The Primarch of Liberty

The acrid smoke of burning cities choked the air of Magna, the third planet in the system. From orbit, the world resembled a smoldering ember, its surface scarred by the wrath of the Liberty Eagles. Two of the system's nine planets had already fallen, their populations reduced to ash in Franklin Valorian's crusade of vengeance.

Aboard the "Sweet Liberty," Denzel stood on the bridge, his face a mask of concern as he gazed at the devastation below. Around him, the Liberty Eagles moved with purpose, but their usual bravado was muted. An undercurrent of unease rippled through the ranks.

"First Captain," a young Astartes approached, his voice low. "The Agri Worlds... are we really going to...?" He trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

Denzel turned, his dark eyes scanning the faces of his battle-brothers. He saw doubt, confusion, and a growing sense of moral conflict. These were not the expressions of mindless killers, but of warriors grappling with the weight of their actions.

"Stand down," Denzel commanded, his voice carrying authority undeniable. "No more planets fall until I speak with our Primarch."

A collective sigh of relief swept through the bridge. The Liberty Eagles trusted Denzel implicitly, not just for his skill with a blade, but for his wisdom and moral compass. They had followed Franklin into this madness out of loyalty, but it was to Denzel they now looked for guidance.

"Sir," another Astartes spoke up, "the SEAL teams have already captured the planetary governors. What should we do with them?"

Denzel's hand unconsciously moved to the hilt of Kusanagi-no-Tsurugi. "Keep them secure, but unharmed. I'll deal with this myself."

As Denzel's thunderhawk descended through Magna's ash-choked atmosphere, he reflected on the complexity of their situation. The Liberty Eagles were not unquestioning automatons; they were thinking, feeling warriors. Their hesitation spoke volumes about their character and the values Franklin had instilled in them.

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Franklin Valorian stood atop the smoldering hill, his enhanced senses picking up every nuance of destruction around him. The acrid smell of burning flesh and melted plasteel. The crackle of dying fires. The eerie silence where once there had been life. He'd done this. Him. The Primarch of Liberty.

As he gazed out over the ruined landscape, Franklin's mind raced, grappling with the tsunami of emotions that had led him to this point.

He'd always known who he was supposed to be. The best. The leader. The embodiment of freedom and justice. Raised in Nova Libertas, he'd been groomed for greatness from the moment he'd arrived. "You're meant to lead," they'd told him. "To show humanity the way."

But what way was this?

The memory of Armstrong's report flashed through his mind. His brave son, the sole survivor of what should have been a peaceful diplomatic mission. Franklin could still see the pain and shock in Armstrong's eyes as he recounted the ambush, the slaughter of his brothers.

In that moment, something in Franklin had snapped. The carefully constructed facade of the perfect leader crumbled, revealing a raw, primal rage he'd never known existed within him. Everything had gone black, and when he came to... this. Two worlds in ashes.

"What does it mean to be human?" Franklin mused aloud, his voice barely a whisper on the hot, ash-laden wind.

Is it to be free? He'd always thought so. Liberty was his creed, his very essence. But what freedom had he given these people? The freedom to burn?

Is it to be perfect? He'd strived for perfection his entire life. The perfect soldier, the perfect leader, the perfect son to a father he barely knew. But this... this was far from perfect. This was madness.

Is it to lead? He was leading, wasn't he? Leading his sons into a spiral of vengeance and destruction. Leading worlds to their doom.

Franklin's fists clenched at his sides, his superhuman strength causing small tremors in the scorched earth beneath him. He'd failed. Failed his sons, failed these worlds, failed himself.

For the first time in his life, Franklin Valorian felt lost. The certainty that had always guided him was gone, replaced by a gnawing doubt that threatened to consume him. He was supposed to be better than this. Stronger. Wiser.

But he wasn't. He was flawed. Human, despite his enhanced genetics and demigod status.

As Denzel approached, Franklin felt a mix of relief and shame. His old friend, his voice of reason. Even now, Denzel was stepping up, being the leader Franklin should have been.

In that moment, Franklin realized something profound. Being human wasn't about being free, or perfect, or even about leading. It was about connection. About feeling. About making mistakes and learning from them.

He had made a grievous mistake. But he wasn't beyond redemption. Not yet.

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The craft touched down on a blackened hill overlooking a valley of ruins. There, silhouetted against the smoldering landscape, sat Franklin Valorian. The Primarch of Liberty, the embodiment of freedom and justice, now presided over a scene of utter devastation.

Denzel approached, the heat from the still-burning fires washing over him. "My lord," he said, his voice carrying no judgment, only concern.

Franklin turned, and Denzel was struck by the raw emotion in his Primarch's eyes. There was anger there, yes, but also a deep, aching sorrow.

"Ah, Denzel," Franklin said, his tone eerily light given the circumstances. "Come to enjoy the view? I must say, it's quite the spectacle."

Denzel knelt beside his gene-father. "Franklin, what happened here?"

The Primarch's facade cracked, just for a moment. "I lost control," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "For the first time in my life, I felt... grief."

Franklin recounted the diplomatic mission he had sent to Concordia, a gesture of goodwill that had ended in betrayal and bloodshed. Hundreds of Liberty Eagles, gunned down in what should have been a peaceful negotiation.

"I saw my sons fall, Denzel," Franklin's voice broke. "My men, my children, cut down by treachery. And I... I let my anger consume me."

Denzel listened, understanding dawning. The Liberty Eagles were more than just soldiers to Franklin; they were family. And in his grief, he had lashed out with all the terrible power at his disposal.

"We've all lost brothers," Denzel said gently. "But this... this isn't justice, Franklin. This is vengeance, and it's consuming you."

Franklin looked out over the burning landscape, his eyes reflecting the flames. "Perhaps you're right," he mused. "But where do we draw the line, Denzel? How many treacheries must we endure before we say enough?"

Denzel's hand moved to Totsuka-no-Tsurugi, drawing the blade and planting it in the scorched earth between them. "We draw the line here, my lord. We are the Liberty Eagles. We stand for freedom, for justice. Not this."

For a long moment, Franklin was silent. Then, slowly, a wry smile crept across his face. "Always the voice of reason, aren't you, old friend?" He stood, towering over Denzel. "Very well. No more planets will burn today."

As they made their way back to the thunderhawk, Franklin paused. "You know, Denzel, in all my years, I never thought I'd be grateful for insubordination. But today... today, I'm thankful for it."

Denzel nodded, relief washing over him. As they ascended back to the "Sweet Liberty," he knew there would be much to do. The scars of this day would not heal quickly, for the planets they'd attacked or for the Liberty Eagles themselves. But they had pulled back from the brink, and in doing so, reaffirmed who they truly were.

The Liberty Eagles were not unquestioning automatons, nor were they vengeful destroyers. They were warriors of justice, guardians of liberty. And today, they had remembered that, thanks to the courage of their First Captain and the wisdom that lay beneath their Primarch's grief.

As the thunderhawk docked, Denzel knew that the real work was just beginning. But for now, at least, the burning had stopped.

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Sweet Liberty hummed with nervous energy as Franklin Valorian strode through its corridors. Astartes and mortal crew members alike parted before him, their eyes a mixture of awe, fear, and uncertainty. The Primarch's face was unreadable, his usual easy smile replaced by a look of grim determination.

As he approached the vast Mustering Area, vox-casters throughout the ship crackled to life. "All personnel to the Mustering Area. Repeat, all personnel to the Mustering Area. This is not a drill."

The cavernous chamber, designed to hold the entire Legion if necessary, filled quickly. Rank upon rank of Liberty Eagles formed up with military precision, their armor still bearing the scorch marks and battle damage from the recent campaign. Mortal crew members gathered at the edges, their faces a sea of anxiety and anticipation.

Franklin ascended the elevated platform at the center of the chamber, his massive form towering over even his Astartes sons. For a moment, he simply stood there, his eyes scanning the assembled crowd. The silence was deafening.

Finally, he spoke, his voice carrying effortlessly to every corner of the chamber.

"My sons, my warriors, my family," he began, his tone uncharacteristically somber. "I owe you all an apology."

A ripple of surprise passed through the crowd. The Primarch of Liberty, apologizing?

"I have led you into madness," Franklin continued. "In my grief and anger, I lost sight of who we are, of what we stand for. I forgot the very principles of liberty and justice that I swore to uphold."

He paused, his gaze sweeping across the sea of faces before him. "I am grateful beyond words that you followed me, even into this darkness. Your loyalty is a testament to your character. But it is also a burden I should never have asked you to bear."

A murmur ran through the crowd, Astartes exchanging glances, mortal crew members shifting nervously.

"To those of you who are disappointed in me, you have every right to be. I have failed you as a leader, as a father."

Suddenly, a voice rang out from the crowd. "Never, Lord Franklin!" It was Brother Soren, a young Astartes known for his fiery temperament. "We believe in you. We always will!"

A chorus of agreement swept through the chamber, Astartes banging their fists against their chest plates in a show of solidarity.

Franklin raised a hand, and silence fell once more. "Your faith in me is humbling," he said, a hint of his old humor creeping into his voice. "And, if I'm being honest, a little terrifying. Do you know how much pressure that puts on a guy?"

A ripple of laughter passed through the crowd, breaking the tension.

"But in all seriousness," Franklin continued, his tone sobering once more, "I need you to understand something. You are not merely soldiers to me. You are my family."

He stepped forward, his eyes scanning the crowd. "Brother Thaddeus," he called out, pointing to an Astartes in the third rank. "How's that novel coming along? Still stuck on chapter seven?"

Thaddeus, known for his off-duty attempts at literature, stood straighter. "Chapter eight now, my lord. The plot's finally moving."

Franklin nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "Progress is progress, brother. Keep at it."

He turned his attention to another section of the crowd. "Sister Amelia," he addressed a mortal crew member. "Did your daughter recover from that bout of Praxian flu?"

The woman's eyes widened in surprise. "Y-yes, my lord. She's fully recovered, thank you for asking."

Franklin's gaze swept the chamber once more. "I know you all. Your names, your hopes, your fears. When I sent that diplomatic mission to Concordia, I didn't just send soldiers. I sent my children."

His voice grew heavy with emotion. "When I heard of their betrayal, of the slaughter of our brothers... I saw red. I forgot who I was, who we are. I let anger and grief consume me."

The chamber was silent, every eye fixed on the Primarch.

"But that is no excuse," Franklin continued. "We are the Liberty Eagles. We stand for freedom, for justice, for the betterment of humanity. What I did... what we did... that was not justice. That was vengeance."

He squared his shoulders, his voice gaining strength. "And so, I make this vow to you now. We will do better. We will be better. We will remember who we are and what we stand for."

Franklin's eyes blazed with determination. "We will bring liberty to the galaxy, but not through fear or destruction. We will lead by example, showing the Imperium and all of humanity what true freedom looks like."

He paused, a hint of his usual humor returning. "And if anyone has a problem with that, well, we've got plenty of firepower to back it up. We're still the Liberty Eagles, after all."

A cheer went up from the assembled crowd, a mixture of relief, pride, and renewed purpose.

Franklin raised his hand once more. "Now, I know some of you might be wondering, 'Is the old man losing it? Has he gone soft?' Let me assure you, I haven't."

He grinned, the familiar twinkle returning to his eye. "I'm still the same Franklin Valorian who once outmaneuvered an Ork Warboss by convincing him his own Boyz were secretly 'purple Orks' in disguise. Just ask Brother Marcus about the time we turned an entire enemy fortress into the galaxy's largest game of capture the flag."

Laughter erupted from the crowd, the tension fully broken now.

"But," Franklin continued, his tone serious once more, "I'm also the Franklin Valorian who will always put the well-being of his sons, his Legion, and humanity first. We have a great responsibility, my Eagles. We carry the torch of liberty in a galaxy that desperately needs its light."

He stepped to the edge of the platform, his voice ringing with conviction. "So let us be that light. Let us be the example that the Imperium needs. We will bring worlds into compliance, yes, but we will do so with wisdom and justice, not blind fury."

Franklin's eyes swept the chamber one last time. "We are the Liberty Eagles. We are family. And together, we will soar higher than ever before."

The roar that followed was deafening. Astartes and mortals alike cheered, their faith in their Primarch not just restored, but strengthened.

As the cheers continued, Franklin descended from the platform. He moved through the crowd, stopping to speak with individuals, clasping shoulders, offering words of encouragement. This was not just a leader addressing his troops; this was a father reconnecting with his family.

Hours later, as the Mustering Area finally began to clear, Denzel Washington approached Franklin. The First Captain's face was a mixture of pride and relief.

"That was quite a speech, my lord," Denzel said. "You've given them hope again."

Franklin nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Hope is a powerful thing, old friend. But it's also a responsibility. We have to live up to it now."

Denzel smiled, his hand resting on the hilt of Kusanagi-no-Tsurugi. "We will, my lord. Together."

As they walked towards the bridge, Franklin's usual grin returned. "So, Denzel, think I could trick a Warboss into charging into the Eye of Terror?"

Denzel's laughter echoed through the corridors of the "Sweet Liberty," a sound of renewal and hope for the Liberty Eagles and their Primarch.

A/N: I just Realized just recently that this Fic is actually up in the Power Rankings.

A/N: Glad Ya'll actually like it.