The Primarch of Liberty

Chapter 90: The Mirror Match



The battlefield erupted in apocalyptic fury as Ouranus's singular eye blazed crimson. The massive Castigator Titan didn't waste time with ceremony - its eye-beam lanced across space, striking the lead Mega Gargant's powerfield in a flash of light the powerfield gave way and the beam melted the Gargant's crude face with devastating precision. Before the headless Ork titan could even begin to topple, Ouranus's disintegration cannon fired, the beam

reducing the opposing war machine to dissolving particles.

First Blood in the opening seconds. The battle had begun with an explosion.

The remaining Castigators charged forward. Unlike their lumbering Imperator cousins, these war machines moved with terrifying speed, their humanoid forms covering ground in massive strides that shook and cracked the earth.

Six Castigators against six remaining Mega Gargants. The odds heavily favored the Liberty Eagles' God machines.

Two Castigators flanked left, their auto-cannons roaring to life. Each shell was the size of a battle tank, and they fired them with mechanical precision. The Ork machines' crude armor, while thick, couldn't withstand such concentrated firepower. Plates buckled and tore, exposing vital systems beneath.

A Gargant managed to return fire, its battery of guns lighting up the battlefield. But the quantum shields of the Castigators simply absorbed the energy, the impacts rippling across their protective fields without leaving a mark. Where void shields would have faltered, the Quantum Shields held.

Ouranus led the center charge, its massive power claw crackling with energy. It reached a Gargant in seconds, the claw closing around the Ork machine's torso. Metal screamed as the claw crushed inward, and with a single twist, Ouranus tore the Gargant in half. The disintegration cannon fired again, erasing any chance of the war machine's survival.

The battlefield became a hurricane of destruction. Auto-cannons thundered continuously, each impact powerful enough to level city blocks. The Gargants fought back with characteristic Orkish fury, their guns blazing with enough firepower to flatten mountains. But they couldn't penetrate the quantum shields.

From his command position, Glorblasta watched his war machines fall. These weren't ordinary Gargants - they represented some of the finest war machines his Meks could produce. Yet they were being systematically destroyed by these cyclopic Titans, it seemed in the Gargant Department he still lacked the Dakka than the Dakkabringer.

The end came swiftly. Ouranus raised its disintegration cannon one final time, the weapon's charge building to maximum power. The beam swept across both remaining Gargants, their massive forms dissolving into nothingness.

Seven minutes. That's all it had taken for seven of the mightiest Ork war machines to be reduced to scrap and atoms. The Castigators stood triumphant, their quantum shields flickering with absorbed energy, their auto-repair systems already fixing the minor damage they'd sustained.

But the battle was far from over. In the distance, more Gargants emerged from teleport flashes, and the sky filled with drop pods containing Power Armored Orks. The first round had gone to the Liberty Eagles, but Glorblasta had only begun to unleash his forces.

Miles apart, Franklin Valorian and Gorblasta stood like ancient gods observing their armies clash below. The Primarch's silhouette atop the largest Monolith was mirrored by the Prime- Ork's massive form perched on his Iron Citadel, the symmetry almost poetic in its martial display.

The initial skirmish had gone to the Liberty Eagles, their Castigator Titans demonstrating why they were rarely used. Their precision strikes had carved through the Ork lines with surgical accuracy, but Franklin had pulled them back almost immediately. His enhanced vision had caught glimpses of massive weapon systems integrated into the Iron Citadel's superstructure - weapons whose capabilities remained unknown.

"No point risking the God-Machines unnecessarily," he muttered to himself, watching as his Titans took up strategic positions in the rear. "Repairing those things costs more than some planetary economies." The Castigators would serve better as precision instruments - surgical strikes where needed, hammers of annihilation where required, but always deployed with purpose. Their specialty, after all, was what the Liberty Eagles termed "Fuck that City in Particular" - the ability to completely deny the enemy any presence in a chosen vector of approach.Nôv(el)B\\jnn

His vox crackled with updates from orbit. Fleet Admiral Elena Koshka's voice came through, clear and professional: "The Ork fleet is showing unprecedented coordination, Lord Valorian. Their void-craft are... impressive. Nevertheless, Battlefleet Liberty will prevail. We're already identifying weak points in their formation."

"Acknowledged, Admiral. Keep me updated." Franklin's enhanced vision swept across the battlefield below. The scene was almost poetic in its violence - waves of Ork hordes breaking against the Liberty Guard's defensive lines like green tide against adamantine cliffs. Each assault was met with overwhelming firepower, precision volleys that turned attackers into corpses with machine-like efficiency.

But it was the rear echelons of the Ork force that drew his focused attention. There, standing in perfect formation, were Orks in power armor that rivaled Astartes Mark 7 plate in sophistication. They waited with unnatural patience, their discipline a perversion of everything the galaxy knew about Orkish behavior. They were bigger than normal Orks, their frames enhanced beyond even the usual Nob proportions, but it wasn't their size that was unsettling it was their stillness.

The air superiority was undeniable - Liberty Eagles aircraft owned the skies. But the planetary shield dome prevented any meaningful orbital bombardment. Franklin knew the shield generator had to be their first priority target, but it would be heavily defended. This called for a precision strike.

"Denzel," Franklin voxed. "Time to test the waters."

The First Captain acknowledged, and moments later, the Monolith portals flared to life. Denzel Washington emerged leading the First Company, their Exo-armor gleaming with the polish of veterans who had earned the right to such ostentation. As they advanced, the artillery coverage intensified, sheets of fire raining from the sky with mechanical precision. The Power Armored Orks responded immediately, intercepting the Astartes advance. Their weapons were a technological surprise - rapid-firing plasma weapons that spat death with un-Orklike accuracy. The plasma bolts splashed against conversion fields, creating a lightshow of deflected energy.

Denzel's eyes narrowed behind his Oni-helm as he observed the exchange of fire. The Liberty Eagles' conversion shields flickered with each hit, the energy discharge creating brilliant flashes that temporarily blinded their opponents. Return fire from their disintegration weapons turned several Orks to dust, but not before their targets' power fields flickered with protective energy.

"These aren't your average Orks," Denzel commented over the command channel. "Their tech level is approaching Dark Age standards. Their power fields are actually managing to deflect some of our disintegration shots."

Franklin's response was thoughtful. "Gorblasta has been busy. Those plasma weapons shouldn't be possible with normal Ork technology."

Denzel spotted a larger Nob directing the Ork formations - its armor more elaborate, its movements showing clear tactical awareness. The First Captain unslung his Tachyon Bow, a weapon that bent the laws of physics with each shot. Taking careful aim, he nocked an arrow wreathed in temporal energy.

The shot, when it came, was almost anticlimactic. One moment the Nob and its command squad existed, the next they simply didn't. No explosion, no dramatic effect - just a perfect

sphere of empty space where matter had once been.

"Emperor's teeth," Denzel whispered, admiring the weapon's effectiveness. "The

Mechanicum would start a war just to study this thing."

The battle continued to evolve across the field. Liberty Guard regiments held their ground with characteristic discipline, their advanced exo-suits and Pulse rifles turning back wave after wave of conventional Ork forces. But it was the clashes between the elite units that drew the eye - Power Armored Orks trading fire with Liberty Eagles Astartes, each side wielding technology that shouldn't exist in this millennium.

A Few Hours Later,

Franklin studied the tactical holomap, his fingers tracing the intricate web of Orkish defensive lines. First Captain Denzel's report scrolled across his vision: depleted Tachyon Arrow reserves, stalled advances despite their technological superiority, and Power Armored Orkz Deploying Fortifications faster than they could be destroyed. The situation was reaching a

critical point.

Franklin considered his options. Armstrong, Vladimir, and Cavill were fully engaged in other theaters across nearby planets. John was at his side, but his strengths lay outside of directly breaching enemy lines, while Denzel specialized in sustained combat, not rapid breakthroughs. Though Franklin was prepared to lead the charge himself, he hesitated; after all, the reason he assigned Armstrong, his Blunt instrument, to a neighboring planet rather than here was to avoid redundancy-Franklin could punch far larger holes in enemy defenses than even Armstrong. However, if he entered the fray, it would surely draw Glorblasta into direct confrontation. While Franklin was confident he would emerge victorious, he knew such a clash would come at a significant cost to his forces, with casualties likely mounting during

the ensuing chaos.

"Brother." The melodious voice of Fulgrim cut through his thoughts. The Primarch of the Emperor's Children approached with his characteristic grace, though Franklin noticed something different in his demeanor. Gone was the usual air of superiority, replaced by something more... contemplative. "I see we face an... unusual strategic challenge." Franklin turned, expecting to see the usual mask of superiority on his brother's face. Instead, he found something different - something that looked surprisingly like genuine concern and

respect.

"That's putting it mildly," Franklin replied, allowing a slight smirk. "I'm glad to see you've moved past wallowing in your broken pride long enough to take an interest in the tactical

situation."

He waited for the usual response - the flowery speech about dignity and perfection, the barely concealed anger at any perceived slight. It didn't come.

Instead, Fulgrim moved to study the tactical displays, his voice measured and thoughtful. "We can't afford to wallow in broken pride. Not here. Not now. I am a Primarch, after all - and sometimes we need to be reminded of what that truly means."

Franklin couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. "Well, well. Who are you, and what have you done with my pompous brother?"

A ghost of a smile crossed Fulgrim's perfect features. "Let's just say a rather decisive punch to the face helped realign some priorities. Sometimes we need to be reminded that being a Primarch isn't about personal glory - Even if that means admitting someone else might know

better."

Franklin studied his brother carefully. The change was remarkable - gone was the preening peacock who had nearly gotten his forces slaughtered by disobeying direct orders. In his place

stood a warrior who had learned from his humbling.

"That must have been quite a punch," Franklin said, his tone softening slightly.

"Brother I ask for the chance to lead the charge once more" Fulgrim stated. Franklin's eyebrows rose as Fulgrim made his request to lead the charge. The memory of his

brother's previous failure hung heavy in the air between them - a catastrophic blunder that had cost precious lives and resources. Fulgrim caught Franklin's expression immediately, and a flash of pain crossed his perfect features.

"I know what you're thinking, brother," Fulgrim said quietly, none of his usual bombast present. "And you're right to be hesitant. I failed spectacularly last time. Made decisions based on pride rather than tactics. Cost us dearly."

Franklin studied his brother carefully, noting the genuine contrition in his voice. The old

Fulgrim would have bristled at even the suggestion of past failure, launching into elaborate justifications and deflections.

"And yet you're asking for another chance," Franklin observed, his tone neutral but

evaluating.

"Just one more," Fulgrim confirmed. "Let me show you I've learned from my mistakes."

Franklin gestured to the hololithic display, the ethereal light casting both Primarchs in a ghostly glow. "Show me what you have in mind."

Fulgrim stepped forward, his movements precise as he manipulated the tactical display. As he

began to explain, Franklin's tactical mind was already breaking down the components of the plan. It was, at its core, a sophisticated take on the Blitzkrieg doctrine - but with several crucial modifications that showed Fulgrim had indeed been paying attention to the lessons of

his previous failure.

"The spearhead will be our Dreadnoughts," Fulgrim explained, highlighting the units in question. "All fifty Liberty Pattern Heavy Dreadnoughts, supported by the two hundred Mastodons. The Knight Walkers will follow immediately to hold any breach we create open."

ranklin nodded slowly. "You'll need sustained artillery coverage to prevent the Orks from sealing the breach. They've been using similar fortifications with ours even using the dead bodies of Orkz - surprisingly effective tactic for them."

"Indeed," Fulgrim agreed. "But here's where it gets interesting." He manipulated the display again, showing a second phase of the operation. "You'll act as a diversion."

"I could just punch through myself," Franklin pointed out. "With that much breakthrough

power, I could-"

"Take heavy casualties doing so," Fulgrim interrupted. "Yes, you could break through. Yes,

you could probably even win. But how many sons would you lose in the process?" He gestured to the display. "This way, you draw their attention - specifically Gorblasta's attention - while we strike at their power generators. Once those fall, we can execute a pincer movement on their main force, whilst the skies open for Orbital Bombardment"

Franklin leaned back, considering. It was a solid plan - better than solid, actually. It showed both tactical acumen and, more surprisingly, concern for minimizing casualties. After a long moment, he sighed. "Fine. I'll trust you on this one."

As orders were being transmitted to the various units, Fulgrim's attention seemed to drift to the Dreadnoughts being prepared for battle. His perfect features creased in thought. "Something on your mind, brother?" Franklin asked, noting the scrutiny in Fulgrim's gaze.

"These units," Fulgrim began carefully, "I've made something of a study of the Custodian

Guard - their weapons, their tactics, their equipment. It's in my nature to analyze such things, to understand why they, specifically, were chosen as Father's closest companions." Franklin watched as his brother's eyes traced the lines of the Liberty Pattern Heavy Dreadnoughts, the massive Grav-tanks, even the ceremonial spears some units carried. "These designs," Fulgrim continued, "they bear more than a passing resemblance to Custodian equipment. But there's something... different. Something almost xenos in their execution." He turned to Franklin. "The Independence Sector produces 80% of Custodian technology - this I know. But these modifications... surely Father would notice?" Franklin's chuckle caught Fulgrim off guard. "Notice? Brother, let me show you something."

He stepped to the hololithic display, zooming in on one of the Dreadnoughts. "What you're looking at is based on the Telemon Heavy Dreadnought pattern used by the Custodians. But here's what's interesting - we didn't steal these designs or modify them without permission." The display shifted, showing the original Telemon schematics alongside the Liberty Pattern

variant. "We created an STC for the original design and gave it to Terra. In exchange, we got

permission to develop our own variant. The differences you're noting? They're intentional improvements."

Fulgrim's eyes widened slightly as he studied the technical readouts. "The mobility

modifications..."

"Exactly," Franklin confirmed. "The original Telemon was designed to stand against charges,

to be an immovable object. Our version? It's a mobile destruction platform. Neural requirements are actually so complex that even an Astartes mind struggles with them - they were never meant for Space Marines, after all."

"Then how...?" Fulgrim began.

"AI assistance, or in Mechanicum terms Machine Spirit Assitance" Franklin explained, bringing up another schematic. "Each Liberty Pattern Telemon has an artificial intelligence co-pilot. It helps manage the systems that were originally designed for Custodian neural

architecture. Different solution, similar results."

Fulgrim's expression showed a mixture of admiration and concern. "And Father approves of

these modifications? The AI integration?"

Franklin's smile widened. "Brother, when you're trusted to manufacture the equipment for the Emperor's own companions, you get certain... liberties. Besides, every modification, every improvement we make gets fed back into the main production lines. The Custodians benefit from our innovations just as we benefit from their base designs."

"It's more than that, though, isn't it?" Fulgrim observed, studying the various units preparing for battle. "These aren't just modified Custodian designs. There's something else

in their DNA."

Franklin nodded, pleased at his brother's perception. "The Independence Sector holds the technology of Humanity's Golden Age, you can say that besides the Mechanicum of Mars's data regarding the Dark Age it is only us who could produce Golden Age Tech even some of Weapons from the Golden Age that even Mars could not produce take for Example The Mechanivore but I won't delve into the Conceptual Ending Tech moving on" Franklin opened schematics in the Holo Display "We had access to technologies and design philosophies that most of the galaxy had forgotten. When we combine that knowledge with Custodian patterns..." He gestured to the assembled forces. "This is the result."

"A perfect fusion of ancient human technology and the Emperor's own designs," Fulgrim

mused. Both Primarchs stood in comfortable silence for a moment, watching as the forces assembled for Fulgrim's planned breakthrough. The Liberty Pattern Dreadnoughts moved fluidly much like how man would walk despite their massive size, their AI co-pilots allowing them to execute maneuvers that would have been impossible for traditional Dreadnought patterns. Fulgrim finally spoke up, "You know, I'd have been green with envy over all this. Would've

seen it as a challenge to my own pursuit of perfection." Franklin raised an eyebrow. "And now?"

Fulgrim shrugged. "Still am, to a degree. But now I see it for what it really is a tool, plain

and simple. The ideal mix of form and function isn't about showing off; it's about hitting goals without waste." He gestured around. "Every tweak here serves a purpose. No frills, no show-just function and...I'm starting to see it through your lens brother"

"That might be the most un-Fulgrim thing you've ever said," Franklin observed with a smile.

"Consider it evidence of personal growth," Fulgrim replied a hint of his old self returning but quickly fading. As they took their positions for the impending battle, Franklin couldn't help but admire the change in his brother. If he had known that a little tough love could lead to this transformation, he would have done it ages ago. The thought made him chuckle. Perhaps there was hope for his perfectionist brother after all.