The Primarch of Liberty

In the wake of Franklin Valorian's moment of clarity, the remaining worlds of the system found themselves subject to a new kind of conquest. The Liberty Eagles, under their Primarch's renewed guidance, launched a campaign not of fire and blood, but of words and ideas.

"Gentlemen," he addressed his inner circle, "we may have stumbled, but now we rise. Our mission remains unchanged: to bring liberty to these worlds. But liberty, as we've learned, requires... guidance."

Over the next four months, a relentless barrage of propaganda swept across the planets. Vox-casts blared day and night, billboards sprouted like weeds, and data-slates were distributed en masse. The message was clear and unrelenting: the planetary governors were corrupt, treacherous, and the true enemies of the people.

The faces of the planetary governors, once revered, now sneered down at their populace, their crimes exaggerated and broadcast for all to see.

"Citizens of Magna," the broadcasts would proclaim, "you have been deceived! Your so-called leaders sought to deny you the Emperor's light, to keep you in darkness and ignorance. But no more! The Liberty Eagles have come to set you free!"

Franklin personally oversaw the creation of these messages, drawing on his knowledge of Nova Libertas's political machinery. He knew the power of a well-placed lie, of a truth twisted just so. The Liberty Eagles weren't conquerors, oh no. They were liberators, saviors come to rescue a misguided populace from corrupt leadership.

The Liberty Eagles were everywhere, no longer conquerors but "liberators." They distributed food and medical supplies, repaired infrastructure, and provided security against the "traitors" who resisted the new order. Brother-Captain Thaddeus, once an aspiring novelist, now penned stirring propaganda pieces that spread like wildfire through the population.

Turncoats from among the cluster's elite, easily swayed by promises of wealth and power, became the faces of the "liberation." They appeared on vox-casts, tearfully confessing to their part in the "great deception" and praising Franklin and the Liberty Eagles for opening their eyes.

"It was the governors who forced Lord Valorian's hand on Magna and Concordia," one such turncoat declared, his voice breaking with fabricated emotion. "They were willing to sacrifice millions to maintain their grip on power. The Liberty Eagles saved us from a similar fate!"

As weeks turned to months, the culture and history of the Helios Cluster began to fade. Libraries were purged, historical monuments repurposed or destroyed. In their place rose new narratives, new heroes, all centered around the Imperial Truth and the concept of managed democracy.

Franklin watched this transformation with a mixture of satisfaction and grim necessity. He knew the cost of what he was doing, the lives and identities being erased. But he also knew the alternative – the continued burning of worlds, the loss of millions more lives.

"To change a civilization," he mused to Denzel one evening, "one must tear its culture and history apart and replace it anew. It's not pretty, but it's necessary."

Denzel nodded solemnly. "And what of Friedrich Ironheart, my lord? The people still revere him as their unifier."

Franklin's eyes hardened. "Then we must unify them against him."

The propaganda machine turned its full force on Friedrich Ironheart. The once-beloved leader of the Helios Cluster was branded a traitor, a puppet of dark forces seeking to keep humanity divided and weak. His image was defaced across the cluster, his name became synonymous with treachery.

"Friedrich Ironheart," Franklin's voice boomed across the worlds, "fired the first shot in this war. He chose conflict over unity, death over life. His actions led to the tragedy on Magna and Concordia. The blood of billions is on his hands!"

The irony was not lost on Franklin. He, who had actually ordered the burning of those worlds, now stood as their avenger. But in the grand calculus of empire-building, such ironies were merely footnotes.

As the fourth month drew to a close, the Helios Cluster was transformed. The outer worlds were compliant, their infrastructure intact but their spirits remolded. Magna and Concordia were well on their way to becoming productive Imperial worlds, their tragic past already fading into carefully crafted myth.

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The hololithic display on the bridge of the "Sweet Liberty" was a dizzying array of schematics and technical readouts. Franklin scanned the information with a keen eye, his mind racing with the implications of what had been discovered within the Helios Cluster.

"Advanced laser weaponry, improved void shields, more efficient reactor designs," he murmured, his brow furrowed in thought. "This is quite the haul."

Beside him, Denzel nodded, his expression equally contemplative. "The Mechanicus will be most interested in these STC fragments, my lord. They could give the Imperium a significant technological edge."

Franklin stroked his chin, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Indeed, my friend. And I believe I know just how to leverage this to our advantage."

Just then, the doors to the bridge slid open, and Brother-Captain Steven Armstrong strode in, his armor gleaming. Franklin turned to face him, a warm smile spreading across his face.

"Ah, Steven! Just the man I wanted to see." He gestured to the command throne. "Have a seat. We have some matters to discuss."

Steven blinked in surprise, but quickly composed himself and took the offered seat. "My lord, I'm honored. What can I do for you?"

Franklin leaned forward, his expression turning serious. "Steven, as you know, your probationary period as a member of the Continental High Command was interrupted by recent... events." He paused, a shadow passing across his face. "But I believe it's time to put that behind us and move forward."

Steven nodded, the memory of Magna still fresh in his mind. "I'm ready, my lord. What would you have me do?"

"I'm putting you in command of the next phase of our campaign," Franklin announced. "The Command of the Armada will be at your disposal This is your chance to prove your mettle, Steven."

The young Astartes sat up straighter, a determined glint in his eye. "You can count on me, my lord. I won't let you down."

He placed a hand on the younger Astartes' shoulder, his gaze unwavering. "I'm trusting you with this, Steven. Don't let me down."

Steven straightened, his resolve hardening. "You have my word, my lord. I'll see it done."

Franklin smiled, then turned to the rest of the bridge crew. "Attention, all hands! Brother-Captain Steven Armstrong is now in command of the next phase of our campaign. He will have the full support of the Continental High Command, and I expect you all to follow his orders as you would mine."

A murmur of acknowledgment ran through the crew, and Franklin nodded approvingly. "Excellent. Steven, the floor is yours."

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Franklin sat at the back of the bridge, quietly observing as 2nd Captain Steven Armstrong handled the next system on the Crusade into the Laanah Rifts. The Battlefleet Liberty exited the Warp, arriving at the edge of a new planetary system.

Scans quickly indicated the presence of a xenos faction. Armstrong hailed their leadership, but the only response was the sudden attack on the Liberty Eagles fleet.

"Damned xenos scum!" Armstrong spat, his face twisted in a scowl. "Open fire, show these filthy aliens the might of the Imperium!"

Franklin chuckled to himself, watching as Armstrong directed the firepower of the fleet against their new foes. The enemy ships were strange, bio-mechanical monstrosities that fought with sinister, occult-infused weaponry. Franklin eyed them funnily.

"Hellgrammites," he mused, the name rolling off his tongue. "How...fitting."

Beside him, Denzel shifted uncomfortably. The proud son of the Independence Cluster, Armstrong embodied the most hawkish and nationalistic tendencies of their legion. Denzel respected his battle prowess, but sometimes worried about his extremism.

Franklin seemed unperturbed, his booming laughter echoing across the bridge as the Liberty Eagles unleashed a devastating barrage against the xenos fleet. Armstrong clearly had no interest in diplomacy - he intended to simply overpower the enemy with brutal, overwhelming force.

"You know, I just underestimated Steven's extreme tendencies" Franklin said, his tone light and amused. "Glassing every planet in the system, eh? Hardly a subtle approach."

Denzel nodded slowly. "He...takes his duties very seriously, my lord. The Independence Cluster instilled a deep sense of patriotism and righteousness in all of us. Steven simply takes it to the extreme"

On the main viewscreen, the Liberty Eagles continued their relentless assault. The xenos Hellgrammites fought with cunning and ferocity, but they were no match for the sheer firepower and technological superiority of the Imperium's forces. Planet after planet was reduced to lifeless cinders, the Hellgrammite resistance swiftly crushed.

Franklin watched it all with a mix of pride and concern. The crusade was progressing, but at what cost? He knew that the Independence Cluster's approach of "shoot first, ask questions later" was not always the wisest path. Still, he couldn't deny the effectiveness of such tactics.

As the Hellgrammites were pushed back to their capital world of Wormgyre, Steven immediately ordered an Exterminatus. But the xenos' defenses were formidable - a shield of crackling "Aetheric Fire" protected the planet, intercepting all attempts to breach it.

Armstrong unleashed every Exterminatus weapon in his arsenal - nuclear warheads, virus bombs, cyclonic torpedoes. Yet the Aetheric Fire shield held firm, repelling each devastating payload.

Franklin Valorian approached his frustrated captain, a bemused smile playing on his lips. "Well, well, Steven. Looks like those ugly xenos have a few tricks up their sleeves, hmm?"

Armstrong gritted his teeth. "My lord, we must cleanse this world of their filth!"

Franklin chuckled and placed a massive hand on Armstrong's shoulder. "I understand your zeal, my son. But sometimes a more...refined approach is called for." He turned to the bridge crew. "Sweet Liberty, fire the main cannon."

At Franklin's command, the prow of the Gloriana-class battleship split open, revealing. The Graviton Singularity Cannon hummed with barely contained power.

"Graviton pumps primed, anti-matter streams stable," the ship's AI, Sovereign, reported. "Targeting the capital planet of the Hellgrammites - Wormgyre."

Franklin glanced sideways at Armstrong, a smirk playing on his features. "I'll leave the honors to you, Steven."

Armstrong's eyes widened, and he straightened with pride. "Thank you, my lord." He turned to the bridge crew, his voice filled with anticipation. "Fire!"

A pulse of dark energy erupted from the cannon, streaking across the void towards Wormgyre. As it struck, reality itself seemed to warp and twist. For a brief, almost imperceptible moment, nothing happened. Then, with a silent flash, a miniature black hole sprang into existence at the point of impact.

The planet was immediately sucked into the ravenous singularity, its surface cracking and fragmenting as the irresistible pull took hold. Chunks of rock and metal were torn away, spiraling into the voracious maw of the black hole.

Armstrong watched the spectacle with a mixture of awe and grim satisfaction. "Glorious," he murmured. "The Hellgrammites have been purged from this world, just as they will be purged from the entirety of the Laanah Rifts."

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The Liberty Eagles wasted no time in setting their sights on the newly conquered planets of the Laanah Rifts. With the hostile xenos races purged, it was time to begin the process of terraforming and preparing these worlds for Imperial settlement.

For the scientists and engineers of the Legion, this was a familiar task – one they had honed to a precise art over the course of countless campaigns. Legions of highly intelligent automatons scurry across the glassed and barren surfaces of the conquered worlds.

These tireless machines moved with efficient purpose, scanning the environments and mapping out the best courses of action. Waterless worlds were bombarded with ice comets pulled from the nearby Oort clouds, seeding the planets with precious H2O. Mountainous regions were flattened, the rubble then sculpted into new, artificial peaks and ranges to better suit human habitation.

To an outside observer, the Liberty Eagles' terraforming efforts would have seemed almost godlike in their scope and precision. Entire biomes were crafted from the lifeless husks of conquered worlds, tailored to the exact specifications required for Imperial citizens to thrive.

Yet, for the scientists and engineers overseeing these processes, it was simply another day's work. They moved with a steady, clinical detachment, their focus solely on optimizing the environments and maximizing the planets' potential for human settlement, all the while maintaining the assured result of a higher standard of living.

As the work progressed, Franklin Valorian himself would occasionally venture down to the surface, observing the ongoing terraforming efforts with an appraising eye. He took no small measure of pride in the efficiency and technological prowess of his Legion, but he also recognized the need to maintain a sense of balance and caution.

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The terraforming efforts of the Liberty Eagles had been nothing short of remarkable. In the months following their campaign in the Laanah Rifts, the once barren and hostile worlds had been transformed into verdant paradises, ready to receive the influx of Imperial citizens.

News of the Legion's accomplishments spread rapidly throughout the Imperium, drawing the eager attention of noble Houses across Terra. These influential families, accustomed to the opulent but often oppressive Hive Cities that dominated much of the Imperium, coveted the chance to govern the newly established "Elysian Cities" that the Liberty Eagles had created.

The competition for these plum assignments quickly descended into a frenzy of political maneuvering and fierce in-fighting amongst the Terran nobility. Alliances were forged and broken, favors were called in, and dark secrets were threatened to be exposed – all in the pursuit of securing a prestigious posting on one of Franklin Valorian's worlds.

Malcador the Sigillite, the First High Lord of Terra and the Emperor's trusted confidant, observed this spectacle with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. From his vantage point, he could see the desperate grasping of the nobles, each one driven by the promise of power, wealth, and influence.

"They squabble like children over the spoils of war," Malcador mused, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "As if the Liberty Eagles' triumphs were their own to claim." The Sigillite's attendant, a stoic and ever-vigilant Custodian, remained silent, dutifully anticipating Malcador's next words.

"But I suppose that is the nature of humanity," the ancient psyker continued, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "We are ever-hungry for power, even when it is not rightfully ours to claim."

The Custodian shifted slightly, the only outward sign of his discomfort with the topic at hand. Malcador noticed the subtle movement and chuckled. "Do not worry, my friend. I have no intention of interfering with the noble's squabbles. Let them wear themselves out – in the end, it is Franklin and his Liberty Eagles who will have the final say."

Back on Terra, the tensions were palpable as the various noble factions jockeyed for position. In the ornate halls of the Imperial Palace, heated debates raged, punctuated by the occasional burst of outraged shouting.

"Absolutely not!" Lord Cassius Blackwood, a portly nobleman with a florid complexion, slammed his fist on the table, sending documents scattering. "The Agriworld of Libertas Solaris rightfully belongs to my House. We have the resources and the expertise to ensure its proper development!"

Across the table, Lady Elise Guildford, a regal woman with an icy demeanor, regarded Blackwood with disdain. "Your House's 'expertise' is nothing more than a thin veneer of competence, Lord Blackwood. Libertas Solaris requires a delicate touch, something your brutish methods can hardly provide."

Blackwood's face reddened with anger, his double chins wobbling. "How dare you, you arrogant -"

"Enough!" A voice, rich and commanding, cut through the discord, silencing the feuding nobles. All eyes turned to the head of the table, where Malcador the Sigillite sat observing the proceedings.

"This bickering serves no purpose," the Sigillite said, his gaze sweeping across the assembled nobles. "The Primarch Franklin Valorian has made his requests known, and it is our duty to honor them."

Lord Blackwood opened his mouth to protest, but a single, withering look from Malcador silenced him.

"The Agriworld of Libertas Solaris, along with the other Elysian Cities, will be assigned to those deemed most capable of managing their development," Malcador continued, his tone brooking no argument. "I trust you all understand the importance of this task, and the consequences of failure."

The nobles shifted uncomfortably, the weight of Malcador's words settling heavily upon them. This was no mere bureaucrat they were dealing with, but rather the First High Lord of Terra himself – the Emperor's trusted confidant and advisor.

"Now," Malcador said, his gaze sweeping the room once more, "let us discuss the merits of your proposals in a more...civilized manner. I trust you all understand the gravity of the situation, and the need for unity in service to the Imperium."

The nobles, chastened by Malcador's intervention, reluctantly returned to their discussions, their arguments now tinged with a newfound caution and respect.

As the meeting wore on, Malcador observed the proceedings with a critical eye. He could see the subtle power plays, the veiled threats, and the occasional flashes of genuine cunning – all hallmarks of the complex web of Terran politics.

Yet, beneath it all, Malcador sensed a underlying current of unease. These nobles, for all their ambition and maneuvering, knew that they were ultimately beholden to a higher power – the Primarchs, and most notably, Franklin Valorian.

The Liberty Eagles and their Primarch had demonstrated a level of technological prowess and terraforming capability that far exceeded the Imperium's norms the Mechanicus even. And with the promise of Elysian Cities, the lure of these new domains was too great for the nobles to ignore, protests from the Mechanicus had already filled his files, but Malcador danced around them, the Terraforming technology of the Liberty Eagles were too valuable to be given to the Mechanicus and Franklin would not give said Technology even if asked.

As the meeting drew to a close, Malcador couldn't help but wonder what the future held. The Imperium was changing, and the Liberty Eagles were at the forefront of that transformation. How the nobles and the rest of the Imperium would adapt to this new reality remained to be seen.

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The massive void ships of the Liberty Eagles fleet hung majestically in the azure skies, their sleek, angular designs a far cry from the gothic cathedrals and bulbous hulls of traditional Imperial vessels. The citizens gazed upwards, eyes wide with a mixture of reverence and trepidation, for the power and technological mastery represented by these mighty capital ships was unlike anything they had ever witnessed.

But it was the planets themselves that truly captivated the new arrivals. Gone were the sprawling, polluted hive cities they had left behind – in their place stood glittering metropolises that seamlessly blended advanced architecture with lush, verdant landscapes. Towering skyscrapers, their facades adorned with cascading greenery, soared towards the heavens, while efficient, automated transportation systems whisked citizens between residential, commercial, and recreational districts.

The air was crisp and clean, free of the choking smog that had characterized so many of the Imperium's industrial centers. Crystal-clear bodies of water reflected the azure skies, and expansive parks and gardens provided ample opportunities for leisure and community engagement.

As the first waves of settlers disembarked from their transport ships, many were moved to tears by the sheer beauty and splendor of their new homes. Some even paused to gaze in awe at the strange, floating automatons that glided effortlessly through the cities, carrying out maintenance and infrastructure tasks with a level of efficiency that bordered on the uncanny.

"What are those?" a young woman asked, her voice hushed with wonder.

Her companion, an older man with weathered features, shook his head slowly. "I'm not sure, child. But I've heard tales of the Liberty Eagles and their Primarch, the Liberator. They say he and his sons have harnessed the wonders of the ancients, technologies that have long been lost to us common folk."

The woman's eyes widened. "The Primarch... Franklin Valorian, is it not?" She glanced back up at the imposing Gloriana-class battleship that hung in the sky, its presence a tangible reminder of the power and might of the Imperium.

"Aye, that's the one," the man replied, nodding gravely. "They say he is a giant among men, with the strength of a hundred, and a mind that can bend the very laws of reality. These... Elysian Cities, as they call them – they are his doing, a reminder to his vision and his devotion to the Imperium."

The woman fell silent, her gaze fixed upon the majestic spires that reached towards the heavens. In that moment, she felt a deep sense of awe and gratitude, not just for the beauty that surrounded her, but for the Primarch and his Legion who had brought this paradise into being.

Watching the broadcasts from the bridge of the "Sweet Liberty," Franklin Valorian nodded to himself, a satisfied smile upon his lips. This was what he and his Legion had been fighting for – the happiness and prosperity of humanity, unencumbered by the constraints and deprivations of the wider Imperium.

The Primarch's gaze then shifted to the group of Terran nobles seated in the ornate conference room adjacent to the bridge. These were the individuals charged with governing the newly established Elysian Cities, each one jockeying for the most desirable postings.

As Franklin entered the room, the nobles fell silent, their senses screaming a silent warning of the danger that now surrounded them. The Primarch's presence was palpable, his charisma and power overwhelming. He moved with the effortless grace of a predator, his every step radiating an aura of confidence and authority.

"Gentlemen," Franklin said, his deep voice resonating with a subtle, almost musical quality. "Welcome to the future of the Imperium."

The nobles shifted uncomfortably in their seats, acutely aware of their own mortality in the face of this demi-god before them. Franklin's gaze swept across the room, his eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and warning.

"I trust you all understand the importance of your roles in the governance of these Elysian Cities," the Primarch continued, his tone deceptively casual. "The citizens you will be responsible for – they are the future of humanity. Their happiness and prosperity are paramount."

Franklin paused, allowing his words to sink in. The nobles sat in uneasy silence, their minds racing with the implications of his statement.

"You see," the Primarch said, his expression darkening slightly, "I have no tolerance for those who would seek to subvert or undermine the delicate balance we have achieved here. These worlds, these cities – they are the embodiment of my Legion's ideals. Ideals that I will defend with every fiber of my being."

Franklin leaned forward, his eyes boring into each of the nobles in turn. "I know your kind, gentlemen. The games you play, the schemes you weave. But understand this – in my domain, such machinations will not be tolerated. If you attempt to corrupt or exploit these Elysian Cities, I will know. And I will act accordingly."

The nobles felt a chill run down their spines as Franklin's words sank in. This was no idle threat – the Primarch possessed the power and the knowledge to utterly destroy them, should they step out of line.

"So I implore you," Franklin said, his voice softening slightly, "govern these worlds with the same care and dedication that my Legion has shown in their creation. Uphold the principles of liberty, justice, and prosperity that are the very foundation of these Elysian paradises."

The Primarch leaned back in his seat, a small smile playing on his lips. "Do this, and you will find yourselves in the good graces of the Liberty Eagles. Fail, and..." He let the threat hang in the air, unspoken but no less potent.

As the nobles filed out of the conference room, their eyes downcast and their steps hurried, Franklin watched them go, his expression inscrutable. He knew that these men would require a firm hand to keep them in line – the temptation of power and wealth was a strong one, and he could not afford to have his vision for these worlds corrupted by their petty ambitions.