The Primarch of Liberty

Chapter 140: Libraries and Gold



The protective ward surrounding the book shimmered like heat waves over desert sand, though instead of heat, it radiated pure knowledge. Franklin could feel the psychic resonance buzzing against his armor, making his newly acquired clown nose tingle with arcane energy.

"Well," Franklin mused, reaching toward the barrier, "let's hope this goes better than Magnus's average Tuesday of forbidden knowledge seeking."

The ward responded to his touch with a gentle pulse, as if recognizing something familiar in his psychic signature. Instead of the expected resistance, it seemed to welcome him, parting like curtains before a VIP guest. The book practically leaped into his hands, its pages already fluttering open to the first chapter.

"Eager little thing, aren't you?" Franklin chuckled.

"On the Nature of Nascent Deities and Their Influence." The academic tone of the text was a stark contrast to the previous book's trolling, making the revelation all the more impactful. "Finally, something written by someone who doesn't think coherence is a sign of weakness." "So that's how my soul was made, huh?" Franklin chuckled, his laughter echoing through the impossibly vast shelves. A nearby Harlequin, who had been arranging books while standing on the ceiling, paused to hold up a sign: "SPOILER ALERT!"

Franklin leaned back against a bookshelf (which obligingly adjusted its angle to provide perfect support) and began processing the information, his tactician's mind connecting dots across millennia of history.

"Let me get this straight," he mused aloud, earning a "SHHH!" from three different directions. He switched to a theatrical whisper, "The Emperor didn't just create my soul from scratch - he essentially created the conditions for a Minor Warp God of Liberty to form and then anchored it into a primarch-grade body?"

A book titled "Obvious Answers to Obvious Questions" fell off a nearby shelf, landing open at his feet. Franklin picked it up, finding a single word on the page: "DUH!"

"Well, that explains a few things," Franklin continued, ignoring the literary sass. "The independence of Nova Libertas, the unwavering devotion to freedom, the ability to resist chaos corruption..." He paused, looking down at his clown makeup in the reflection of a particularly shiny book cover. "Though it doesn't explain why I keep ending up in these ridiculous situations."

A passing Harlequin held up a quick series of cards:

"CHAOS GODS = DRAMA"

"MINOR GODS = COMEDY"

"YOU = COMIC RELIEF FOR THE GALAXY"

"Thanks for the clarification," Franklin deadpanned. "Really helps with the existential crisis."

He turned back to the book, his finger tracing over the section about "Localized Reality Manipulation" and "Destiny Convergence." The text seemed to glow slightly under his touch, as if responding to his presence.

"So every time I've led my Legion to victory, every impossible shot that landed exactly where it needed to, every plan that came together despite astronomical odds..." He shook his head, grinning. "I've been basically running on divine probability manipulation powered by humanity's desire for freedom?"

The book's pages ruffled in what might have been agreement, or possibly just the cosmic equivalent of a shrug.

"And the whole 'Destiny Convergence' thing explains why Nova Libertas became such a powerhouse of innovation and independence." Franklin stroked his chin thoughtfully, smudging some of his clown makeup. "Though I have to wonder - did the Emperor know exactly what he was creating, or did he just throw some freedom-flavored warp juice into the primarch soup and hope for the best?"

A new book suddenly appeared on a nearby pedestal, titled "The Emperor's Cookbook: Primarch Edition." Before Franklin could reach for it, a Harlequin swooped down and slapped his hand with a ruler, holding up a sign that read: "THAT'S FOR A DIFFERENT EXISTENTIAL CRISIS."

Franklin raised his hands in surrender, leaving the cookbook for another day. He returned to the text about Minor Warp Gods, particularly focusing on the warnings about anchoring such entities.

"Well, at least that explains why I can't sit still during council meetings - try containing the anthropomorphic personification of liberty in a chair for six hours." He paused, considering. "Though I suppose it could be worse. Imagine if I'd been created from the concept of paperwork. Poor Roboute..."

The nearby books trembled in what might have been laughter.

"But wait," Franklin said, a new thought occurring to him. "If I'm essentially an anchored Minor Warp God of Liberty, and I'm trying to prevent Magnus from doing everything wrong..." He trailed off, his eyes widening. "Oh, this is going to be interesting. A Minor God of Liberty trying to save a brother from becoming a pawn of Tzeentch. The irony levels are off the charts."

A book titled "Cosmic Irony: A User's Guide" helpfully fell into his hands, opening to a chapter about family interventions across the Immaterium.

"Right," Franklin nodded, closing both books with determination. "So to save Magnus and his sons, I need to understand how his nature as a Minor Warp God might interact with their situation. Maybe find a way to use this whole 'Harmonic Resonance' thing to counter the Flesh Change..."

He looked down at his still-glowing clown nose, then back at the books around him. "Though first, I should probably figure out how to navigate out of here without looking like I just graduated from the Cegorach School of Cosmetic Arts."

The nearby Harlequin librarian shook their head and held up a final card: "THE NOSE STAYS ON UNTIL THE LESSON IS LEARNED"

"And what lesson would that be?" Franklin asked, already dreading the answer.

The Harlequin's response card read: "THAT SOMETIMES THE BEST WAY TO FIGHT CHAOS IS TO EMBRACE ABSURDITY"

Franklin closed the weighty tome on Minor Warp Gods with the careful precision of someone who's seen too many books try to bite back. The cover patterns writhed beneath his fingers like angry snakes at a jazz concert.

"All this talk about anchors and resonance," he muttered to his glowing clown nose, which honked sympathetically, "and not one straightforward solution. Typical. It's like reading an IKEA manual written by Tzeentch."

THUD

The sound behind him was as subtle as a Titan doing tippy-toes. Franklin turned, his clown makeup somehow managing to express both resignation and curiosity, to find a new book sprawled on the floor. It lay there like a cat that had meant to fall and was now trying to play it

cool.

"'Warp Corruption and Remedies: A Practical Guide for the Chronically Screwed,"" Franklin read aloud, his painted eyebrows rising high enough to threaten escape velocity. "Well, that's refreshingly blunt for the Black Library. Usually, they prefer titles like 'On the Nature of

Nature's Natural Nature, Naturally.""

The book hummed in his hands like an excited puppy, practically vibrating with eagerness to be opened. A nearby Harlequin librarian held up a sign: "IT LIKES YOU!"

"Great," Franklin muttered, "now I'm getting dating advice from library books."

Nevertheless, he opened it, bracing himself for another round of cosmic trolling.n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

Instead, he was greeted by text that could have come from a self-help book written by a

particularly sassy author:

"Chapter One: So, You've Got a Flesh Change Problem."

Franklin's laughter echoed through the impossible architecture of the library, causing several books about silence to fall off their shelves in protest. "Finally! Someone in this maze of knowledge actually gets to the point. Though I'm pretty sure this is the first time in history anyone's treated widespread genetic corruption like it's a common cold."

The next page revealed what could only be described as a children's book illustration of a Space Marine mid-transformation. The Marine had googly eyes that seemed to follow Franklin as he moved, and the mutations looked more like balloon animals gone wrong than

eldritch horrors.

"This could be you!"" Franklin read the caption, snorting. "But don't panic, we've got solutions.' Right. If this book starts trying to sell me essential oils for the Flesh Change, I'm using it as target practice."

The book's pages ruffled indignantly, flipping themselves with the attitude of an offended professor. They settled on a section titled "Warp Stabilization Through Nascent Entities:

Turning Chaos Against Chaos."

"Now we're talking," Franklin leaned in, his clown nose casting a red glow over the text. "Though I have to admit, 'turning Chaos against Chaos' sounds like fighting fire with fire, except the fire is sentient and has a grudge against reality."

The chapter laid out its theory with all the confidence of a drunk remembering quantum physics. Harmonic resonance, sympathetic constructs, and warp stabilization techniques were explained with helpful diagrams that seemed to be drawn by someone who'd taken "abstract art" as a literal challenge.

"So let me get this straight," Franklin mused, absently smudging his clown makeup as he rubbed his chin. "I need to find a nascent Warp entity to act as a cosmic tuning fork for Magnus's sons? That's like trying to fix a broken violin with a demolition ball - technically possible, but the collateral damage might be interesting."

A Harlequin materialized nearby, holding up a series of cards in quick succession:

"SOUNDS DANGEROUS"

"COULD GO HORRIBLY WRONG"

"DO IT ANYWAY"

"FOR SCIENCE!"

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Franklin deadpanned. "Really helps with the decision-

making process."

He continued reading, occasionally muttering commentary that would have made a tech- priest blush. The book's warnings about over-reliance on nascent entities were particularly colorful, complete with little doodles of what appeared to be stick figures being consumed by

their own success.

Then came the postscript, written in font so small it might have been trying to hide from itself: "P.S. For best results, consult your local Warp God before proceeding. Terms and conditions apply. Side effects may include spontaneous reality-bending, time loops, or general eldritch weirdness. Refunds unavailable."

"Consult a Warp God?" Franklin laughed, closing the book with a snap. "Yeah, I think I'll pass on asking Tzeentch for advice. That's like asking a cat for swimming lessons - technically possible, but you know they're just waiting to watch you drown."

He tucked the book under his arm, his tactical mind already plotting how to use this information with Magnus. "Though I suppose I could consult the Emperor. He's totally not a god, just a being of immense power who can reshape reality and may or may not be responsible for creating several demigods. Completely different thing."

As Franklin turned to leave, his library card caught his attention, glowing with newly added

titles: Minor Warp Gods and Their Interactions When Brought into the Materium

Warp Corruption and Remedies: A Practical Guide for the Chronically Screwed

"I don't even want to know what the late fees are like here," Franklin muttered, eyeing the

card suspiciously. "Probably something like 'your firstborn soul' or 'eternal service in the comedy section.""

The card hummed ominously, as if to say it had much more creative ideas for dealing with

overdue books. Franklin could have sworn he saw fine print appearing and disappearing along its edges, listing penalties that would make a daemon prince think twice. "Library rules," he smirked, pocketing the card. "Always more complicated than they look.

It's like they took normal bureaucracy and decided to add extra dimensions to it. Literally." As Franklin strode deeper into the labyrinth of knowledge, his clown nose lighting the way, he

couldn't help but wonder if this was all part of some cosmic joke. Here he was, a Minor Warp God of Liberty disguised as a Primarch, wearing clown makeup, carrying books about fixing genetic corruption, all while trying to prevent his brother from doing everything wrong. A final sign floated down from above: "THAT'S COMEDY FOR YOU!" "Story of my life," Franklin replied, ducking under a shelf that had decided to rearrange itself

into a Möbius strip. "Now, let's go see if we can't turn this tragedy into a comedy with a happy ending. Though knowing my luck, the happy ending will probably involve more clown makeup." His nose honked in agreement, and somewhere in the infinite library, the laughter of gods echoed through the impossible shelves, accompanying a Primarch on his quest to save his brother through the power of cosmic comedy and questionable library books.

Franklin was making his way back to the exit, arms loaded with precious tomes, when his

attention was caught by a golden figure slumped over a massive book. The Custodian's armor gleamed in the Library's shifting, unearthly light. Despite the battle-plate, the figure had somehow managed to find the one reading chair in existence perfectly sized for his massive

frame.

"Kitten?" Franklin's tone was laced with surprise.

The Custodian looked up from his reading. The book in his hands was entitled, "The Complete

History of Everything (Abridged) - Volume 1 of ∞".

"Lord Franklin?" Kitten's expression shifted from surprise to mild concern. "What happened to your face?" Franklin's red clown nose let out an untimely honk, as if mocking him.

"Not. One. Word." Franklin raised a power-armored finger, his clown makeup somehow

making the gesture both more and less threatening. "Not a single word about this to Dear Old

Dad. Unless, of course, you want your armor to mysteriously turn silver overnight." Kitten's helmet snapped up straight. "You wouldn't dare!"

"Try me, sunshine. I know a guy who knows a guy who knows several Harlequins who'd

consider it a delightful prank."

"My lips are sealed, Lord Primarch. Though I must say, the colors really bring out your eyes." "Says the guy whose closest comrades are three oil-obsessed exhibitionists," Franklin quipped, settling into an impossibly convenient chair that materialized behind him. Kitten groaned, rubbing his temple. "Please, don't remind me. They've been at it all week. Do

you know what it's like trying to train with constant posing and dramatic speeches in the background?" Franklin chuckled. "Let me guess - that's why there's so much oil in the requisition forms?"

"They call it essential materiel. I've tried explaining that we're not at war with dryness, but they don't listen," Kitten replied, exasperated.

Franklin gestured at the surrounding shelves. "So, what brings you to this infinite nexus of impossible knowledge? Hiding from the Fabulous Three?"

"Not exactly. Research," Kitten replied, patting his book. "There's so much here about the universe's history. Did you know there was a phenomenon in M2 called 'memes'? Fascinating stuff. Though, I suspect some of these entries might be Cegorach's sense of humor. For example, I refuse to believe in the Great Crusade of the Dancing Lobsters." Franklin snorted. "If Cegorach wrote it, it's probably canon somewhere." "Speaking of impossible things," Franklin leaned forward, his expression thoughtful, "how

exactly did you get in here? I had to seal breaches in the Webway and make the Laughing God

himself laugh."

Kitten set his book aside, sighing. "You know the Webway Portal beneath the Palace? There's this tiny portal in the wraithbone structure-barely visible unless you're doing a deep clean.

Long story short, my Custodian reflexes kicked in. Slipped through at the exact right moment." Franklin raised an eyebrow. "And ended up here?"

"After a few wrong turns, yes," Kitten admitted. "The first time, I thought I was in trouble.

But the Harlequins seemed amused. They let me stay, probably because I reshelve the books

properly." Franklin nodded sagely. "So, how often do you sneak in here?"

Kitten hesitated before producing a crystalline library card, similar to Franklin's but

embossed with tiny golden helmets. "Often enough to have one of these." Franklin stifled a laugh. "And what exactly are you borrowing?" Kitten looked away, suspiciously nonchalant. "Research. General knowledge. Nothing

specific." "Sure," Franklin drawled, smirking. "Not at all related to the ginger cat I saw napping in the Palace last week."

Kitten coughed. "Unrelated. Entirely."

Franklin decided to let the topic slide, standing and adjusting his stack of books. "Well, I

should get going. Got a brother to save, a universe to fix, all the usual Primarch business."

"If you're taking the main exit," Kitten warned, "watch out for the juggling section. The books there tend to... participate."

Franklin laughed, tapping his red nose. "Thanks for the tip. And remember-our deal."

"What deal?" Kitten replied, already back to his reading. "I've seen no Primarchs today. Especially not one wearing excellent clown makeup."

As Franklin strode toward the exit, he could swear he heard Kitten humming circus music. But

then again, in the Black Library, absurdity was the rule, not the exception.

With his mission accomplished and an unexpected encounter behind him, Franklin smirked.

Knowledge gained, books secured, and plenty of blackmail material about a certain Custodian's reading habits.

All in all, a productive day in the grim darkness of the far future-where, on occasion, even a certain Custodian could find solace in a hidden library of infinite possibilities.