An A.I and a Necron walked into a Vault

The crystalline corridors of Altansar echoed with whispered conversations. The imposing figure of Franklin Valorian, drew countless stares from the resident Aeldari as he followed Autarch Ilrathan through the winding passages.

The manifestation of Khaine had sent ripples through the entire craftworld. None had expected the War God to acknowledge a mon-keigh. Yet here stood Franklin Valorian, his massive frame making even the vaulted ceilings seem modest.

As they approached his assigned quarters near the Shrine of Khaine, Franklin noticed Captain Henry Cavill, his gene-son from the far future, already waiting. The Captain's presence was both comforting and concerning – a reminder of the temporal complications that had led to this moment.

"My quarters are secured?" Franklin asked, his usually jovial tone replaced with careful consideration.

Autarch Ilrathan nodded, his elaborate helm catching the ethereal light. "None shall disturb you, Lord Valorian. The wards are set, and your privacy is assured."

Once inside, Franklin turned to his companion. The space, though generous by Aeldari standards, barely contained his towering frame. Captain Cavill stood at attention, while ghostly wraithbone walls seemed to pulse with distant energies.

"The Shrine calls," Franklin said, feeling the pull of Khaine's presence.

The ancient shrine thrummed with Divine energy, its walls weeping with the echoes of millennia of bloodshed. Franklin's imposing figure cast long shadows across the crimson-stained floor as he approached the central altar where the Mask of Khaine rested, its empty eyes seeming to follow his movement.

"The faith stored here... it belongs to me," Khaine's voice resonated within Franklin's mind, a sound like clashing blades and dying stars. "The devotion of my children, their sacrifice and fury... it will aid in my restoration."

Franklin's characteristic grin played across his face. "No problem, spicy buddy. It's all yours." Without ceremony, he thrust the Deathsword into the center of the mask. Power surged and crackled, ancient energies flowing into the blade like a river finding its course.

Henry Cavill stepped forward from the shadows, his armor bearing the weathered marks of countless battles yet to come. "It's secure now, Father"

Franklin nodded, studying his son from the future. "Alright, Henry. Let's hear the whole story. What drives you to mess with the timeline?"

Henry's face darkened. "It begins with Erebus, The First Chaplain of the Word Bearers, the architect of humanity's near-downfall." He paused, collecting his thoughts. "But in my timeline, you... you save us all, at the cost of your own life."

Franklin's eyebrow raised. "Oh? Do tell."

"During the Siege of Terra, you took the place of Sanguinius. You knew somehow our noble-winged uncle would die aboard the Vengeful Spirit, becoming the first casualty in the Emperor's final confrontation with Horus." Henry's voice cracked slightly. "You couldn't let it happen. You took his place."

"A noble sacrifice," Khaine commented in Franklin's mind. "Worthy of song."

Henry continued. "You fought Horus with everything you had, buying time for the Emperor to arrive. Your sacrifice saved not only Sanguinius but changed everything that followed."

Franklin leaned against a pillar, his casual posture at odds with the gravity of the conversation. "And how exactly did that play out?"

"With Sanguinius alive with Guilliman , the Imperium had two of its greatest sons to lead it forward. Sanguinius became Lord Regent, his nobility and vision helping to preserve the Emperor's dream. Guilliman took the role of Imperial Chancellor, managing the bureaucracy and logistics of rebuilding." Henry's eyes shone with pride. "Together, The Imperial Truth remained."

"But you're still here to change things," Franklin observed. "So it wasn't all sunshine and rainbows."

"No," Henry admitted. "The cost was too high. Losing you... it left a void that could never be filled. The Liberty Eagles were never the same. And despite all the improvements, the fundamental wounds inflicted by Chaos during the Heresy remained. We need to stop it before it begins. We need to eliminate Erebus."

"The threads of fate are not easily rewoven," Khaine warned in Franklin's mind. "Change one strand, and the entire tapestry may unravel."

Franklin straightened up. "Maybe that's exactly what we need - a complete unraveling. Tell me everything, the situation and all that"

Franklin watched as Henry withdrew a device no larger than a playing card from a compartment in his armor. The data-slate was impossibly thin, its surface seeming to shift with holographic depth. Even to Franklin's tech-savvy eyes, it was clearly millennia ahead of current Imperial technology.

"This," Henry said, handling the device with reverence, "contains 10,000 years of technological advancement from the Independence Sector. Chapter Master Denzel Washington - yes, he's still leading us in my time - ordered me to bring this back. He said, and I quote, 'If we're gonna change history, might as well give ourselves a proper head start.'"

Franklin's eyebrows shot up. "Denzel's still kicking? That magnificent bastard." He leaned forward, examining the data-slate. "So what exactly are we looking at here?"

Henry activated the device, and a cascade of holographic displays filled the air between them. Star charts, technical schematics, and research data swirled in an intricate dance of light.

"These are the Imperial Charts - every major solar system, every viable colony world, every resource-rich asteroid field that we and Mars would discover over the next ten millennia. But more importantly," Henry's fingers danced across the controls, bringing up a new set of displays, "these are the systems they missed. Worlds rich in archeotech, hidden caches of Dark Age technology, even dormant Necron tombs that we could secure before they awaken."

"Speaking of tomb worlds," Franklin mused, scrolling through the data. "You mentioned something about Necron tech?"

Henry's eyes lit up. "One of our greatest achievements. By combining Golden Age principles with reverse-engineered Necron technology, we managed to create hybrid systems that revolutionized our capabilities. Their phase technology, quantum manipulation, and energy systems - we adapted it all while avoiding the more... problematic aspects of their tech."

"Such as?"

"Well, we definitely stayed away from anything involving biotransference or consciousness transfer. But their material science, their understanding of dimensional mathematics - it changed everything. Our energy shields, weapons systems, even our FTL capabilities all benefited."

"Under Lord Regent Sanguinius and Imperial Chancellor Guilliman's leadership, scientific progress flourishes. The Schism of Mars during the Heresy provides our opening - while they tear themselves apart between loyalists and traitors, we establish ourselves as the new pinnacle of human technological achievement."

Franklin raised an eyebrow. "The Mechanicum just accepts this?"

"They remain formidable, without question. But their stranglehold on technology has been irreversibly shattered. Though the Independence Sector possesses advanced technologies, Mars—by virtue of its unity and aged existence—kept them in check for centuries. Everyone knew, however, that Mars had long since fallen behind in innovation. It was their sheer production capacity, not their ingenuity, that maintained their grip on power. Yet, after the Schism, even that advantage crumbled, leaving the Adeptus Mechanicus exposed, their dominance undone."

As Franklin continued scrolling, he found the coordinates of his brothers' homeworlds. Each location was accompanied by detailed intelligence about the present situation on each planet. But something darker began to gnaw at his thoughts.

Angron: Nuceria, exact coordinates and optimal intervention timeframe

Corvus Corax: Kiavahr/Lycaeus, with detailed notes on the political situation

Ferrus Manus: Medusa, including tectonic movements and tribe information

Fulgrim: Chemos, with economic data that could prevent the world's decline

Jaghatai Khan: Mundus Planus/Chogoris, including migration patterns of the nomad tribes Konrad Curze:Nostramo, with structural weaknesses in the planet's social system

Leman Russ: Fenris, including orbital patterns affecting the planet's seasons

Lion El'Jonson: Caliban, with detailed maps of the warp-tainted forests

Lorgar: Colchis, including the corruption points of the Covenant

Magnus the Red: Prospero, with crucial information about the planet's psychic defenses Mortarion: Barbarus, including atmospheric data and the locations of the overlord's fortresses

Perturabo: Olympia, with architectural plans of the tyrant's domains

Rogal Dorn: Inwit, with fleet movements of the House of Dorn

Vulkan: Nocturne, including predictions of the Time of Trial

"Henry," he said slowly, his usual levity absent, "if we move against Erebus... if we try to prevent the Heresy..."

"You see it too," Khaine's voice resonated. "The danger inherent in such knowledge."

"The Ruinous Powers," Franklin continued. "If they realize we're moving against Erebus, they'll simply find another vector of attack. The corruption of Horus might happen through a different agent, in a way we're not prepared for."

Henry's face fell as the implications sank in. "We could make things worse."

"They're not going to simply abandon their plans because we remove one piece from the board" Franklin thought for a moment.

"The Emperor must know everything," Franklin continued. "The Heresy, the fall of his sons, the ten thousand years of darkness that follow. With this knowledge, he can prepare contingencies we haven't even thought of."

Henry looked uncertain. "Father, the risks..."

"Are less than the risks of acting alone," Franklin cut in. "Think about it. The Chaos Gods are already moving their pieces into position. Chances are at this point of time Erebus is already their willing pawn. If we just eliminate Erebus, they'll find another agent. Maybe someone we won't see coming."

He began pacing, his transhuman mind working through the possibilities. "But Father... he sees the bigger picture. Always has. With this information, he can strengthen the defenses of the Imperial Palace before they're needed. He can ensure the Webway Project is better protected. He can take steps to prevent Magnus's fall that we haven't even considered."

"And perhaps most importantly," he added, "he can work to heal the wounds in our brothers that Chaos would exploit. Angron's pain, Perturabo's bitterness, Mortarion's trauma, Curze's instability..."

"The threads of fate are rarely so easily rewoven," Khaine warned.

"Maybe not," Franklin thought back, "but having the Emperor involved gives us the best chance of success."

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

The -69th floor of "The British Museum" (as Franklin had insisted on naming it, much to the confusion of his more serious-minded colleagues) hummed with reality-bending containment fields. Artifacts from across time and space floated in stasis chambers, each more impossible than the last.

Trazyn the Infinite materialized between the displays, his necrodermis frame reflecting the ethereal lights of the containment fields. He reached toward a particularly interesting trinket - a small cube that seemed to exist in several temporal states simultaneously.

"Halt, interloper."

A glowing orb materialized in the air, its surface rippling with complex mathematical equations and ancient binary. Aegis, the AI guardian of the Independence Cluster, had arrived.

"Ah," Trazyn said, withdrawing his hand with theatrical slowness. "The famous custodian. How delightful to finally meet you face to... well, sphere."

"Trazyn the Infinite," Aegis's voice carried the weight of centuries of calculations. "Serial collector, temporal disruptor, and perpetrator of seventeen major timeline alterations within Independence Cluster space alone."

"Only seventeen?" Trazyn placed a hand over his chest in mock offense. "My dear Aegis, your records are woefully incomplete. Though I suppose that's to be expected from such a... young civilization."

"Young?" The AI's orb pulsed with barely contained energy. "I have monitored this sector since the Age of Technology. I have witnessed the rise and fall of empires."

"How charming. I was already ancient when your creators were still debating whether to climb down from their trees." Trazyn gestured at the surrounding collection. "Though I must admit, they've developed quite the fascinating array of toys since then."

"Toys that will remain exactly where they are," Aegis stated firmly. "I have finally tracked the coordinates of Solemnace, Trazyn. Your museum is no longer beyond my reach."

For a fraction of a second, the ancient Necron's eternal smile faltered. "Have you now? How... interesting. Though I wonder - do you truly believe you're the first to make such a claim?"

Trazyn casually withdrew a small cube from his person. "Perhaps we should discuss this somewhere more private?" The cube began to unfold with impossible geometry - a Tesseract Labyrinth deploying.

Instantly, the air around them shimmered as Aegis activated countermeasures. The space itself seemed to fold inward, matching and neutralizing the Labyrinth's effect.

"Dimensional nullification fields," Aegis explained, a note of satisfaction in its synthetic voice. "Reverse-engineered from your own technology, actually. Though we've made some improvements."

"Improvements?" Trazyn actually laughed. "Aegis, copying is not improving. Now, my living dioramas - those are improvements. Do you know I have an entire chamber dedicated to the Fall of the Eldar? The exact moment their empire collapsed, frozen in perfect detail. The expressions alone are simply priceless."

"You preserve only the shells of history," Aegis countered. "Empty moments stripped of context and meaning. Our collection serves a purpose - protecting humanity from forces it's not yet ready to confront."

"Ah yes, protection through ignorance. How very... human." Trazyn began slowly circling the chamber, examining various artifacts. "Though I must admit, this temporal stasis technology of yours is quite elegant. Almost as sophisticated as my own methods."

"Step away from the containment fields," Aegis warned. "Or I will be forced to atomize your current form."

"Oh? And what of the fourteen backup protocols I've already seeded throughout this facility?" Trazyn's eyes flickered with amusement. "Or the temporal anchor I placed three years ago, which would undo any damage you might inflict? Really, Aegis, did you think I would walk into your domain unprepared?"

The AI's orb pulsed with complex calculations. "Just as you did not think I would allow you into this facility without purpose? Every second you spend here generates Petabytes of data about your operational patterns."

For the first time, Trazyn paused. "A trap within a trap. How delightfully recursive." He turned to face the AI directly. "Though it does raise an interesting question - are we not engaged in the same great work? The preservation of history, the protection of knowledge?"

"We preserve to protect," Aegis stated. "You preserve to possess."

"Possession is protection, my luminous friend. What better way to ensure something survives than to keep it safe in my collections? Safe from time, from decay, from the entropy that claims all things?"

"Except it claims them from life itself," Aegis countered. "Our artifacts remain part of the flow of history. They can be studied, understood, even used when necessary. Yours are simply... frozen. Dead moments in a dead museum."

"Dead?" Trazyn's voice carried genuine offense. "My collections are more alive than any mere digital record. They breathe, they move, they capture the very essence of the moments they preserve. Why, my newest acquisition - a delightful little skirmish between Xenos Species - practically vibrates with energy. You can see the hatred in their eyes, taste the tension in the air..."

"And yet they can never move forward," Aegis interrupted. "Never grow, never change. You trap them in amber while we plant seeds."

A tense silence fell between them. Around them, reality-bending artifacts continued their eternal dance between dimensions, each one a captive of Humanity.

"Perhaps," Trazyn finally said, his tone unusually thoughtful, "we could reach an accommodation. A professional courtesy between curators, as it were."

"You mean a deal with the infamous Thief of Solemnace?"

"Think of it as a cultural exchange. I could offer insights into some of your more... problematic artifacts. And in return..."

"Absolutely not."

"Not even a small trinket? That temporal phase-shifter, perhaps? It's practically gathering dust here."

The AI's orb pulsed with what might have been amusement. "Get out, Trazyn. While I still allow it."

"As you wish." Trazyn gave an elaborate bow. "Though I should mention - that temporal anchor I mentioned? It's set to activate in approximately three seconds."

The chamber suddenly lurched, reality twisting as time itself hiccupped. When it stabilized, Trazyn was gone - and so was one small, seemingly insignificant artifact from the furthest corner of the room.

Aegis's calculations spun into overtime, tracking the ripples of temporal disturbance. "Well played, thief," the AI admitted to the empty room. "At least he steals better than that fool Draykavac"

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

The halls of Craftworld Atlansar echoed with whispered prayers and reverent murmurs as Franklin strode through its crystal corridors. Aeldari civilians and warriors alike pressed themselves against the walls, their eyes wide with a mixture of awe and terror. It wasn't every day they saw a human demigod wielding their god's power walking among them.

Autarch Ilrathan stood at attention, his elaborate armor gleaming under the ethereal lights of the craftworld. "Lord Valorian," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "Our long-range communications are completely severed by the Eye's gravity well. Even the Harlequins who reached us did so through tremendous risk - the Webway writhes with daemonic entities."

Franklin nodded, his characteristic grin never wavering. "Then point me to your Avatar, good sir. Khaine wants his piece back."

"My fragment calls to me," Khaine's voice resonated in Franklin's mind. "These children have guarded it well, but it is time for reunification."

The Autarch's face became a mask of conflicting emotions. To deny the will of Khaine himself would be unthinkable, yet the Avatar was one of their greatest weapons. After a moment's hesitation, duty won out. "Follow me, Hand of Khaine."

The chamber of the Avatar was vast, its walls adorned with scenes of ancient battles. The Avatar itself stood like a frozen inferno, a statue of war given form. Franklin approached it, Deathsword in hand.

"Sorry about this, big guy," he said cheerfully, before plunging the blade into the Avatar's chest. The construct crumbled, its essence flowing into the sword. Immediately, Ilrathan dropped to his knees as Khaine's psychic presence crashed over him like a tidal wave.

"My power grows," Khaine declared, his voice now strong enough that even nearby Aeldari could sense echoes of it. "The larger fragments make restoration... easier."

Franklin's eyes lit up. "Oh! So what you're saying is... Khaine, I choose you!"

The god's psychic presence radiated irritation. "I am the God of War and Murder, the Bloody-Handed One, Lord of Battles and-"

"So that's a no to the Pokémon thing?"

"If you ever use that phrase, I will refuse to manifest out of principle."

"Spoilsport," Franklin thought back, barely containing his amusement.

Hours later, in the craftworld's council chamber, the debate raged among the Farseers and Autarchs. The chamber was divided between those who saw opportunity and those who saw doom.

Farseer Elenwe stood, her voice carrying across the chamber. "The Hand of Khaine is here! With his power, with our god's strength restored, we could break free of the Eye's grasp!"

"And attract every daemon in the Eye of Terror," countered another Farseer. "Not to mention She Who Thirsts!"

The debate continued until Maugan Ra himself, raised the crucial question. "Would the Hand of Khaine consent to such a ritual? To channel the faith of our entire craftworld through him?"

The Exarchs – the Aspect Warriors who had given themselves wholly to the paths of war – were staring at him with expressions of absolute awe. Through their deep connection to Khaine's aspects, they could see what others could not: the magnificent form of their god superimposed over Franklin's frame.

The debate fell silent as reality itself seemed to shudder. Where Franklin stood, a towering figure of burning bronze and blood materialized.

"YOU DEBATE WHILE SALVATION STANDS BEFORE YOU," Khaine's voice thundered. "MY CHAMPION HAS COME TO DELIVER YOU, AND STILL YOU HESITATE?"

The assembled Eldar prostrated themselves, terror and worship warring in their hearts. Only Franklin remained standing, that insufferable grin still on his face.

"Right then," he said, clapping his hands together. "Seems like the god has spoken. Let's do this ritual. And don't worry about She Who Thirsts or any other Chaos nasties. In case you missed it, you've got an actual god on your side now. Not an Avatar, not a shard, but the genuine article."

Autarch Ilrathan found his voice first. "The ritual... it will require every soul on the Craftworld to focus their faith through you. The psychic backlash alone could destroy you."

"Good thing I've got a god riding shotgun then, isn't it?" Franklin replied cheerfully.

"MY CHAMPION SPEAKS TRUTH," Khaine declared. "THE DARK PRINCE AND HER SPAWN WILL NOT CLAIM THIS CRAFTWORLD. NOT WHILE I WALK AMONG YOU."

The Exarchs moved first, dropping to one knee before Franklin. The Farseers and Autarchs joined them, until only Franklin stood tall in a room full of kneeling Eldar.

"Okay, this is getting awkward," he muttered. "Can we skip the worship and get to the ritual? I've got a Legion to get back to and a timeline to fix."

"Let them have this moment," Khaine said in his mind, softer now. "They have waited centuries since the fall to feel the presence of a true god again. One who has not been shattered, corrupted, or consumed."

Franklin sighed but waited patiently as prayers and invocations filled the air. The Eldar's fear was still present – how could it not be, in the presence of the God of War and Murder? – but it was tempered now by hope. Their god walked among them again, his power growing, his sanity intact.

And his chosen champion, this impossible human who bore Khaine's essence and treated the fearsome god with casual irreverence, stood ready to channel their collective might against the pull of the Eye of Terror itself.

The ritual would begin soon. The Craftworlders would focus their faith and psychic might through Franklin and Khaine, creating a beacon that would draw the eye of every Chaos entity in the Warp. But for the first time since the Fall, they would face that darkness with a true god standing between them and annihilation.

Franklin's grin widened as he felt Khaine's power surge through him. This was going to be one hell of a light show.