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.
The Genestealer Cults erupt from the shadows in a tide of xenos-worshipping acolytes, employing ambush and subterfuge to outmanoeuvre their enemies. Utterly immersed in Tyranid gene-taint, the cult's Neophyte Hybrids and more mutated Acolyte Hybrids rise up against their oppressors, armed with a variety of repurposed industrial equipment – from powerful mining lasers to heavy machinery like the Goliath Rockgrinder. Guided by the insidious psychic presence of a Magus, the misshapen Aberrants lope from the shadows to reinforce their kin, swinging crushing mauls to deadly effect.
The Thousand Sons advance into battle amidst gouts of kaleidoscopic warpflame and bolts of raw sorcery. The heart of these arcane armies is comprised of Rubricae – implacable warriors who level salvo after salvo against the foe, marching at the command of the mighty Sorcerers and diabolic Infernal Masters who rule their fractured Legion. Around them come shrieking herds of Tzaangor, mutant shock troops armed with cursed blades and dark sorcery.
The Patriarch and his Broodcoven dominate the minds and hearts of the cultists in their thrall.
Atalan Jackals are fourth generation Neophytes who form the outriders of their gene-sect. They roam the corners of the host planet in search of new regions for their cult to infest.
Built to withstand the pressures and challenges of underground mining, the Goliath Rockgrinder is a devastating piece of equipment when turned to aggression.
Twisted arcanists, wicked of intent and strange of form, Exalted Sorcerers have an encyclopædic knowledge of spells and are able to bend reality to their desires.
Scarab Occult Terminators were once the finest psykers in the Thousand Sons Legion, bodyguards to Magnus the Red himself. Reduced to dust along with their brethren, they now possess only an echo of their previous intellect.
Stepping out from the fog of war come the Rubricae. Many of these undying warriors were psykers in their own right, before an ancient curse damned them to an eternity as living husks – their baroque power armour now contains nothing but sparkling dust.
Achilles Ridgerunners range into deadly frontier environments, their pilots scanning for promising resource deposits and communicating their location back to base.
By the time a Genestealer Cult launches its insurrection, its Neophyte Hybrids make up a horde of thousands. Weathered and toughened by a life of hard labour, each cultist features the inhuman reactions and strength their alien genes gift them.
Basking in the sheer alien glory of the patron that infected them, Acolyte Hybrids croon and hiss in the gloom.