtle tell of his complex emotions regarding the topic. "It's... something of a success," he admitted. "We've achieved an equilibrium where the genetic defect is neutralized. However," and here his perfect features showed a hint of exasperation, "sometimes it curves toward the 'Blood Ravens path.'"

The Angel's expression grew slightly pained as he continued, "I've had to discipline my sons for their kleptomaniac tendencies. We've found that providing them with suitably shiny objects - gold and gem-laden items - helps curve this... acquisition drive."

Magnus blinked. "So your sons are magpies?"

"Essentially." Sanguinius groaned. "We've taken to keeping them occupied with gold baubles and gem-encrusted trinkets. It helps, but sometimes I wonder if the Emperor's genetic design wasn't...scattered would the red thirst still manifest?"

Magnus let out a hearty laugh. "Brother, if that's your biggest issue, you're doing better than the rest of us. My sons are setting the bar for catastrophic meltdowns and that is when I had cured the flesh change"

Across the chamber, Roboute Guilliman and Rogal Dorn engaged in a conversation so dry it could have doubled as sandpaper. Dorn's direct questioning cut straight to practical matters: "What is your primary equipment source?"

Guilliman's response was measured, fitting for the master logistician. "We maintain a mixed supply chain. The Mechanicum provides basic equipment, but the Ultramarines prefer Independence Sector vessels and support systems."

"And you, brother?" Guilliman returned the query.

Dorn's perpetually stern expression shifted slightly as he answered, "Predominantly the Independence Sector. Their engineers demonstrate superior capability in structural matters. They are currently undertaking renovation of the Phalanx's damaged sections - consequences of a Drukhari ambush."

Guilliman smiled faintly. "The Drukhari? Bold of them to challenge the Phalanx."

Dorn's voice remained flat. "They paid for it in blood."

The Lion cataloged each interaction, each snippet of information, building a mental map of relationships and power structures.

Meanwhile, Franklin strode over to the feast table, where Leman Russ was busy being the most stereotypical Viking imaginable. The Wolf King's mjod sloshed from his massive tankard as he greeted Franklin with a thunderous laugh.

"Franklin! You absolute bastard! Come for a drink, or just to see me make a fool of these fools?"

Franklin grinned. "Bit of both. What're you plotting this time?"

Russ raised his tankard. "Plotting? Bah! I leave that to you schemers. I'm just here for the booze, the brawls, and to keep you all honest."

The Lion's entrance caught Russ's eye, and their mutual disdain ignited immediately.

The Lion's glare was a masterclass in condescension, silently conveying, "This brute couldn't strategize his way out of a paper bag."

Russ's grin turned wolfish. "This pompous prick wouldn't last a day in the real world."

Their shared thought was identical: "Fuck this guy."

The chamber crackled with tension, as it always did when the Primarchs gathered. Franklin moved between the clusters of his brothers like an expert social chameleon, his laid-back demeanor defusing conflicts before they could erupt.

Magnus glanced at Franklin as he passed. "Ah, Franklin, your timing is impeccable. Tell me, do you find it strange that while I try to unlock the secrets of the universe, Sanguinius is babysitting magpies?"

Franklin smirked. "Not as strange as Dorn asking Guilliman about supply chains like we're running a trade expo."

Guilliman, overhearing the exchange, turned with a raised eyebrow. "Logistics are the backbone of any campaign, Franklin. Given your... unorthodox methods, I'm still baffled at how someone as much of a maverick as you manages to turn supply chains into strange art forms—and make it work, exceptionally I might add"

Franklin laughed, the sound full of good-natured mischief. "You're not wrong, Roboute. But that's why you're the responsible one, and I'm the fun one."

The Lion rolled his eyes. "We're doomed."

Franklin clapped him on the shoulder. "Relax, brother. Everything's under control. Now, let's get this meeting started before Russ drinks the entire bar and Magnus starts a lecture on warp theory."

And with that, the Great Crusade continued in its usual fashion: a mix of brilliance, dysfunction, and enough sibling rivalry to fuel an entire galaxy of drama.