A Tech-Priest, Valorian's Rule

825.30M, Karagora, Independence Sector

The Sun of Karagora cast long shadows across the savanna as Franklin Valorian strode across the golden grass. His imposing 15-foot frame dwarfed even the tallest of the local flora, a high-powered rifle slung casually over one shoulder. Beside him walked Denzel , Franklin's closest friend.

"You know, Frank," Denzel mused, his own rifle mirroring the Primarch's pose, "something's different about you lately. Can't quite put my finger on it."

Franklin chuckled, a sound that rumbled like distant thunder. "Must be all those near-death experiences. You know, dying a thousand times can change a man."

Denzel snorted, shaking his head. "If you actually died, the Ruinous Powers would breathe a sigh of relief."

As they approached the hunting grounds, a fleet of hovering drones buzzed around them, capturing every moment for the billions tuned into Thronevid. The live viewer count had already surpassed the trillion mark.

"A demigod of war, streaming live like some celebrity," Denzel commented, his tone a mixture of amusement and disbelief.

Franklin was about to retort when a group of children approached, eyes wide with awe. "Mr. Washington! Can we get a photo?"

The Primarch grinned, watching as Denzel's stern demeanor melted away. The First Captain, known across the galaxy as a deadly warrior, softened entirely in the presence of the young fans.

As they posed for photos, Franklin couldn't help but marvel at the planet around them. Karagora was a world teeming with life, both familiar and alien. Massive lions roamed the plains alongside graceful gazelles, while in the rivers, crocodiles large enough to swallow a Rhino tank whole lurked in the muddy shallows. And then there were the xenos creatures - clawed fiends and other deadly beasts that would give even an experienced hunter pause.

But for the Libertans, this was paradise. A world of challenge and sport, where they could test their mettle against nature's fiercest creations.

As they continued their walk, the scent of barbecue and beer wafted towards them from a nearby outpost. Franklin inhaled deeply, a contented smile spreading across his face. "Smell that, Denzel? That's home."

They passed by a group of Libertan hunters, their massive trucks parked nearby. The men greeted Franklin enthusiastically, raising bottles of beer in salute. "Mr. President!" they called out, despite Franklin's official title being Primarch since unifying with the wider Imperium. But to the people of the Independence Sector, he would always be their President - the very embodiment of freedom.

"How are the other Captains faring?" Franklin asked as they moved past the gathered hunters.

Denzel's expression turned thoughtful. "Well, Armstrong's gathering quite a following. Those men of his... they're killers, Frank."

Franklin shrugged, his massive shoulders rising and falling like tectonic plates. "If Steven can keep them in line, I'm not worried. He is my left hand, after all."

As they reached the edge of the hunting grounds proper, Franklin paused, taking in the vast expanse before them. The savanna stretched out as far as the eye could see, broken only by the occasional copse of trees or winding river.

"You know," Franklin mused, "some might question why a Primarch bothers with something as mundane as hunting."

Denzel raised an eyebrow. "And what would you tell them?"

Franklin grinned, the expression somehow both boyish and terrifying on his superhuman features. "I'd tell them that even demigods need hobbies. Besides, it's good PR. The people need to see that their leaders aren't just distant figures on golden thrones."

Denzel nodded, a rare smile gracing his features. "And it doesn't hurt that you genuinely enjoy it."

"That I do, old friend. That I do." Franklin raised his rifle, checking the sights. "Now, what do you say we bag ourselves a clawed fiend? I hear they're particularly ornery this time of year."

As they set off into the wilderness, the drones continued to buzz around them, capturing every moment for the trillions watching across the Sector. And somewhere in the depths of the savanna, a clawed fiend raised its head, sensing the approach of the galaxy's greatest hunters.

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

In the vast, red-tinged halls of Mars, where the hum of machinery and the chanting of binary cant usually dominated, Magos Biceps Maximalis, a name that rang out with both reverence and exasperation among his peers, was a Tech-Priest who defied convention in every conceivable way.

Magos Biceps Maximalis, a Biologis with an unrivaled passion for the human form, strode confidently through the corridors, his augmented muscles flexing with every step. Unlike his fellow Tech-Priests, who eagerly replaced their flesh with cold steel, Maximalis had chosen a different path—one that elevated his organic body to superhuman perfection. His physique, more reminiscent of the heroes from ancient Terran legends than a servant of the Machine God, made him stand out in stark contrast to his more mechanical brethren.

His red robes, tailored specifically to showcase his impeccably sculpted form, barely contained the mass of muscle that rippled beneath them. While others proudly displayed the sacred Cog Mechanicum, Maximalis adorned his body with an intricately detailed illustration of human anatomy, a living testament to the potential of flesh perfected through the power of knowledge and technology.

"Behold, fellow servants of the Omnissiah!" he boomed, flexing his biceps as he passed a group of bewildered tech-priests. "The perfect fusion of biological engineering and raw human potential!"

The other tech-priests exchanged glances, their ocular implants whirring in confusion. One of them, Magos Circuitry, couldn't contain his exasperation. "Maximalis, must you do this every time you walk down a hallway?"

Maximalis paused mid-flex, his augmented face contorting into what might have been a grin. "But of course! How else will you all see the glory of the human form? No machine can compare to the greatness of the human body!"

"You there! Cognitus!" he pointed at a hunched Magos, more machine than man. "Do your augmetics grant you the strength to deadlift a Rhino tank? Nay! But these," he flexed his biceps with a wet greasy slap of skin on skin, "these marvels of biological engineering can!"

The Magos in question merely blinked his ocular implants in confusion, unable to comprehend why anyone would want to lift a tank when machines existed to do such menial tasks.

"Preposterous!" Cognitus's vox-caster crackled. "The flesh is weak! Only through the blessed machine can we achieve perfection!"

Biceps Maximalis smiled, a rare sight among the typically stoic tech-priests. "Consider the Primarchs, Cognitus! Consider the Emperor himself! Are they not the pinnacle of human physiology?"

With a flourish, he shed his outer robe, revealing a physique that would make even the most statuesque Space Marine pause. Gasps of shock (and a few of admiration) rippled through the gathered tech-priests.

"Behold!" Biceps Maximalis proclaimed, striking a pose that would make ancient Terran bodybuilders weep with envy. "Is this not a machine of flesh more perfect than any cogitator?"

As the debate raged on in the hallways, with Biceps Maximalis punctuating each point with a flex of his glistening muscles, Archmagos Koriel Zeth watched. Unlike most of her peers, Zeth had restored much of her human form, though she remained encased in a mechsuit.

"Magos Biceps Maximalis," she called out, her voice cutting through the din of debate. The muscular tech-priest turned, still holding a pose that displayed every striation of his abs.

"Yes, Archmagos?"

"I have a task for you," Zeth announced. "You are to travel to the Independence Sector to exchange research materials and collect some of the common STCs they're willing to share."

Biceps Maximalis's eyes lit up brighter than a plasma reactor. "The Independence Sector? You mean... I'll get to meet Franklin Valorian?"

Zeth nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Indeed. Try not to overwhelm the Primarch with your... enthusiasm."

As Biceps Maximalis practically bounced out of the hall, his fellow tech-priests shaking their heads in a mixture of disbelief and grudging amusement, Zeth reflected on the changes sweeping through the Mechanicum. The competition from the Independence Sector had sparked a renaissance of sorts, with some tech-priests beginning to explore paths divergent from the traditional worship of the Machine God.

Weeks later, in the gleaming halls of Nova Libertas, Franklin Valorian found himself face-to-face with the most unusual tech-priest he'd ever encountered.

"Primarch Valorian!" Biceps Maximalis exclaimed, dropping to one knee in a bow that somehow still managed to display his impressive deltoids. "It is an honor to meet you, the perfect specimen of humanity!"

Franklin, used to adulation but not quite of this... muscular variety, chuckled. "The honor is mine, Magos. I've heard much about your, ah, unique approach to the Mechanicum's teachings."

"Oh yes!" Biceps Maximalis sprang to his feet, launching into an impassioned speech about the perfection of the human form, accompanying each point with a carefully chosen flex. "You see, Primarch, just as Socrates of ancient Terra would strip and oil himself before engaging in philosophical debates, I too believe in the power of the physical form to emphasize logical arguments!"

As the enthusiastic Magos continued his flexing lecture, Franklin found himself both amused and oddly impressed. Here was a tech-priest who had found a way to merge the Mechanicum's quest for knowledge with a celebration of humanity's physical potential.

"Tell me, Magos," Franklin interjected during a pause in the flex-filled monologue, "how do your fellow tech-priests view your methods?"

Biceps Maximalis's face fell slightly, though he maintained his heroic pose. "Alas, many of my brothers and sisters fail to see the logic in my approach. They cling to the idea that only through total mechanization can we achieve perfection."

Franklin nodded thoughtfully. "And what do you believe?"

"I believe," Biceps Maximalis said, his voice taking on a tone of reverence, "that the human body, when pushed to its limits, is the greatest machine of all. The Omnissiah gave us these forms, and it is our duty to perfect them!"

As if to demonstrate, he launched into a series of poses...Swole Poses.

Franklin couldn't help but laugh, a booming sound that filled the hall. "Well, Magos Biceps Maximalis, I think you'll find plenty of kindred spirits here in the Independence Sector. We've always believed in pushing the boundaries of human potential."

"Tell me, Magos," Franklin asked, his voice carrying a hint of curiosity, "what are your thoughts on the Astartes?"

Biceps Maximalis's augmetic eyes lit up with enthusiasm. " The Astartes! Excellent specimens, to be sure." He paused to flex his pectorals, as if to emphasize his point. "However, there's always room for improvement!"

Franklin raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh? And if you were to improve upon them, how would you go about it?"

The Magos struck a pose that would have made ancient Terran bodybuilders weep with envy. "First and foremost, size and physique!" He gestured to his own impressive musculature. "But beyond that, I theorize that the next step for the Astartes is to approach the perfection of their gene-fathers - the Primarchs themselves. You, Lord Valorian, and your brothers represent the pinnacle of human potential!"

As Biceps Maximalis launched into a flex-filled explanation of his theories, Franklin's mind began to race. The Primarch had started a project to enhance the Astartes but it has hit some roadblocks, and this enthusiastic tech-priest might just be the missing piece he needed. However, two significant hurdles stood in his way: how to integrate Maximalis's unorthodox methods into the project, and the need for explicit approval from the Emperor himself.

Seeming to sense Franklin's thoughtful silence, Biceps Maximalis paused in his flexing demonstration. "My lord, if you ever require my assistance, you need only ask. I would be honored to contribute to any project that furthers the perfection of the human form!"

Franklin nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I appreciate the offer, Magos. I may just take you up on that."

As they approached a massive complex of laboratories, Biceps Maximalis's excitement visibly grew. "Might I request the honor of measuring your bench press capabilities, Lord Valorian? And perhaps a few other physical metrics?" His augmetic eyes gleamed with scientific fervor. "I firmly believe that if the Mechanicum can create the perfect cog, then surely we can create the perfect man. And what better template than the embodiment of human potential standing before me?"

Franklin chuckled, amused by the Magos's enthusiasm. "I suppose a few measurements couldn't hurt. Though I warn you, you might need to recalibrate your equipment."

As they reached the entrance to the laboratory complex, a series of scanning beams washed over them. A melodious artificial voice spoke: "Welcome, Primarch Valorian. Please submit to DNA, retinal, and biometric scans for access verification."

Franklin complied with the security measures, while Biceps Maximalis watched with fascination. The tech-priest seemed particularly intrigued when he was issued a temporary ID after undergoing his own set of scans.

"Fascinating!" Biceps Maximalis exclaimed, examining his temporary credentials. "You make extensive use of Cluster AI, I see. They're excellent little workers, especially for recording benchpress data and monitoring experiments."

Franklin nodded, leading the way into the complex. "Indeed. We've found that responsible use of AI can greatly enhance our research capabilities. Of course, we maintain strict ethical guidelines and oversight."

As they entered the main laboratory, Biceps Maximalis's jaw dropped in awe. The vast chamber was a symphony of advanced technology, AI-driven machines working in perfect harmony. Holographic displays flickered with complex data streams, while in the center of the room stood a massive piece of exercise equipment that looked like it could withstand the force of a Titan.

"Is that... a Primarch-sized bench press?" Biceps Maximalis asked, his voice filled with reverence.

Franklin grinned. "Among other things. Shall we put it to the test?"

As the Primarch prepared to demonstrate his legendary strength, Biceps Maximalis busied himself with calibrating various measuring devices, occasionally pausing to flex in excitement.

As Franklin Valorian completed another set of impossibly heavy bench presses, he turned his head to look at the enthusiastic Magos beside him. Biceps Maximalis was furiously recording data, his augmetic eyes whirring with excitement.

"Magos," Franklin began, setting the massive weight back on its rack with ease, "I've been meaning to ask. You keep quoting Socrates and referencing ancient Terran history. But last I checked, Mars had lost most of its records of Old Earth's past. How is it that you're so well-versed in these matters?"

Biceps Maximalis paused in his data recording, a proud smile spreading across his face. He struck a pose reminiscent of an ancient Greek statue before responding. "Ah, my lord, the answer is simple yet profound!" He flexed his biceps for emphasis. "I have accessed this knowledge from the archives of the Independence Sector itself!"

Franklin sat up, his interest piqued. "Oh? Do tell."

"It's no secret, Lord Valorian," Maximalis continued, his voice filled with admiration, "that the Independence Sector possesses a complete database of Terran history. It's one of the many reasons why some of us in the Mechanicum have been drawn to your faction."

Franklin nodded thoughtfully. The preservation of humanity's past was indeed one of the Independence Sector's proudest achievements. "And what do you think of this wealth of historical knowledge, Magos?"

Biceps Maximalis's eyes lit up even brighter. "It's invaluable, my lord! To understand where humanity has been is to understand where we can go!" He flexed his pectorals, as if to punctuate his point. "Take Socrates, for example. His method of questioning and debate has inspired my own approach to scientific inquiry. And his habit of exercising the body alongside the mind? Pure genius!"

Franklin couldn't help but chuckle. "I see you've taken that particular lesson to heart."

"Indeed!" Maximalis agreed enthusiastically. "But it's not just philosophy, Lord Valorian. The technological advancements, the social structures, the art and culture of ancient Terra - all of it provides invaluable insights for our work today."

As they continued their conversation, Franklin reflected on the unique position of the Independence Sector. By preserving the knowledge of humanity's past, they were shaping its future. And in allies like Biceps Maximalis, they were finding unexpected bridges between the old ways of the Mechanicum and the innovative spirit of the Independence Sector.

"Well, Magos," Franklin said, standing up to his full, impressive height, "I believe we have much to learn from each other. Your knowledge of the past, combined with our vision for the future, could lead to some truly remarkable advancements."

Biceps Maximalis beamed, striking another muscular pose. "I couldn't agree more, Lord Valorian! Together, we shall forge a future as impressive as these biceps!" He flexed once more, his augmetics whirring with the effort.

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Adam Lockheed, Chief Warsmith and CEO of Forge World Prime, walked beside the towering figure of Primarch Franklin Valorian through the sterile, gleaming halls of the planet's central command complex. As they moved, Lockheed's mind raced, a tempest of thoughts hidden behind a carefully composed exterior.

"Right this way, Boss," Lockheed said, gesturing towards a massive set of adamantium doors. The word 'Boss' felt bitter on his tongue, a constant reminder of the new order that had swept through the Independence Sector like a tidal wave of charismatic ambition.

As the doors hissed open, revealing a panoramic view of the endless cityscape of Forge World Prime, Lockheed's thoughts turned inward, a maelstrom of reflection and barely contained resentment.

Boss. Ha! As if you were just another corporate overlord, Valorian. No, you're so much more... and so much worse. You're the bane of all corporations, Lockheed thought, a mix of resentment and grudging admiration coloring his inner voice. Before you came, we sat fat and happy, content in our power and wealth. Now... now we've lost everything, he admitted silently. Completely and utterly. The age of corporate power in the Independence Sector is over. Now, there's only the Primarch... and the rest of us."

Lockheed's eyes flickered to the Primarch's profile, studying the perfect features that seemed more akin to a classical statue than a living being. How easy it had been for this demigod to slip into their world and reshape it to his will.

We never saw it coming. How could we? The Valorian family, just another minor shareholder among many. A footnote in the grand ledger of Forge World Prime's ownership. And then you appeared, a lost son of the Emperor, the great unifier of the Independence Cluster.

The memory of those early days still stung. The excitement, the hope that had rippled through the sector at the news of a unifier, the Greatest President - The paragon of freedom and liberty had become the ultimate corporate raider. How naive they had all been.

We thought you'd be content with adulation, with parades and statues. We never imagined you'd set your sights on the true power - the economic foundations of our realm.

Lockheed suppressed a bitter chuckle. The Primarch moved with a grace that was unexpected for someone of his imposing stature, quietly acquiring shares, making deals, consolidating power. Before anyone realized what was happening, Valorian had become the majority shareholder of Forge World Prime, the golden goose of the Independence Sector.

And now, here we are. You and me, the only ones left at the table. The demigod and the mortal, playing a game where the stakes are an entire sector's economy...no I doubt if even this is a game.

As they reached the central command platform, a holographic display sprang to life, showing the intricate web of production lines, resource allocation, and shipping routes that made Forge World Prime the industrial powerhouse it was. Lockheed began his usual briefing, rattling off production figures and efficiency ratings, all the while his inner monologue raged on.

Do they see it, I wonder? The common people who cheer your name in the streets, who hang on your every word? Do they see the cunning beneath that godly visage? The shrewd businessman hiding behind the mask of the benevolent leader?

Lockheed doubted it. He had monitored the Primarch's approval ratings obsessively, watching for any sign of wavering support. But it never came. The numbers remained stubbornly, infuriatingly high - 99% approval, day after day, week after week.

Why? Because you've done what we could never do. You've regulated everything, controlled every aspect of their lives while making them believe they're freer than ever before. The age of megacorporations, gone in the blink of an eye.

It was a bitter pill to swallow. For millenia, corporations like Lockheed's had ruled the Independence Sector, their power unchecked, their profits soaring. They had been gods in their own right, masters of industry and commerce. And then came Valorian, and suddenly they were all scrambling for scraps at the foot of a true deity.

"We never stood a chance," Lockheed realized, not for the first time. "We were so busy fighting each other, we never thought to look up. We assumed that gods never stooped to look at mortals, that they were content to ask and order and receive. But you... you wanted everything under your control."

And control it, Valorian did. From production quotas to resource allocation, from trade agreements to technological development, every aspect of Forge World Prime's operations now fell under the Primarch's purview. Even the sector's economy danced to his tune.

Lockheed's gaze drifted to the massive window overlooking the planet's surface. The endless sea of machinery and industry that had once been his domain now felt like a gilded cage. Every piston, every forge, every production line - all of it ultimately answered to the will of the Primarch.

Even the damn inflation is under your control. How do you do it, Valorian? How do you balance it all so perfectly? The economy thrives, the people prosper, and yet your grip on power only tightens.

It was maddening. Lockheed had spent his entire career climbing the corporate ladder, outmaneuvering rivals, making brutal decisions all in the name of profit and power. And in the span of a few short years, this outsider, this demigod in human form, had rendered all of that expertise obsolete.

We're obsolete. All of us. The corporate titans, the industrial magnates. We're relics of a bygone era, and the people don't even mourn our passing.

As Lockheed concluded his briefing, he watched Valorian's face for any reaction. The Primarch nodded, asked a few pointed questions, his keen mind clearly processing and analyzing every piece of information. It was both impressive and terrifying.

Do you ever doubt yourself, I wonder? Do you ever question the morality of what you've done? Or is this all just part of some grand plan, some vision of the future that our mortal minds can't comprehend?

Lockheed had asked himself these questions countless times, lying awake in the small hours of the morning. He had searched for any sign of corruption, any hint that Valorian's rule was anything less than benevolent. But he found nothing. The Primarch's governance was frustratingly, infuriatingly perfect.

The people love you. They adore you. To them, you're not just a leader, you're a symbol. Freedom, liberty, prosperity - all embodied in one larger-than-life figure.

It was true. Wherever Valorian went, crowds gathered. Children cheered, adults wept with joy. The Primarch had become more than just a ruler - he was the beating heart of the Independence Sector, the focal point around which their entire society now revolved.

And what am I in this new world order? A relic, a vestige of the old ways. Useful for now, but for how long? How long before you decide that even I am obsolete?

The thought sent a chill down Lockheed's spine. He had seen how efficiently Valorian had dismantled the old power structures. How long would it be before the Primarch decided that even the facade of corporate leadership was unnecessary?

As the briefing concluded, Valorian turned to Lockheed, his expression warm and appreciative. "Excellent work as always, Adam. Your expertise is invaluable to our continued success."

Lockheed nodded, forcing a smile. "Thank you, Boss. Always happy to serve."

Serve. That's what we do now, isn't it? We serve at the pleasure of our benevolent demigod. The eagle soars, and we scurry about in its shadow.

As they exited the command center, Lockheed's mind turned to the future. What would the coming years bring? Would Valorian's rule continue its seemingly perfect trajectory? Or would cracks begin to show in the facade?

Perhaps that's my role now. To watch, to wait. To be ready for the moment when even a demigod might stumble. But will that moment ever come?

Lockheed doubted it. As much as he hated to admit it, Valorian's rule had brought unprecedented prosperity and stability to the Independence Sector. The people were happy, the economy was booming, and their military might was unquestioned.

And so we march on into this brave new world. The age of corporations is dead, long live the age of the Primarch...Long Live The Eagle, The golden goose is firmly in the eagle's talons, and it shows no signs of letting go.

As they reached the end of the corridor, Valorian turned to Lockheed one last time. "I appreciate your dedication, Adam. Together, we're building something truly remarkable here."

Lockheed nodded, his expression a mask of loyal enthusiasm. "Indeed we are, Boss. Indeed we are."

And may the Emperor help us all if we're building something we can't control.

With that final thought, Lockheed watched as the Primarch strode away, his massive form disappearing around a corner. Left alone, the CEO of what was once the most powerful corporation in the sector let out a long, weary sigh. The game had changed, the rules rewritten. And all he could do now was play along and hope that somehow, someday, he might find a way to regain even a fraction of what had been lost.

But deep down, Adam Lockheed knew the truth. The age of megacorporations was over. The eagle soared supreme. And as long as Franklin Valorian drew breath, that was how it would remain.