In the dead of night, Grot received a direct order from Qin Mo, summoning him back to the fortress at once. Even Grey was puzzled by the command, but Grot obediently returned.
Upon entering the prison under the escort of the guards, he saw Qin Mo testing a new device. Bound and powerless before him was the very rebel bishop he had long sought to kill.
"Isn't this the rebel bishop? How did you capture her?" Grot asked in surprise, tauntingly glaring at the bishop.
The bishop shot Grot a venomous look, her teeth clenched, but she was helpless.
Qin Mo didn't answer. Instead, he pointed at the bishop's face and calmly ordered, "Punch her. Force her to release her psychic energy."
Grot, more than happy to comply, struck the bishop's face without hesitation. His fist, encased in the power gauntlet of his Guardian armor, slammed into her, deforming her features as she struggled violently, attempting to bite him.
"It works," Qin Mo nodded, satisfied.
Grot, bewildered by the effectiveness of the punch, questioned, "What makes this effective?"
Qin Mo explained immediately, "This is my new psychic disruptor. Within its range, the minds of psykers are disrupted, preventing them from using their powers."
"How is this different from the anti-psychic devices integrated into our power armor?" Grot asked, still puzzled.
"The disruption is much stronger—an upgraded version, if you will. Previously, we couldn't neutralize the bishop. Now we can," Qin Mo replied.
Grot's eyes gleamed with excitement as he observed the device Qin Mo was working on. Though it was still bulky, it was a prototype meant for testing. Future versions would surely be smaller and more versatile.
Yet, despite his delight, Grot couldn't help but wonder—had he been summoned just to witness a new piece of equipment?
"From now on, you will stay and guard the fortress," Qin Mo commanded.
"Yes," Grot replied out of habit. It wasn't until after he responded that he realized what the order truly meant—remaining at the fortress meant no more combat for him, even though the war raged on.
"I'll follow your command, but could you tell me why? With my Guardian armor, I could significantly accelerate our forces' advance," Grot inquired.
"I have more important tasks for you," Qin Mo answered, his tone firm.
Grot grew more perplexed. Wasn't the war the most pressing matter? What could be more crucial than the battlefield? Still, seeing Qin Mo's expression darken, Grot dared not ask further. "Understood, Commander."
"Good. Now go get some rest."
"Yes," Grot acknowledged. But as he reached for the door handle, he paused, turning back. "Does this mean I won't be fighting anytime soon?"
Qin Mo didn't respond, wholly absorbed in his research and creation.
Understanding the hint, Grot left quietly, closing the door gently behind him.
"How did you get captured?" Qin Mo asked the bishop, the burning question on his mind.
The bishop refused to answer. In truth, she couldn't. Her face had been grotesquely disfigured, making speech impossible. But in her furious, confused eyes, Qin Mo sensed that she herself didn't know how it had happened.
Setting aside his questions, Qin Mo returned to his experiments.
Later that night, deep within the fortress' underground caverns, Qin Mo drifted into sleep at his desk. Or so he thought. In his mind, he was still awake, yet found himself in a strange place.
It was a lavishly decorated bedroom, adorned in opulence.
In the corner of the room stood a towering tree, its lush green leaves strangely out of place amidst the grandeur.
As Qin Mo approached, a grotesque face emerged from the bark, contorting into a twisted smile. "Ha! Did I scare you?" it jeered.
"Do you think that's funny?" Qin Mo asked coldly, his expression unchanging.
The tree's grin faded instantly, as though it had lost interest in the joke. Its form shifted rapidly, transforming into a girl.
Qin Mo recognized her at once—she was the girl he had seen before in his dreams, the one who had turned into both a tank and a middle-aged man.
"I remember who you are now," the girl said seriously, her youthful face carrying a gravity far beyond her years. "You are the Forger."
"Another new title? Last time you called me the Seer or the Shapeshifter," Qin Mo remarked.
"No, no, no. I'm the Shapeshifter," the girl replied, her body rapidly morphing into Grey, now clad in Guardian armor. "It's all thanks to that cursed Fearmonger that I've been shattered into fragments, leaving my memories broken and incomplete. I am the Shapeshifter."
As she spoke, the surroundings began to change.
The room morphed into a vast expanse of stars. At the center of the cosmos stood a deity, his body composed of pure blue energy, his hand raised as the stars before him coalesced into the shape of a sword.
"In terms of personal strength, the Forger is the youngest and weakest of all the star gods. But that's because he doesn't rely on his own power to fight. The dreadful creations he forges can even channel the might of other star gods."
The stars shifted again, and a violet energy form floated before the Forger—its shape indescribable by any earthly words.
"That's me—the Shapeshifter."
"We were once the most harmonious of the star gods. You crafted, and I provided inspiration through my transformations."
"Though you've fused with a human and remain whole, I have been reduced to this pitiful state, unable to even remember my true form."
"And it's all because you betrayed me."
At this, Qin Mo looked directly at the Shapeshifter. "What do you mean?"
"The weapon Fearmonger used to shatter me—it was one of your creations," the Shapeshifter snarled through gritted teeth. "My power was never great, but I was infinitely changeable. Fearmonger could never have destroyed me on his own."
The scene changed once more.
The Forger stood behind the Fearmongers, watching with a smile as the Shapeshifter was shattered, ready to devour what remained.
More scenes followed—other star gods, each different from the last.
"The Seer, Xilorei… the Star Painter, Aphra… so many of our kin were devoured by you."
The Shapeshifter's gaze locked onto Qin Mo, watching his reaction.
At first, Qin Mo was stunned by what he heard. The story was beyond anything he had ever imagined. He had always believed he was merely channeling the power of a star god, or perhaps fused with a fragment of one.
He fell into deep thought, not noticing the faint smile creeping onto the Shapeshifter's face.
"No… something's wrong," Qin Mo suddenly realized, sensing that the story didn't quite add up.
He frowned, piecing it together.
If the Forger had created a weapon for the Fearmonger to shatter the Shapeshifter, aligning himself with the Fearmongers, then why did he himself have no memory of such an important star god?
Realization dawning, Qin Mo raised his head and fixed his gaze on the Shapeshifter. "You're not the Shapeshifter… you're the Deceiver, Mephitlan, aren't you?"