Reality Engine

The echoes of battle diminished behind them as Franklin, Steven, and Denzel advanced through the ornate corridors of the Inner Sanctum. The Liberty Eagles were making short work of the remaining Drukhari resistance, their efficiency allowing the Primarch and his captains to press ahead toward their objective.

Then they heard it – a sound that shouldn't exist in any sane universe. A roar that was simultaneously one voice and many, a cacophony of screams and laughter merged into a hellish chorus. The floor trembled with approaching footsteps.

"Well," Franklin remarked dryly, "That doesn't sound friendly."

The thing that burst through the archway ahead was a nightmare given flesh. Thirty feet of twisted anatomy, multiple limbs writhing grotesquely, faces screaming from places where faces shouldn't be. The Flesh Giant, as Franklin would later name it, was bearing down on them with terrifying speed.

Franklin's draw was liquid smooth, The Last Word appearing in his hand as if conjured. The master-crafted revolver, a gift from his brother Vulkan, caught the dim light of the sanctum. He took aim with casual precision.

BOOM.

The report of The Last Word echoed through the chamber like a thunderclap. Where the giant's head and upper torso had been, there was suddenly... nothing. The sheer power of Vulkan's craftsmanship had simply erased that portion of the monster's mass from existence.

Ha! Nice sh-" Steven's celebration was cut short as the creature's flesh began to writhe and regenerate, new limbs and heads sprouting from the ruined mass.

"Of course it can regenerate," Franklin sighed, checking the Reality Engine's energy readings on his gauntlet display. The spikes were becoming more frequent and intense. Time was running out.

"Think you two can handle our new friend?" Franklin asked, though it wasn't really a question. He trusted his captains implicitly.

Denzel's hands drew his Hyper-Phase Swords. "We've got this, Frank. This abomination won't delay you for long."

"Yeah, boss," Steven grinned, cracking his knuckles as his powerfists powerfield intensified. "We'll keep ugly here entertained."

"Give that reality-bending bastard our regards," Steven added, already moving into a fighting stance.

Franklin nodded, then sprinted forward. The Flesh Giant, nearly reformed, lunged for him. The Last Word roared again, and once more the monster's upper mass vanished. Franklin vaulted over the temporarily stunned creature.

"Fleet Admiral Koshka to Lord Valorian," his vox crackled to life as he ran. In the background, he could hear the thunder of the Sweet Liberty's weapons.

"Go ahead," Franklin replied, his stride never breaking.

"My Lord, we're under attack by..." there was a pause, and Franklin could almost hear the Fleet Admiral's disbelief, "by pieces of Commoragh. Literally. Someone is tearing chunks out of the city and hurling them at us."

A massive explosion punctuated her words, and Franklin could hear the massive ship's warning klaxons even through the vox.

"Sweet Liberty's main batteries just intercepted another fragment," Koshka reported, her voice professional despite the absurdity of the situation. "But they're getting bigger. Whatever's causing this is escalating."

"Roger that," Franklin replied, his pace quickening as he heard the Reality Engine's power signature climbing to dangerous levels. Behind him, the sounds of combat told him his captains were keeping the Flesh Giant occupied. "Hold position and keep those guns firing. I'm about to have a word with whoever's redecorating."

"Understood, my Lord. Sweet Liberty out."

Franklin's grip tightened on The Last Word as he approached the final chamber. Someone was playing with forces that shouldn't be touched, and they were threatening both his ship and his men.

That wouldn't do at all.

Franklin stood at the threshold of the inner sanctum, his enhanced senses overwhelmed by the raw energies pouring from within. The Reality Engine's power signature had become a screaming crescendo in both real space and the Immaterium, setting every warrior's instinct ablaze with warning.

"Well, this is new," Franklin muttered, feeling the Warp energies pulse and writhe. "These idiots really went and did it."

The irony wasn't lost on him. The Drukhari had spent millennia carefully avoiding any psychic activity, their very culture shaped around preventing Slaanesh from noticing them. Yet here was an Archon, wielding Warp energies with all the subtlety of an Ork at a tea party.

A quick check of his chronometer confirmed what his instincts were already telling him – the thirty minutes were up. Franklin raised his hand, sending out a mental call to Anaris. The Crone Sword had finished its grim harvest, and it was time for reunion.

Meanwhile, in the corridor behind him, Denzel and Steven were engaged in what had become an exercise in futility against the Flesh Giant. The abomination had "died" several times already, only to reform and attack with renewed fury.

Denzel's Kusanagi-no-Tsurugi flashed in a perfect arc, its hyper-phase edge slicing through the monster's legs with surgical precision. The creature howled from multiple mouths as it toppled, its massive bulk crashing to the ground.

"That's what, the fifth time?" Steven called out, his power fists crackling with energy as he delivered a devastating combo to the fallen monster's torso. The impact sent shockwaves through the corridor, pulverizing flesh and armor alike. "Six? I'm losing count!"

"Seven," Denzel corrected, his blade already moving to intercept the regenerating limbs. "Though I doubt it matters much at this point."

The Flesh Giant began to rise once again, its form twisting and rebuilding itself. But something was different this time. A distinctive whistle cut through the air, growing louder by the second.

Anaris, the jet-black sword of psychocrystal, streaked through the corridor like a missile. Its crimson energy trail painted the walls with bloody light as it passed. The blade pierced straight through the Flesh Giant's regenerating mass, and this time, something fundamental changed.

The creature's flesh didn't just die – it ceased. The energies binding it together unraveled, and its composite souls, already weakened by multiple deaths, were drawn into Anaris's endless hunger. The abomination collapsed, and this time, it stayed down.

Steven lowered his fists, looking at the finally-still corpse with surprise. "Well, that's new," he said, unconsciously echoing his Primarch's earlier words. "Looks like Anaris can deal permanent deaths now."

"Indeed," Denzel nodded, watching the black sword continue its flight toward their lord. "Perhaps Khaine's feast has strengthened its abilities."

The sword flew past them, leaving behind the cooling corpse of what had once been two of Commoragh's most powerful Archons. Its surface seemed to ripple with barely contained energy, the souls it had harvested from across the Dark City lending it new power.

Franklin caught Anaris with practiced ease, feeling the sword's satisfaction through their bond. Khaine's presence in his mind was stronger now, gorged on the countless souls of Commoragh's dead.

"The harvest was... bountiful," Khaine's voice resonated in his thoughts, pleased and terrible. "Now, let us deal with this fool who dares to meddle with powers beyond his comprehension."

As Franklin approached the massive doors leading to the Reality Engine's inner sanctum, his hands pressed against their ancient surface, he directed his thoughts to Khaine. 

"So," Franklin thought conversationally, "What can you tell me about this Reality Engine? Being an Old One creation and all that."

Khaine's presence stirred in his mind, the god's voice carrying both ancient wisdom and sardonic amusement. "Less than you might expect. The Engine was indeed an Old One tool, used in the Webway's creation. But what I'm seeing now..." The god's consciousness stretched out, assessing the energies radiating from beyond the door. "This is pathetic. Perhaps five percent of its true potential, if that."

Franklin raised an eyebrow as he began pushing the massive doors open. "Only five percent?"

"If an Old One were piloting that Engine," Khaine explained, "This entire section of the Webway would be restructured in the blink of an eye. Instead, this fool can barely manage to hurl pieces of his own city at your vessel. Like a child throwing stones at a fortress."

The comparison drew a smirk from Franklin, but it also sparked his curiosity about deeper matters. "Speaking of Old Ones... what was your role during the War in Heaven? Yours and the other gods?"

"We were weapons," Khaine stated bluntly. "When the Aeldari called down their gods, victory was assured."

Franklin paused mid-step, genuinely surprised. "Weapons? Gods are weapons?"

"Yes." Khaine's response carried the weight of absolute certainty. "But understand this – the Old Ones didn't create us as weapons. They couldn't. That was beyond even their considerable power."

"How so?"

"The Old Ones were... creators, scientists in your terminology. Masters of the Immaterium who could mold reality itself. But their inherent nature – their rigid, analytical intellect – prevented them from manifesting gods. They understood too much to truly believe." Khaine's presence shifted, like a warrior adjusting his stance. "Make no mistake, an Old One was perhaps the most powerful psyker the universe has ever seen. But against the C'tan? Even that proved insufficient. That's why they created the Krorks and the Aeldari – they needed races capable of true belief, We gods are the ultimate manifestation of Warp power, born from the collective belief and faith of a race."

Franklin processed this as he continued his advance, The Last Word ready in his hand. "Then wouldn't it be better to believe in gods? To create more?"

A dark chuckle echoed in his mind. "If this were the Immaterium of old, yes. Create gods, weaponize them, achieve victory. But now?" The god's amusement turned bitter. "Now there are four cancerous tumors feeding on the Warp. It would be like trying to forge a sword in a forge full of acid and demons."

"So the path to weaponize gods is closed to us?"

"Not exactly," Khaine replied. "Humans lack the innate capacity to use a god's power as the Aeldari did, but you can learn. Though I suspect your father would object rather strongly."

Franklin snorted at this. "The Imperial Truth doesn't leave much room for gods."

"Ah, but there's an irony there," Khaine said. "The Immaterium is the collective consciousness of all organic life. This Imperial Truth that you and the Emperor use to replace religion? It's just another god forming in the background – unnamed, unacknowledged, but growing nonetheless. A god of non-religion, if that makes sense. A deity of denial, you might say."

Franklin was about to respond when energy readings from deeper in the sanctum spiked dramatically. The Reality Engine's power was building to dangerous levels.

"We'll have to continue this theological discussion later," Franklin said, checking The Last Word's cylinder. "Right now, we have an Archon to stop."

"Indeed," Khaine agreed, his presence shifting to a more combat-ready state.

------------------------

The Reality Engine's core chamber thrummed with raw power, its crystalline architecture pulsing with otherworldly energies. Vhane Kyharc stood at its center, his form wreathed in reality-distorting waves that made him appear to exist in multiple dimensions simultaneously.

"Welcome, Primarch," the Archon's voice echoed from everywhere and nowhere. "Have you come to witness true mastery over reality itself?"

Franklin stepped forward, his presence commanding even in the face of such power. The familiar presence of Khaine stirred in his mind.

"Take no chances with this one," the War God's voice resonated. "Assume your true form. Against a Reality Engine, even at minimal power, flesh alone will not suffice."

Valorian's form blazed with warp fire, his transformation magnificent and terrible to behold. The avian skull of burning divine flames emerged, wings of steel unfurling with lethal grace. "Fancy light show you've got here. Though I've got to say, hijacking a Reality Engine? Bit derivative, don't you think?"

The Archon's laugh was cold. "Your humor masks fear, Primarch. With but a fraction of this power, I can—" He gestured, and the space around Franklin twisted and warped, attempting to crush him.

Franklin burst through the distortion, unimpressed. "Five percent power, and you're already sweating. Not exactly confidence-inspiring."

A vox-channel crackled in his mind. "Lord Valorian," Cawl's excited voice came through. "We've located the power source. But... request permission to field test the Android Pariah. This presents an optimal opportunity to validate the gene's effectiveness."

"Send it in," Franklin responded, his eyes never leaving Vhane. "Let's see what your toy can do, Cawl."

The Archon launched a barrage of reality-warping attacks, each one capable of unmaking matter itself. Franklin dodged with supernatural grace, drawing The Last Word in one fluid motion. The masterwork pistol, forged by Vulkan himself, gleamed with deadly purpose.

"Your dancing is impressive," Vhane sneered, "but in here, I am—"

The crack of gunfire interrupted him. The Archon's eyes widened as he attempted to bend reality around the bullet, only to find it continuing its trajectory unabated.

"Causality manipulation," Franklin grinned beneath his burning visage. "Means what I shoot, hits. Period. No reality-bending required."

Vhane barely managed to dodge, his concentration split between negating the bullet's inevitable impact and maintaining his defensive fields. In that split second of distraction, Franklin closed the distance, Anaris singing through the air in a deadly arc.

The Archon teleported away at the last moment, but not before the blade carved a shallow line across his chest. His perfect composure finally cracked.

"Hoh!" Franklin's laughter echoed through the chamber. "That's interesting. No auto-resurrection? If you had that in your pocket, you would've let me land that hit just to blast me point-blank with all that warp juice you're channeling."

Vhane's face contorted with rage. "You understand nothing of the power I wield! The Reality Engine—"

"Is just another tool," Franklin interrupted. "And tools are only as good as their users. Right now, you're like a kid who found daddy's plasma pistol – lot of power, not enough sense to use it right."

"You dare mock me?" The Archon's form blurred as reality bent around him. "I am beyond your comprehension! I am—"

"A Dark Eldar playing with toys too big for him," Franklin finished. "And speaking of toys..." He glanced at a readout in his helm display "That Android Pariah should be reaching your power source right about now."

The chamber's energies flickered and died as screams echoed through the vox – the death cries of the captive psykers as the Android Pariah executed its grim task. But rather than despair, Vhane's laughter filled the suddenly darkened space.

"Did you think me helpless without my batteries, Primarch?" The Archon's form began to glow with his own psychic might. "I am no mere technologist. I am a master of both material and immaterial!"

Franklin's burning skull-visage tilted slightly, an almost contemplative gesture. "Oh, I was counting on that, actually. Speaking of the immaterial..." His voice took on a deliberate, almost ritualistic tone. "Can you feel Her gaze upon you... watching... hungering..."

He spoke the name that no Dark Eldar dares utter: "Slaanesh."

The effect was immediate. The chamber's temperature seemed to drop, and a presence – ineffable, terrible, and hungry – turned its attention toward them. Vhane's eyes widened in genuine fear for the first time.

"You... you dare invoke—" The Archon's composure cracked, but then a smirk crossed his features. "But I am protected." His hand unconsciously moved to his collar, where a spirit stone lay concealed. "Death holds no terror for me."

"Hoho!" Franklin's laugh echoed with genuine amusement. "Thanks for confirming that." Anaris flashed, deliberately striking near – but not at – the collar. "Been wondering where you hid that little trinket."

Realization dawned on Vhane's face as he noted the pattern of Franklin's attacks. Each swing, each thrust – they weren't random. They were herding him, forcing him to defend that specific spot.

"Your parlor tricks won't save you," Vhane snarled, channeling more psychic energy. "I am beyond your—"

Franklin's hand shot out with transhuman speed, grabbing the Archon's ankle. The floating Dark Eldar's eyes widened in shock as he was yanked earthward with brutal force.

"The problem with floating," Franklin quipped, "is that you forget to watch your feet."

Vhane rolled away, channeling his power for a devastating counterattack. The warp energies built around him, reality beginning to twist once more—

And then he felt it. A cold, impossibly sharp blade emerging from his chest. To Franklin's warp-touched vision, the Android Pariah had appeared behind the Archon, its null field completely masking its presence from psychic detection. To Vhane, death had simply materialized from nowhere.

The Archon's eyes dropped to the blade protruding from his chest, understanding dawning in his ancient eyes. 

"That's the thing about you Eldar," Franklin said, approaching the impaled Archon. "You're so focused on your grand schemes and complex plans that you forget the basics." He knelt down to meet Vhane's gaze. "Sometimes, the simplest solution is just to stab someone in the back."

This... this changes nothing!" Vhane gasped, still defiant. "The spirit stone—"

Anaris plunged forward, its burning edge piercing through the Archon's chest and destroying the spirit stone in his collar. For a moment, that terrible hungry presence intensified – Slaanesh's anticipation palpable.

But then, something else happened. The sword blazed with Khaine's power, and the War God's presence filled the chamber. The Dark Prince's attention wavered, then withdrew entirely.

"I have driven it away," Khaine's voice resonated in Franklin's mind. "This one's soul is mine by right of conquest – through you, my champion."

Vhane's form began to dissolve, not into the hungry void of Slaanesh's grasp, but into burning embers that swirled around Anaris. His final expression was one of confused relief – better to be claimed by the War God than the Dark Prince.

"Sometimes the most decisive victory comes not from the final blow, but from the fear that precedes it," Khaine responded. "The Dark Prince's gaze is something all Eldar fear, no matter how well they hide it. Even the merest taste of that attention can shatter concentration at a crucial moment."

Franklin's burning skull-visage dimmed slightly as he turned to the Android Pariah. "Nice timing with that backstab. Remind me to tell the Eggheads his toy performed better than expected."

The android merely nodded, its null field still radiating an uncomfortable emptiness in the warp.

"Now then," Franklin turned to survey the Reality Engine's chamber, his wings folding back as he allowed his god-form to fade. "Let's see what other toys our friend was playing with. I'm sure Dear Old Dad would love to study a Reality Engine... once we make sure it's properly contained, of course."