Magnus the Red
The air screams as Magnus the Red descends from the skies, and stone runs molten beneath his shadow. Cyclopean son of the Emperor of Mankind, his very presence is anathema to logic. To look upon him is to surrender sanity, and when the Crimson King gazes back, destruction is loosed in unimaginable measure. Second only to the Emperor in terms of psychic ability, he rends asunder reality with a sweep of his blade, annihilating even super-heavy vehicles with the sheer intensity of his ire. Then, with a flex of mighty pinions, Magnus the Red is borne aloft, glorying in his unnatural power as he brings fresh calamity to the weaklings who oppose him.
This multi-part plastic kit contains the components necessary to assemble Magnus the Red, Daemon Primarch of Tzeentch. An imposing winged model whose size is appropriate to his power, he comes with a selection of 3 different faces (cyclopean, open helm and closed helm), is clad in armour dating from before the dark days of the Horus Heresy and has an array of modelling options: accessories include magical tomes, scrolls and daggers. He’s armed with the frankly ostentatious Blade of Magnus, modelled as a choice of glaive or sword. Supplied with a Citadel 100mm Round based, and a crushed Space Wolf Dreadnought for a base detail!
Plot the downfall of the False Emperor (or anyone else you’re battling!) with these datacards – an invaluable reference resource for Chaos Space Marines players. These cards are designed to make referencing key information in your games simpler, meaning less time trying to find the right page in your codex, and more time to crush the thin-blooded whelps who dare stand before you!
Reliable, resilient and easily repaired, the Rhino APC has been the mainstay transport of the Adeptus Astartes since time immemorial. The Rhinos maintained by the Chaos Space Marines are grotesque shadows of these loyal troop carriers, daubed with terrifying symbols, smeared with the blood of the slain and covered in spikes – all the better to impale and intimidate the enemies of Chaos.
The Chaos Cultists can be found almost anywhere the Imperium has spread. At first glance they are indistinguishable from normal men, but under their clothes, the flesh is tattooed and branded with sigils that hurt the eyes of any faithful who look upon them. When the Chaos Space Marines come to a planet, the true colours of the Cultists are revealed.
The Forgefiend is a Chaos Space Marine Daemon Engine that was originally devised to sow death amongst enemy forces from afar.
The Chaos Space Marine Forgefiend is a hulking model that possesses the immense hades autocannon. A fusion of metal and flesh that manifests in brutal creations, it features a mind-boggling array of details, from vents, stretched skulls, wires, bundles of cables, pistons, cogs, spikes, claws through to their hoof-like feet, and the Mark of Chaos is emblazoned across the carapace. It is a terrifying addition to a Chaos Space Marine collection.
Havocs provide the Traitor Legions with devastating anti-infantry and anti-armour firepower, dominating large swathes of the battlefield with volley after punishing volley. Such is the blood-pounding thrill of pouring heavy fire into the enemy ranks that many Havocs become obsessed by the power their weapons afford them. They see themselves as gods of the battlefield, blasting the insect vermin of the enemy into oblivion with each twitch of the finger.
The Death Guard are the greatest champions of the Plague God, Grandfather Nurgle, his favoured spreaders of his bounteous gifts. Look upon them and see the signs: pus seeping from festering wounds that never heal; miasmic smogs of corrosive, stinking gas hanging thickly in the air wherever Nurgle’s chosen tread; the wriggling, lamprey-mouthed tick-leeches that clamp on to their rotting flesh; the droning billions of plague flies that swarm the battlefields they stalk and the ships in which they course through the stars.
Chaos Terminators are heavily armoured veterans clad in debased suits of Tactical Dreadnought armour. They form the elite of their masters’ warbands, for though they are ponderous compared to their power armour-clad comrades, nothing short of a dedicated anti-tank laser can stop a Terminator in full stride. Spiked trophy racks protrude from massive shoulders, the skulls of the enemy a barbaric testament to their wearer’s martial prowess. Helmets have grown into bestial masks that sprout great tusks and razored horns, many of which have fused directly into the skulls of their wearers.