Space Sharks: Retro Marines from BeQuest Miniatures - Battle on Amity IV

Get Out of the Water! 

I’ve been assembling this retro Space Sharks strike force for some time. These aren't your sleek, modern Space Marine warriors; these are the Retro Marines, a squad from BeQuest Miniatures (found for purchase at Hagen Miniatures). They are joined by a 3D-printed Furibundus Dreadnought pulled from the digital ether of Etsy, standing tall as a slab of walking history.

Battle on Amity IV

I am a sergeant, and my name is Tarkanian. But names are just hooks we hang our legends on. I wear the gray of the Carcharodons—the Space Sharks, as the soft-spoken call us—and my armor was a map of every scar I’d earned in the Emperor’s cold service.

On that day, Amity IV was a waste of red sand and silence, a world that felt like it was waiting for someone to die. We were five, moving alone through the grit like ghosts in ceramite. The ruinous powers had breathed on this place, leaving a scent like ozone and rot. I felt a twitch in the air—a flicker of something that shouldn't be there—and I raised a hand. My brothers froze. We were predators; we knew how to hold our breath until the world stopped turning.

The shadows reached out first.

A pack of Warp-tainted monstrosities, things that might have once been men before the madness took them, spilled from the jagged cliffs. They were a blur of obsidian blades and screaming mouths, moving with a fluid, sickening grace that defied the planet's gravity. I leveled my weapon, its machine spirit humming a song of controlled violence in my grip. We were ready to sell our lives dearly in the red dust.

Then the earth decided to scream.

A rumble started deep in the bedrock, vibrating through my boots and up into my teeth. From behind a jagged tooth of rock, the silhouette rose—a Furibundus Dreadnought, ancient and terrible, carved from metal and the sheer will to remain.

It didn't just walk; it reclaimed the ground with every step. Its terrible cannon spoke first—a rhythmic, percussive thunder that turned the charging heretics into a fine crimson mist before they could even draw breath. One who survived the leaden hail was met by the sweep of a claw. In a heartbeat, the threat wasn't just defeated; it was erased, as if the universe had thought better of its existence.

We fell back. Not out of fear—though only a fool feels nothing when a god walks—but to give the titan its room. It was a fortress that had forgotten how to stay still, a relic of a more violent age coming to join our own. In the long shadow it cast across the red dust, the remaining heretics didn't seem like a threat anymore. They just seemed like targets.

I signaled our advance. We had a long night ahead, and the scent of blood was finally stronger than the rot.