"Now, let's see who's been playing sorcerer at the spire," Qin Mo muttered, raising his staff and tapping it lightly against the ground.
In an instant, the shattered ruins of the structure were restored to their original form. Stone groaned in reverse, dust coalesced into marble, and the massive, fortified walls once again loomed before them, standing as if they had never been destroyed.
Yoan could hardly believe his eyes. He had seen the building reduced to rubble with his own eyes, yet now, it was whole again.
Shocked, he reached out to touch the wall, only to find that his hand passed straight through it. It was as if he had stepped into a reality where the fundamental laws of physics had been utterly warped.
"This is only a projection of the past, not a true reconstruction. You won't be able to touch anything," Qin Mo explained. "This is the effect of Trace Recollection."
Trace Recollection was an ability Qin Mo had instinctively mastered as his connection to the power of the C'tan deepened.
To the eyes of a Star God, the timeline of the material universe was a visible thread. They could perceive the movement of every particle that had ever existed, and by isolating and manifesting the echoes left along the time stream, they could reconstruct a scene exactly as it had appeared in the past.
Like now.
But even this ability has its vulnerabilities, the chaotic energies of the Immatrium can disrupt the boundaries between past, present, and future, and a being imbued with the same primordial essence as the C'tan can alter the very fabric of the time stream.
"Follow me," Qin Mo commanded, striding forward through the spectral walls of the recalled past, stepping into the building's interior.
Yoan quickly followed.
The two of them moved through the structure, unbound by the normal constraints of the physical world. They did not need to use doors or climb staircases; every wall, every object was intangible, allowing them to pass through freely. Yet, if Qin Mo willed it, these ghostly structures could solidify with thought, becoming temporary barriers in this memory-space.
For Yoan, this was an utterly surreal experience. If he had to sum up his emotions in four words, they would be: "To walk with gods."
As they explored deeper into the recalled past, passing through yet another wall, both men suddenly stopped dead in their tracks.
Before them lay a room. Inside stood a man and a... thing.
The man was a decrepit figure, his body marred by countless wounds, while the entity beside him defied all mortal description.
"What… the hell is that?" Yoan whispered, his gaze fixed upon the abomination.
It was a writhing mass of sinewy limbs and leering maws, each appendage lined with unblinking eyes and jagged, fanged maws. Some of its tentacle-like limbs twisted and coiled unnaturally, as if reality itself struggled to contain their existence.
The grotesque, mind-warping horror sent a chill down Yoan's spine.
"A Chaos Spawn," Qin Mo stated flatly.
"And that is…?" Yoan asked, barely suppressing the urge to retch. The only reason he hadn't lost his lunch was that he refused to look weak in front of Qin Mo.
Qin Mo kept his gaze fixed on the creature, now understanding why he had felt such a strong disturbance earlier.
A Chaos Spawn, here, in the depths of the Hive, this was far more revolting than a hundred rogue psykers running loose.
"Can it be killed?" Yoan asked.
"Easily. In fact, if left alone, it will eventually self-destruct. These aberrations are inherently unstable... but do not engage it in melee. Its blood is highly dangerous," Qin Mo warned. "A single drop can melt ceramite. Imagine what it would do to you."
Should such abominations begin to infest the Talon Sector in greater numbers, Yoan would have to assist in purging them.
Not every Chaos Spawn would be fortunate enough to meet a swift death by lightning.
"What was it before it became… that?" Yoan asked.
"A heretic," Qin Mo replied, shifting his gaze from the Spawn to the old man beside it.
The old man's eyes were wide with terror as he stared out the window, his face contorted in disbelief.
Feathers protruded slightly from his shoulders, and strange, spiraling blue markings covered his skin.
Qin Mo immediately recognized what this meant, the wretched old man was a servant of Tzeentch.
As for how the Chaos Spawn had come to be, and why it hadn't attacked its creator, that would require further investigation.
"Resume flow," Qin Mo commanded.
Time within the recalled scene resumed its natural course. The once-frozen Chaos Spawn and the old heretic began to move again.
The heretic muttered to himself, his gaze fixed on something outside.
Then, a crackling bolt of lightning arced through the wall, detonating upon impact. A storm of raw energy engulfed the room, instantly reducing both man and monster to ash.
"Well, that settles it. They're dead," Yoan remarked.
"Indeed," Qin Mo nodded in agreement. Then, with a flick of his hand, the Trace Recollection sequence reversed, rewinding time like a playback reel, revealing all that had transpired before.
There were still many questions left unanswered.
....
For half a Terran day, Qin Mo remained at the spire, continuously using his ability to comb through the past, scrutinizing every event that had unfolded here.
At the peak of the Hive Spire, a lost moment in history replayed itself, tracing back to a time before the Chaos Spawn had been born, even before the war had begun.
As Venomfang and his lackey conspired together, Qin Mo and Yoan stood beside them, silent observers of a past long gone.
Gradually, Qin Mo pieced together the full story.
The Chaos Spawn had once been Venomfang, a Chaos-aligned warlord serving as the enemy's general. The old man had been his slave and attendant.
Master and servant, both had their own schemes. One sought to use the war to gain power and forbidden knowledge, while the other planned to exploit his master's ambition for an even greater purpose.
A plot within a plot, so typical of Tzeentch's designs. There was no point in asking why. In the grand game of Chaos, everything was part of the plan.
But there was still one mystery left to answer: what had happened to the nobles of the Upper Hive?
Through Trace Recollection, Qin Mo witnessed the truth.
The nobles had been systematically sacrificed in waves.
Venomfang had personally addressed each group, convincing them that they were being rescued, guiding them into vast pens lined with profane sigils and blasphemous wards.
To Qin Mo, they were nothing but cages, scrawled with accursed runes.
But the deceived fools walked in smiling. No doubt, the cages had been disguised. To them, they must have seemed like transport shuttles, promising escape from the horrors of the Underhive.
As Qin Mo continued to observe each ritual, he caught an interesting detail.
During the first sacrifice, an old man in one of the cages muttered a bitter complaint:
"That bastard Klein came back for nothing. He could have at least warned us about the First Legion's rebellion."
That old man was clearly Klein's kin.
Without hesitation, Qin Mo activated the recording function in his power armor, capturing the scene in perfect clarity. Klein would no doubt want to know what had happened to his family.
When Qin Mo had gathered all the intelligence he needed and was preparing to return to the Underhive, he turned to Yoan with a final command.
"Once the Upper Hive falls under our control, the spire will be cleansed by orbital bombardment. Everything you saw today is a glimpse of what you will face in the future. This is the duty I have planned for you.
But it must remain a secret. Understood?"
As he spoke, Qin Mo removed his helmet, letting Yoan see the absolute seriousness in his expression.
Yoan immediately grasped the gravity of the situation and made his oath:
"I will never speak of this to anyone but you. I swear it upon the God-Emperor."
"Good." Qin Mo clapped Yoan on the shoulder, then stepped back, activating his teleport beacon.
In a flash of light, he was gone, transported back to the Underhive.
Yoan, meanwhile, found himself back on the battlefield of the Upper Hive, resuming his war.