Horde? What Horde?

Reality fractured around the Captain as the ship entered the timestream. The warp, that hellish dimension of chaos and madness, reached out with ethereal tendrils. Whispers began to seep through the vessel's ancient wards – the voices of the Chaos Gods themselves, each carrying their own flavor of malice and despair.

"Never," hissed Tzeentch, the sound like breaking glass and burning libraries.

"You cannot," growled Khorne, blood dripping from each syllable.

"You will fail," purred Slaanesh, their voice a discordant symphony.

"Return to dust," moaned Nurgle, words heavy with decay.

The whispers grew to a crescendo, threatening to overwhelm even Cavill's transhuman mind. But just as darkness seemed to close in, a brilliant golden light burst through the ship. It was warm, familiar – the light of the Emperor himself. A voice, vast as the cosmos yet intimate as a father's whisper, reached out to him:

"Go, Son of Valorian. Humanity has one last chance to prosper."

Back in the timeline they'd left behind, three legendary figures stood witness: Sanguinius, his wings spread wide; Roboute Guilliman, his tactical mind already calculating possibilities; and Denzel Washington, Chapter Master of the Liberty Eagles, watched as the Astronomican itself seemed to respond to their mission, sending forth a pillar of pure psychic energy to shield the temporal trajectory.

But even the Emperor's power couldn't completely deny the Chaos Gods their due. Tzeentch, the schemer, managed to slip through a tendril of change – just enough to alter the Spirit of Eternity's course. The mighty vessel, perhaps the last of its kind, shuddered and crashed through the barriers between realspace and the warp.

The impact threw Cavill against the command throne. Emergency systems flared, as reality itself seemed to tear around him. When the vessel finally came to rest, he knew immediately that something had gone wrong. The air itself felt wrong, charged with malevolent energy.

Forcing open the main hatch, Cavill emerged into a nightmare. The warp stretched endlessly around him, its impossible geography defying mortal comprehension. In the distance, shapes moved – daemons, drawn to this unexpected morsel in their realm. His hand tightened on his disintegration rifle, knowing that even his transhuman abilities might not be enough here.

Then came the sound – the screech of metal wings and the roar of ancient engines. A figure descended from the impossible skies, each wing-beat leaving trails of fire in its wake. It was massive, easily twice as Cavill's height, its face hidden behind a mask reminiscent of a bird of prey. Missiles streaked from its form, turning approaching daemons into clouds of ichor and warpstuff.

Training took over. Cavill's rifle came up, its disentigration beam lancing out toward the unknown entity. But the being moved with impossible grace, its metallic wings carrying it through elaborate aerial maneuvers that seemed to mock physics itself.

"Hey now!" the figure called out, dodging another shot. "Is that any way to- WHOA!" Another near miss. "Look, can we talk about- SERIOUSLY?"

The voice was familiar. Impossibly familiar. The figure landed, raising its hands in a peaceful gesture while keeping its wings spread wide – not threateningly, but almost protectively.

"Look, I can explain! Well, actually, I probably can't explain because this whole situation is ridiculous, but I can at least prove I'm not a daemon! Most of the time. Currently. It's complicated?"

Cavill's finger hesitated on the trigger. The figure took advantage of the pause to remove its helm, revealing features that sent a shock through Cavill's enhanced system. Features he'd seen in countless statues, paintings, and historical records. Features that had been genetically imprinted into his very being.

"Father!?" The word escaped before he could stop it.

Standing before him was Franklin Valorian himself – the Liberator, Primarch of the Liberty Eagles, genetic father to millions of Space Marines including Cavill himself. The wings were exactly as described in the ancient texts, and something in Cavill's enhanced genetics sang in recognition.

"Well," Franklin said, his familiar grin somehow both reassuring and slightly manic, "this is either the strangest family reunion ever, or the warp is being particularly creative with its illusions today. Either way," he gestured at the swirling chaos around them, "this isn't exactly the safest place for a chat. Even Space Marines don't last long in the raw warp. Care to follow me?"

Cavill hesitated only for a moment. His mission was paramount – the very future of humanity depended on it. But this was his Primarch, his gene-father, and every fiber of his enhanced being told him this was no illusion. Besides, he needed a guide in this realm of madness.

Walking through the twisted landscape of the warp, Franklin Valorian and Henry Cavill made an odd pair - the winged Primarch in his mechsuit and the time-traveling Space Marine from the 41st millennium. Despite the surreal circumstances, they fell into an easy conversation, with Franklin's casual demeanor helping to ease the tension.

"So," Franklin began, his wings occasionally twitching to disperse any warp energies that got too close, "tell me about this future of yours. I'm guessing things got pretty interesting if you're pulling time travel shenanigans."

Henry's deep voice, remarkably similar to his ancient namesake's, carried a weight of centuries as he spoke. "The Imperium changed significantly. The Legions were broken down into Chapters of 1000 Marines each, following something called the Codex Astartes, and the one leading us is Chapter Master Denzel Washington"

Franklin's face scrunched up in disapproval. "Space book? Sounds like something my brother would come up with. Makes for decent toilet paper, I'd imagine."

A slight smile crossed Henry's face. "We found ways around it. The Liberty Eagles maintained our numbers by remaining in a constant state of war, much like the Black Templars. Our primary target became the Necrons."

"And the Independence Sector?"

"It became the technological pillar of the Imperium. Mars and the Adeptus Mechanicus came second in terms of production and innovation."

Franklin's eyebrow raised. "Adeptus Mechanicus? You mean the Mechanicum of Mars?" When Henry nodded, a smirk spread across Franklin's face. "Ha! Even in the far future, Mars comes in second. Some things never change."

As they continued walking, Henry detailed the War of the Beast, describing how it took the combined might of Sanguinius, Roboute Guilliman, and Vulkan to combat the Orks led by a Prime-Ork. Franklin didn't recognize the names, but his expression grew serious at the mention of Krorks.

"The Necrons gave us trouble initially," Henry continued, "but when Lord Regent Sanguinius authorized the deployment of the Independence Sector's Men of Iron, the tide turned. We even managed to capture and study a damaged World Engine."

"The Aeldari became close allies, particularly with the Independence Sector. You'd see them everywhere, even praying at your coffin..."

Franklin stopped abruptly. "My what now?"

Henry's voice grew solemn. "You fell fighting Horus."

"Horus?" Franklin's expression flickered between disbelief and understanding. "I wouldn't lose to Horus unless... ah. The Chaos Gods juiced him up, didn't they? Must be some sort of really good juice being able to take me down"

Henry's nod confirmed his suspicion. Franklin's eyes narrowed as he processed this information. "So Horus betrays us... but why?"

"That's actually related to my mission-" Henry began, but Franklin raised a hand to silence him. They had been walking for what seemed like days in the timeless warp.

"And the Tyranids?" Franklin asked, changing the subject. "I trust they've been keeping things interesting?"

Henry's expression brightened slightly. "They actually keep searching for a 'Big Gold and Shining God' to fight again. Our psykers intercepted the message."

Franklin's laughter echoed through the warp. "Oh, that's rich! Those bugs from the Helican Sector want a rematch with the Emperor! Now that's determination!"

As Henry opened his mouth to elaborate on his mission, Franklin subtly pointed upward. A Tzeentchian daemon circled overhead, its multiple eyes fixed on their conversation. Henry immediately tensed, realizing how his father's easy-going presence had affected him. He understood firsthand now why the Blood Angels and Ultramarines always seemed so energized when fighting alongside their Primarchs.

Franklin shot the Daemon making it explode.

To change the subject, Franklin asked with a hint of mischief, "Tell me, son, what's the Liberty Eagles' doctrine?"

"Overwhelming firepower," Henry answered without hesitation.

"And how do you picture overwhelming firepower?"

"A wall of firepower that prevents the opponent from finding any window of opportunity."

Franklin's chuckle carried an edge of amusement. "Seems Denzel toned down the overwhelming firepower doctrine in the future."

"Toned down?" Henry's brow furrowed, his chiseled features expressing genuine confusion. Even with his enhanced physique and rugged good looks, he couldn't quite hide his bewilderment. "Father, with all due respect, our doctrine has laid waste to entire armies. How could that be considered 'toned down'?"

Franklin's response was to point downward, toward a valley in the impossible landscape. "Tell me, son, what do you see down there?"

Henry looked. Below them, a massive horde of daemons writhed and twisted, thousands strong at least. "I see a daemon horde, perhaps three thousand strong, various aspects represented but primarily-"

He never finished the sentence. In the span of a single second, Franklin's mechsuit unleashed what could only be described as apocalypse incarnate. Every weapon system activated simultaneously – missiles, energy weapons, gravitic ordinance, and things Henry couldn't even identify. The valley didn't just explode; it ceased to exist in any meaningful sense of the word. Where thousands of daemons had been, there was now only a smoking crater that seemed to bend reality around its edges.

Franklin turned to Henry, his grin now positively radiant. "What horde?"

Henry stared at the devastation, his mind working to process what he'd just witnessed. His father had eliminated a threat he hadn't even finished analyzing, with such overwhelming force that the very concept of resistance became meaningless. It wasn't just about preventing the enemy from finding an opportunity – it was about removing the very possibility that such an opportunity could exist.

"I... I see," Henry managed, his deep voice tinged with awe. "I believe I understand now why the historical texts always mentioned your intervention as 'decisive.'"

Franklin laughed, the sound echoing through the warp in defiance of all the horror around them. "Historical texts, he says! Son, I hope you're not spending too much time reading about your old man instead of making some history of your own?"

"Well," Henry replied, a slight smirk tugging at his lips, "I would say my current situation is rather historical in nature."

"Fair point!" Franklin conceded. "Though I have to ask – of all the space marines in the future, they sent Superman"

Henry's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You know about that?"

"Son, I'm from a civilization advanced enough to make most of the Imperium's technology look like sticks and stones. Of course I know about Superman."

They shared a laugh, the sound carrying through the impossible space around them, a moment of pure joy in the midst of madness.

Henry then stared back at the destruction, his genetically enhanced mind processing what he'd just witnessed. This was truly overwhelming firepower - not just enough to win, but enough to make the very concept of resistance meaningless. He thought about the Liberty Eagles' doctrine in his time and realized that while still formidable, it had indeed been somewhat diluted over the millennia.

As if reading his thoughts, Franklin placed a hand on his son's shoulder. "Remember, son: when we say overwhelming firepower, we mean overwhelming. If the enemy can still fight back, you haven't brought enough guns." His voice carried the weight of experience despite its humorous tone. "Though I suppose I should be glad my Legion still remembers the basics, even after all those millennia."

Henry nodded, a new understanding dawning in his eyes. This was the Primarch of Liberty in his prime - a being who combined tactical genius with an almost excessive approach to warfare, all while maintaining a sense of humor that made him both approachable and unpredictable. It was one thing to read about it in the historical records; it was another to witness it firsthand.

"Now then," Franklin said, his wings flexing as he scanned the horizon, "we should keep moving. The warp isn't kind to travelers, and we've already attracted enough attention." He glanced meaningfully at the sky where the Tzeentchian daemon had been. "Though I suspect you've got quite a story to tell when we find a more... private venue."

As they continued their journey through the twisted landscape of the warp, Henry couldn't help but feel a surge of pride. The histories had recorded Franklin Valorian as a legendary figure, but they hadn't captured everything. They hadn't mentioned how his presence could lift spirits even in the depths of the warp, or how his humor masked a tactical mind that was always analyzing, always planning. Most importantly, they hadn't mentioned how he could make even a Space Marine from the far future feel like he was exactly where he needed to be.

Through the ever-shifting maze of the warp, Franklin spotted their destination - a massive crystalline structure that seemed to defy the chaos around it: the Webway. What caught their attention wasn't the ancient construction itself, but rather a gaping wound in its surface, through which poured an endless stream of daemonic entities.

Franklin tilted his head slightly, as if listening to an unseen companion. "Khaine, you sure about this?"

The voice that responded seemed to emanate from the Deathsword at Franklin's hip, carrying an ancient and deadly authority. "It's the only breach in this section of the Webway. Unless you'd prefer wandering the warp for a few more centuries?"

Franklin's characteristic grin spread across his face. "Through that horde of daemons down there?"

"Yes, we'll need to-"

Before Khaine could finish, Franklin's mechsuit blazed to life. Every weapon system activated simultaneously, turning the gathering daemon horde into a spectacular lightshow of destruction. The barrage was so intense that reality itself seemed to ripple under the assault.

"What horde?" Franklin asked proudly.

The voice of Khaine carried a note of resigned amusement. "I should have known you'd do that."

However, the warp wasn't so easily denied. Even as the echoes of Franklin's barrage faded, new daemons began materializing from the twisted æther. They poured from impossible angles, their numbers growing exponentially with each passing moment.

"Right then, time for Plan B," Franklin announced. He reached out and grabbed Henry, who had been methodically analyzing their tactical situation. "Hang on tight, son!"

Henry found himself secured in his father's grip as Franklin's wings began to pulse with energy. The sword at Franklin's hip seemed to sing - a sound that bordered on the edge of Henry's enhanced hearing, more felt than heard. It was a war song, ancient and terrible, speaking of blood and battle and glory.

As they took to the air, Henry watched his father's free hand remain firmly on the Deathsword. Franklin's expressions continued to shift - now determined, now amused, now focused - as they soared toward the breach. It was like watching someone carry on an animated conversation while performing complex aerial maneuvers through a daemon-infested hellscape.

The sword's presence seemed to affect their very trajectory through the warp. Where daemon-stuff reached for them, it recoiled. Where warp energies tried to twist their path, they found straight lines. It was as if the blade itself was cutting a path through reality, guided by the combined will of Primarch and god-shard.

As they approached the breach, Henry realized he was witnessing something few in history had seen - the true partnership between Franklin Valorian and the fragment of Khaine he carried. Not just a warrior wielding a weapon, but a symbiosis between demigod and god-shard, each complementing the other's strength. The historical texts had hinted at this relationship, but seeing it in action was something else entirely.

Franklin's final grin before they plunged into the breach was triumphant, his hand giving the sword hilt one last confident pat. Whatever Khaine had said in that moment clearly amused him, though Henry could only guess at the exchange. Then they were through, leaving the hordes of daemons behind as they entered the relative safety of the Webway's twisted corridors.

This, Henry realized, was why the Aeldari called his father 'The Hand of Khaine' - not just because he wielded the god's sword, but because he had formed a partnership with the god of war itself, turning what should have been an impossibly dangerous artifact into a trusted ally. It was just like Franklin to befriend a god of war and somehow make it work.