She stands on a broken line.

Not yet a hero.

Not yet the legend.

Just a soldier.

 Around her, what remains of the regiment clings to the ruins of their world. Twenty shock troops, reduced to fragments of themselves armour cracked, faces blackened, but resolute, doing their duty.

Behind them, a battle tank burns where it died. Hull split. One track still turning in a slow, useless grind. To her right, towering silhouettes shift through the smoke — armoured war engines, scarred but unbowed.

Beyond them, something greater stands watch. A machine of impossible scale, silent, waiting… like a final argument yet to be made.

They are the line.

Across the shattered ground, the enemy does not charge.

It waits.

Black armour emerges first, edged in dull brass, marked with symbols that seem to twist if you look too long. They move without urgency. Without hesitation. This is not a battle to them. It is a formality.

At their centre walks a lord amongst giants. The war bends around him. Even at distance, his presence presses against the mind, splintering thought.

Around him, his praetorian guard, as if he needs them. Heavy-armoured warriors, ancient and brutal, weapons alive with a low, predatory hum. Their strides do not slow. They crush the dead beneath them without pause.

And still, impossibly, they are not the worst of it. Bodies twist. Forms distort. What were once soldiers now move with impossible violence, barely contained, driven by something that has replaced rage with purpose.

Behind them, a robed figure drags its hands through the air, pulling at unseen threads, whispering to something just beyond the edge of reality. It answers. A daemon engine tears its way into being — metal and nightmare fused together — dragging fire that does not belong in this world. It lurches forward, every movement wrong, every step accompanied by a scream that never quite becomes sound.

And before them all the tide. Once-human. Still-human. Some still recognisable. Friends. Comrades. Lost. They surge forward.   The order comes from her cracked lips.

Stand

 

The 1st prize consists of a collection of Warhammer 40,000 miniatures representing two opposing forces inspired by the Fall of Cadia.

The Line:

• 1x Minka Lesk

• 20x Cadian Shock Troops

• 1x Leman Russ Battle Tank

• 2x Armiger-class Knights

• 1x Knight Questoris Chaos Space Marines

 

The invaders:

• 1x Abaddon the Despoiler

• 5x Chaos Terminators

• 1x Forgefiend

• 1x Master of Possession

• 5x Possessed

• 10x Chaos Space Marines

• 10x Chaos Cultists

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One winner, two armies, it’s time to pick a side.

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2nd Prize

Not every war is won by armies.

Some are fought in the gaps. 

The Tanith First and Only don’t hold ground.

They don’t charge banners. 

 

They disappear.

 

Marksmen in the dark. Knives in close. A unit that shouldn’t still exist… but does.

Led by Colonel-Commissar Ibram Gaunt, they are what’s left of a dead world — and somehow, still one of the most dangerous fighting forces in the Imperium.

Every member carries a story.

Every name matters.

And every loss cuts deeper than it should.

This isn’t a squad you throw forward. This is a squad you trust to finish what others couldn’t.

 

2nd Prize Winner will recieve 1x box Astra Militarum Gaunts Ghosts