Where the Illusionist is quiet, the Thunderwyrm is the opposite of subtle. It is raw electromagnetism given a body - power on a scale that once snuffed suns the way you would pinch out a candle, casual, without effort, without thought. That is what it was. That is what the Necrocyborgs took from it, and that is exactly how much they had to leave behind to make it carry.

Because the binding is incomplete by necessity. You cannot drain a thing like this dry without unmaking the very power you wanted to harness. So a remnant still burns inside the iron - enough to flatten an army, never enough to be free - and the remnant has a single fixed intent. The instant the leash slips, it will turn on the Necrocyborgs first. Not the enemy. Not the battlefield. The ones who broke it. Its former followers, now its slavers, are the only thing it has wanted to kill since the day it was emptied into metal. The Necrocyborgs know this. They walk it onto the field anyway, because a god that hates you is still a god you point at someone else.

On the table it does not bend reality. It overwhelms it. Mantis-bladed wings of cold alloy frame a hooded revenant, a serpentine cable-tail coiling down into shattered crystal, a ritual staff held like a conductor's rod for a storm with no off switch. Where it walks, machines die without being struck and shielding means nothing. Even the creatures of Chaos give it room. Push enough current into a daemon prince and even that rotten, immortal mind eventually burns black and stays that way. The Thunderwyrm knows this. It is patient about it.

THE VOID GODS

Drained divinity, bound in iron, made to serve.

Every race builds gods to explain the dark. The Necrocyborgs did not explain the dark. They negotiated with it, and lost, for an age that has no name now because the things that named it are gone.

The Void Gods came with the first light. Energy without body, hunger without limit. They settled on stars and drank them cold, and when the stars ran thin they turned to thought, to feeling, to the small bright warmth of sentient minds, and took that too. They were perfect parasites. They were never wrong. And being never wrong, they never noticed the one thing the lesser things could do that they could not. The lesser things learned.

So the Necrocyborgs learned to kill what cannot be killed. They could not end them. No one ends a god. But a god is only as immortal as it has power, and power can be drained, decanted, poured into a vessel of cold metal that does not pray and does not forgive. One by one the Void Gods were emptied and folded into bodies of unknown alloy, each shaped to its nature, each instructed to be useful.

This is the cruelty of it. Other races meet a Void God on the field, see something wreathed in impossibilities, and assume the Necrocyborgs follow such a thing. They have the history backwards. Every Void God moves on a leash. The hand that holds it is colder than the god ever was, and feels nothing at all.

The Void Gods are a line of Necrocyborg centerpiece characters – the broken divine, made to anchor a force and unsettle a table.

You can buy printed models here:

https://wargameexclusive.com/shop/exclusives/necrocyborg-void-thunderwyrm/

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