That afternoon, while the soldiers scoured the ruins for metal and electronic components, Qin Mo had already begun his work.
The transformation of the fortress was nothing short of miraculous—or heretical, depending on who was watching.
Gray had seen Qin Mo’s abilities before. But this? This was beyond anything he had witnessed.
Within a 100-meter square radius, the once-rigid metal flooring of the Underhive softened like molten wax, reshaped by an unseen force. Under Qin Mo’s silent command, the alloy stretched, fused, and wove itself together, merging seamlessly with the building’s frame.
The ground beneath his feet caved, deep pits forming as though the Hive itself obeyed his will. Section by section, a simple hab-block was reforged into an ironclad bastion of war.
Five stories tall. Walls reinforced with thirty centimeters of solidified adamantium alloy. Metal rods hung in midair before embedding themselves into the structure—interlocking into latticed layers of support, akin to the ferrocrete foundations of a mighty Imperial fortress. Firing slits materialized, each positioned with calculated precisionf or maximum crossfire coverage. Some faced forward, others angled to create overlapping kill zones.
By the time the final reinforcements settled, the entire structure had become a kill-box—every corridor a gauntlet, every entrance a choke point of death.
Klein, watching this architectural nightmare unfold, felt a cold shudder crawl down his spine.
“How… are we supposed to enter or exit?”
The main entrance was no longer a simple doorway. It had become a fortified tunnel, a deadly bottleneck designed to funnel enemies into oblivion.
Invaders would be forced to descend a steep incline before scrambling up a staircase—exposed and vulnerable to intersecting arcs of lasfire and heavy bolter emplacements.
If, by some miracle, they survived that? They would face a labyrinthine passageway lined with murder-holes, flamers, and auto-turrets primed to reduce flesh and ceramite to charred ruin.
It was an attacker’s worst nightmare.
Walls impervious to standard explosives. Vehicles too large to traverse the incline. Infantry funneled into a slaughterhouse of overlapping kill zones.
Klein exhaled, struggling to mask his awe.
“Give me a flamer and a meltagun, and I could hold this place for a year—against an enemy force a hundred times our size.”
Then, a more practical concern surfaced.
“But… what about supplies? How do we get food and ammo inside?”
Qin Mo raised a hand.
Part of the wall folded inward, forming a seamless doorway.
Klein blinked. Then nodded.
With the surface fortifications complete, Qin Mo turned his attention below.
Digging too deep was out of the question—Genestealers lurked in the depths, and the last thing they needed was to unearth a nest of Tyranid horrors.
Instead, the underground sector was designed for controlled access—a central bunker, reinforced and shielded, with a single, heavily defended entrance accessible only from inside the fortress.
Klein watched in silence as tunnels carved themselves into the ferrocrete, entire sections of the Hive reshaping at Qin Mo’s whim.
His breath came unsteady.
“This… This is power beyond mortal comprehension.”
“Psykers are terrifying, but by the Emperor, they’re damn useful.”
“I’m not a psyker.” mutterd Qin Mo to himself
For the longest time, he had assumed he was some kind of psyker. He had dismissed his visions, his knowledge, his instincts as aberrations of the immaterium. But now?
Now, the evidence was irrefutable.
Psyker-suppressing collars had no effect on him.
Neuro-parasites that feasted on Warp-sensitive minds ignored him.
Imperial anti-Warp measures failed to register his existence.
His power did not stem from the Warp.
Instead, his mind drifted back to the visions—those impossible memories that surfaced when he was on the brink of death.
There was only one possible explanation.
The C’tan—the Star Gods—were beings older than any civilization in the galaxy.
They had once fed upon the energy of stars, drinking their essence across the aeons.
They were divine horrors, bound to the material plane, their power anathema to both the Warp and the Imperium’s fragile understanding of the universe.
They could forge black holes at will.
They could create entire planets from nothing.
They could bend the fabric of physics to their whim.
Their abilities bore resemblance to Warp sorcery, but they were something far more alien. Far more terrifying.
They could alter matter on a fundamental level.
They could reshape objects with nothing but thought.
He was 80% certain his abilities originated from one of the C’tan.
And more importantly—why?
“I need to start weapons manufacturing.”
Qin Mo’s voice was resolute.
“When the scavengers return, have them bring everything to me.”
He offered no further explanation. There was no time for questions.
There was too much to do—and not enough time.
Even though he now had command authority over the 47th Infantry Regiment, he wasn’t planning to bring many soldiers on his recon mission.
His first priority was to arm Gray’s squad—ensuring that the fortress had an elite garrison before he left.
The strategy was simple.
Six-man recon teams would scout nearby strongholds stealthily and quickly.
For that, they needed high-mobility equipment.
Not vehicles—too loud. Too obvious.
No, it had to be personal. Integrated.
The answer was clear.
Each Gravity Shield would be integrated into a Jump Pack, granting:
They had to be built directly into the armor.
Energy weapons were ideal—kinetic rounds couldn’t penetrate Gravity Shields.
Kinetic weapons would be secondary, until Gravity Shield technology was improved.
Thus, the optimal loadout became clear:
One issue remained—power consumption.
A high-capacity energy cell, capable of thermal recharging.
If energy reserves ran low—the entire squad would regroup.
Then, using his C’tan-gifted abilities, Qin Mo would manipulate reality—making fire non-lethal.
Flamers would become mobile recharging stations.
Beyond infantry warfare, Qin Mo had bigger plans.
Then—fortress defense.
Flamers. Meltaguns. Heavy Stubbers. Mass-produced.
His unnatural knowledge allowed him to perfectly replicate any Imperial weapon from memory alone.
Before, when he thought he was a psyker, he feared creating too much.
If these machines were ever tainted by the Warp…
"Shit… that would be a disaster."
Now, knowing he wasn’t Warp-touched, he had no reason to hesitate.
Of course, if the Inquisition ever found out—
“That’d be a problem for future me.”
Suddenly, Qin Mo realized something.
Genestealers had psykers among them.
Developing anti-psyker technology was now a priority.
Reverse-engineering Psyker Suppression Collars into full-scale Anti-Psyker Emitters.