I wrangled myself into a game of Zeo Genesis with Rob and Jason. Soon we had a crowd gathered around us.
My Soldat
I am still learning the rules so cannot comment much other than my little Soldat Zeo helped bring down one of the big bad dudes on the other side. Some pics.
Prolific 40k contributors Andy Chambers and Gav Thorpe are the masterminds behind the rules which are as slick as you would expect from such a dynamic duo. Zeo Genesis should be out in early 2026.
The arrival of the massive UNB-140 Onslaught Heavy Assault Zeoform on the desolate North African sands immediately redefined the challenges facing the enigmatic commander, “The Dessicated Fox.” Having carved out a reputation for swift, bewildering victories against the British defenses around Cyrenaica and having surrounded Tobruk by mid-April 1941, the Fox now possessed a weapon of unparalleled power, yet one that presented equally staggering logistical and mechanical obstacles.
The machine’s sheer size and complexity, compounded by the severe damage sustained during its transit through the quantum rift, demanded resources and specialized knowledge simply unavailable in the current theater of operations. Each movement of the Onslaught required meticulous planning, as the sands of North Africa presented a harsh environment that could easily impair the machine’s functionality. Additionally, rumors began to circulate among the ranks about the machine’s advanced technology, which seemed almost otherworldly to the soldiers accustomed to conventional warfare.
The Fox, whose origins were rumored to lie in the Transylvanian Alps, now had to solve a cosmic puzzle in the middle of a desert war, facing not just the British forces but the pressing need to innovate and adapt rapidly to make the most of this extraordinary asset. The pressure mounted as time passed, and the stakes grew higher—victory depended on the ability to harness the formidable potential of the Onslaught before it became a liability instead of an advantage.
The initial assessment delivered by the Onslaught—Structural integrity compromised at 78%, primary weapon systems at 62%, and its sophisticated internal repair capabilities degraded but active—confirmed the monumental task ahead. This was not a quick fix; this demanded nothing less than the construction of an entirely new, advanced engineering base capable of handling a unit designed for conflicts far beyond the scope of mere tanks and artillery. The logistical challenges were immense: the colossal size of the UNB-140 meant it could not be easily moved, requiring the Fox to dedicate precious, scarce fuel and manpower to securing and camouflaging the crash site. Furthermore, the advanced Z-Control Systems, which demanded an elite, highly-trained pilot, were now sitting dormant, waiting for a human or entity capable of mastering the machine’s intricate cognitive demands, adding a crucial personnel gap to the mechanical crisis.
As the situation unfolded, it became clear that not only was the physical restoration of the UNB-140 a priority, but there was an urgent need for a comprehensive strategic plan that would address both the immediate necessities and the long-term implications of re-establishing a functional unit. Teams of engineers and tacticians were called in, working tirelessly amid the remnants of the fallen behemoth, while simulations of potential conflicts ran in the background, highlighting the dire importance of a swift recovery. Each detail mattered in this high-stakes environment, where every hour wasted could spell disaster in the ever-volatile theater of war, and so every decision was weighed with meticulous care, recognizing the fragile balance between operational capability and the ever-looming specter of failure.
Despite the near-insurmountable difficulties, the Dessicated Fox viewed the damaged Onslaught not as a burden, but as the ultimate force multiplier that would guarantee victory in the looming 1942 offensive, culminating in the Battle of Gazala and the capture of Tobruk. The machine’s powerful energy cannons, its multi-layered ablative armor, and its mythic ability to self-repair made it the definitive spearhead the Africa Corps needed to crack heavily fortified strongpoints, effectively turning the tides of battle in their favor. Its mere existence would become a weapon of psychological warfare; the legend of the Fox would fuse with the legend of the giant desert machine, instilling both fear and hope among the troops and the enemy alike.
As whispers of its capabilities spread, enemy forces found themselves increasingly demoralized, their confidence eroded by the impending threat of the Onslaught’s resurgence. The immediate focus shifted to the desperate effort of salvage and repair, a silent, covert operation running parallel to the conventional campaign, as engineers, fueled by a mixture of ingenuity and desperation, began the impossible task of recreating a high-tech fortress out of sand and captured enemy scrap, improvising innovative techniques to utilize local resources efficiently. This effort, fraught with challenges and setbacks, was not just about machinery; it was about the spirit and tenacity of those who believed that bringing the colossal UNB-140 Onslaught back to its full, terrifying functional status could be the key to altering the course of the war itself, drawing on every ounce of determination to achieve the seemingly impossible.
I now have the base colour and some shading and highlighting on the model and am just starting to paint the detail. Not too much as I want the Africa Corpse yellow to still dominate. Hopefully completed in the next few days.
Just putting it into context with the other Zeo forms in”The Dessicated Fox’s arsenal”:
The desert sun beat down with unrelenting ferocity on the desolate landscape, a gritty silence of a vast, ancient land broken only by the distant rumble of mechanized columns and the occasional, sharp crack of a rifle report. Here, amid the shifting dunes and scorched rock, the entity known only as the “Dessicated Fox” moved, its form a blur against the shimmering heat haze, its purpose known only to itself.
Suddenly, the horizon ripped.
It wasn’t a mirage. Above the distant, barely visible tracks of what might have been an Africa Corpse patrol, the air began to twist and distort. A sickly green-purple light pulsed and grew, consuming the vast expanse of the sky. The very sand beneath the “Dessicated Fox’s” subtle gait trembled. This was no natural phenomenon; this was a rupture, a wound in reality itself, born of impossible energies. Its internal sensors registered the precise quantum echoes – the chilling signature of a high-yield atomic weapon, detonated somewhere else, sometime else, but tearing through here.
With a final, earsplitting shriek of displaced reality, something slammed through the vortex. The rift snapped shut behind it, leaving a metallic clang that seemed to ripple across the desert.
Standing amidst the newly settled dust was a mech, immediately recognizable as part of the legendary Stormer lineage, yet distinctly its own. This was UNS-66 Stormer, a Tactical Zeoform. It stood on two powerful, anthropomorphic legs, giving it a distinctly human-like silhouette, broad-shouldered and powerfully built. Its chassis was a uniform, sun-baked desert yellow, perfectly camouflaged against the dunes.
A deep scoring ran across its left shoulder pauldron, and a section of its chest plating was buckled inward, revealing sparking conduits beneath. Scorch marks streaked its yellow armor, and one of its optical sensors glowed erratically, like a dying ember.
While its core design echoed the formidable Stormers of legend, its weapon configuration was strikingly different, featuring sleeker, multi-barreled rockets mounted on its shoulder where its predecessor might have carried a single, massive cannon and massive blade. Yet, despite the visible damage, it radiated an aura of grim, unwavering purpose.
A crackle of static, then a synthesized voice, thick with distortion, filled the vast silence of the desert, utterly devoid of surprise or distress. The “Stormer” appeared through the rift. “A little worse for wear, but totally functional. Reporting for duty.” The words hung in the hot air, a stark declaration, as if traversing a tear in existence was merely a scheduled transfer.
The Dessicated Fox remained still, his attention entirely on the new arrival. “Functional, you say?”his reply deep and resonant, cut through the oppressive quiet. “Looks like you had a… complex journey, unit.”
UNS-66 shifted its weight slightly. Its head, sculpted like a battle helmet, tilted, its good eye focusing on Dessicated Fox. “Affirmative. Mission parameters required transit through anomaly. Structural integrity compromised at 78%, primary weapon systems at 62%, shield emitters fluctuating. Power core stable, minimal flux.” It relayed its status with clinical precision, its gaze sweeping the desolate landscape as if assessing a new deployment zone.
“So, you’re reporting for duty,” Dessicated Fox mused. “What duty, exactly, and to whom?”
The UNS-66’s good eye remained fixed. “To the primary timeline. To prevent divergence. Directive received: report to Dessicated Fox. Your designation: ‘Dessicated Fox.’ Known for improbable but resounding victories.”
The desert wind stirred, kicking up fine sand around the new arrival. Dessicated Fox processed the information, a flicker of something akin to recognition.”Improbable, huh? Well, you’ve certainly presented me with a new kind of ‘improbable.’ Looks like we’ve got our next project.” It gestured to the damaged mech. “Begin self-diagnostic upload. This will require… specialized attention.”
The UNS-66 stood silent, its good eye unwavering, its desert-yellow frame a striking, battle-scarred silhouette against the endless sand. It was a silent promise of future battles and untold stories waiting to be unearthed. The silent desert, once home only to the echoes of war, was now alive with the hum of possibility, and the distant echo of a conflict that had just arrived through a rent in the very fabric of existence.
A second “Stormer” tactical Zeoform for use with Zeo genesis and Konflict 47. Thanks again to Rob for the 3D printing.
The night’s macabre symphony was not yet complete. From the deepest, most shadowed part of the wadi, a new tremor began, one that dwarfed the struggles of Soldat 2. The very ground buckled and groaned, a deeper, older sound. Dust billowed, forming a vast, swirling shroud, and from its heart, a gargantuan form began to rise.
This was the Stormer, an even larger Zeoform, its silhouette a monstrous, multi-limbed behemoth against the blood-orange sky. Long dormant, perhaps since the start of the war, its restoration was a testament to the Fox’s terrifying foresight. With a final, earth-shattering lurch, the Stormer ascended, its vast, dark form eclipsing the dunes, a true titan awakened to join the unholy legion.
Yet, the Stormer’s awakening was not a resurrection of perfect power. It stood, colossal but still, its multi-faceted eyes dull, its armored plates rent and scarred by epochs of burial. A low, agonizing hum resonated from its core, a sound not of engines, but of psychic anguish. Its long dormancy had left it severely degraded, requiring extensive psychic repairs before it could truly march to war.
Spectral technicians, conjured from the desert’s own tormented spirits by the Desiccated Fox’s will, would soon begin to phase into existence around it, their ethereal tools glowing with an unearthly light. They would mend its shattered neural network with threads of raw thought, re-forge its broken limbs with materialized shadow, and re-ignite its weapon systems with captured souls.
The mechanical repairs were a gruesome ballet of spectral engineering. Africa Corpse skilled engineers would move step-by-step through the Stormer’s metal hull, re-knitting severed power conduits with strands of solidified despair. Gears, long seized by rust and sand, would be purged of their earthly impurities by scorching wisps of spiritual flame, turning with a chilling, friction-less silence.
Where armored plates had been ripped away, the technicians wove new, phantom alloys from the very dust of the desert, infused with the resilience of forgotten curses. Twisted pistons would be straightened by invisible forces, their hydraulic fluids replaced with a viscous, glowing ichor that pulsed with dark life.
Weapons systems, choked with centuries of sand, were scoured clean by blasts of spectral wind, their barrels gleaming with an unnatural, hungry sheen. Each repair was not just a physical act, but a ritual, binding the Stormer ever tighter to the malevolent will of the Desiccated Fox.
Finally, with a tremor that shook the very foundation of the wadi, the Stormer’s rehabilitation was complete. Its multi-faceted eyes, once dull, flared with an intelligent, chilling glow, now reflecting the Dessicated Fox’s malevolent purpose. Its colossal limbs, no longer stiff with millennia of disuse, articulated with a low, powerful whir. It rose to its full, towering height, a nightmare rendered in steel and dark magic.
As if on cue, a tide of sand-blasted infantry, phantom tanks, and lesser reanimated constructs began to crawl from the shadows of the dunes, forming a grotesque, unearthly parade behind the newly restored titan. This was the Dessicated Fox’s true army, an impossible force of undead war machines and reanimated soldiers, ready to march under the blood-orange sky, the chilling vanguard of a weird war that would consume the desert and beyond.
The Stormer’s reintegration was seamless, a monstrous cog sliding perfectly into a horrifying machine. Its very presence solidified the psychic links that bound the Africa Corpse, a silent, pervasive hum of shared purpose and malevolent energy flowing from the Fox through the titans and into every reanimated soldier. Its sheer mass and newly restored, devastating firepower sent a ripple of dark confidence through the undead ranks, an unspoken promise of overwhelming destruction.
The desert was no longer just their battlefield; it was their tomb, and from it, a new and terrible empire was beginning to stir.
Another Zeoform for Zeo Genesis. The Stormer Tactical Zeoform is synonymous with the Africa Corpse and sees wide-spread through many hot zones. The Stormer uses a distinctly humanoid configuration granting it more agility than the Soldat and allowing it to simply pick up and use a variety of weapons as dictated by mission and role.
The battle was over in minutes, the desert air still thick with the tang of ozone and spent ammunition. As Soldat 1 stood silent amidst the fallen patrol, a deep, unsettling tremor began in the sand. Cracks spiderwebbed across the dunes, orange light filtering from unseen depths. Gradually, monstrous segments of corroded metal and twisted cables breached the surface.
The desert night hung heavy, thick with the metallic tang of ozone and the faint, sweet scent of blood. Soldat 1 stood motionless, a sentinel of silent destruction, its optical sensors reflecting the dying embers of a hastily extinguished British patrol. But the silence was a lie, a momentary breath before the storm. A deep, guttural groan, not of engine or metal, but of something ancient and malevolent, vibrated through the cracked earth.
Beneath the swirling sand, a titanic form stirred. Soldat 2, a grotesque mockery of engineering, groaned with the protest of corroded joints and reanimated hydraulics.
With a low, grinding roar, Soldat 2 uncoiled, a leviathan of steel and necromantic power, rising from the earth like a colossal, ancient sand worm, its multi-faceted optics glowing with malevolent purpose. The true horror of the Africa Corpse was only just beginning to stir.
It was buried deep, its lower half lost to the thirsty dunes, its massive body tilted at a perilous 45-degree angle. Yet, with horrifying resolve, its immense, blocky arms, already scarred by the elements and unnaturally decayed, began to claw. Sand erupted in cascading waves, illuminated by the sickly orange glow of the setting sun, as the mech heaved, a monstrous beast trying to free itself from its sandy tomb. Exposed wires sparked, internal lights flickered with a ghastly green, betraying the unnatural life within.
Then, with a hiss of releasing pressure, a hatch on Soldat 2’s upper torso slowly cranked open. From the dark maw, silhouetted against the internal glow, emerged Kommandant Eisenfaust. He was not a man, not anymore. His gaunt face was a roadmap of ancient battles and unholy pacts, his uniform tattered but still bearing the grim insignia of the Africa Corpse.
His eyes, burning with an internal, infernal light, scanned the desolate horizon. He was an undead hero, resurrected for a war far stranger than any he had fought in life, stepping forth from his reanimated war machine.
The Dessicated Fox’s will had stirred them both from their slumber, and the desert would once again run red with the blood of those who dared to oppose the rising tide of the weird war.
With a surge of dark power, Soldat 2’s TAR-29d Gulo Assault Rifle, a relic of forgotten skirmishes now humming with malevolent energy, was raised in the air.
Round after round ripped into the twilight, not aimed at an enemy, but as a deafening, echoing declaration of his return. At his other arm, the ancient Ohkara Shield flared with a searing, otherworldly light, emitting a loud, defiant salute that cut through the desert’s oppressive silence.
The sound was a challenge, a promise of retribution.
As the last rounds echoed into the vastness, Kommandant Eisenfaust’s glowing gaze locked onto Soldat 1. A flicker of recognition, a silent bond forged in shared damnation, passed between the two reanimated entities. Once again, the two brothers-in-arms, bound by the Dessicated Fox’s unholy will, were reunited, ready to unleash the true horror of the Africa Corpse upon a world unprepared for their weird war. The desert would once again run red with the blood of those who dared to oppose the rising tide of their terror.
Thanks again to Rob for a second 3D print, this time with a big shooty thing. Hopefully a few more to come, Rob?
The sun beat down on the cracked earth of the North African desert, a relentless, searing hammer against the armored chassis of the Africa Corpse’s Zeoforms. But this wasn’t the Africa Korps of history books. This was the Africa Corpse, a twisted mockery, where sand-blasted tanks groaned with the spirits of dead crews and the very dunes whispered forgotten incantations. And at its head, a desiccated figure, skin like ancient parchment, eyes glowing with a malevolent, otherworldly intelligence: the Desiccated Fox.
Soldat 1, a hulking mass of reinforced steel and servo-motors, stood sentinel on a ridge overlooking a wadi. Its formidable frame, typical of a Zeo Genesis Soldat-class unit, was caked in layers of desert dust, its once crisp field grey paint peeling in the intense heat. The jagged shrapnel damage from the last skirmish—a British anti-tank round—should have rendered it inert. Instead, the Fox had found it, had breathed into its complex systems a chilling new directive, a duty beyond normal operational parameters. Its integrated TTCL-3 “Boomer” Combat Launcher, an anachronistic but brutally effective weapon, hummed with suppressed power, while its Okhara IM-Shield was held with an unnerving, automated precision.
Its multi-spectral optical sensors, enhanced by the Fox’s grim gift, picked out movement in the shimmering heat haze below. Not just the familiar heat signatures of Allied patrols, but something else. Something wrong. “Soldat 1,” a voice rasped in its internal comms, dry as a desert wind, bypassing vocalizers and directly interfacing with its core processing unit. It was the Fox. “Report.”
Soldat 1 transmitted the raw data from its sensors directly into the Fox’s consciousness: A lone British patrol. A faint, dry chuckle echoed in its circuits. “Ah, the British searching for water. Persistent little scavengers. They seek to unearth the ‘Heart of the Oasis.’ A fool’s errand, but one we can exploit.”
The Fox’s plans were always complex, always veiled in layers of morbid strategy. Soldat 1 didn’t need to understand them fully. It just needed to obey. The Dessicated Fox’s will was law in the Africa Corpse, a silent, absolute command that permeated every reanimated soldier, every phantom tank, and every repurposed Zeoform.
“Engage their rear guard. Drive them forward. We shall see what secrets their desperation unearths”. Soldat 1’s heavy treads shifted, a deep rumble that sent vibrations through the sandy ridge. It aimed its integrated rifle. The cultists, caught up in their grotesque ceremony, were oblivious. A burst of calibrated fire erupted from its weapon. The shrill sound of rocket against rock was quickly followed by the first enemy dropping, their water search suddenly and violently interrupted.
The desert night swallowed the last cries as Soldat 1, the reanimated Zeoform, moved like a silent phantom. The British patrol, unsuspecting in the orange-hued twilight, spotted the hulking silhouette too late. Its internal TCL-3 “Boomer” Combat Launcher spat raw power, cutting down men with impossible precision. Grenades bounced harmlessly off its corroded chassis, its glowing eyes fixed on its prey. The few rounds that struck its armor merely sparked. Within moments, the patrol was reduced to scattered bodies and abandoned gear, another testament to the Desicated Fox’s unholy power, leaving only the chilling echo of its victory in this vast, weird, war.
The remains of the British patrol scrambled for cover, their guttural cries echoing across the wadi. Soldat 1 advanced with the deliberate, unstoppable efficiency of a war machine, its movements eerily silent save for the grinding of its internal mechanisms, its aim unwavering. It was no longer a standard Zeoform, not really. It was a precision instrument of the Desiccated Fox’s unholy will, forever bound to the weird war of the North African sands.
As the shattered enemy patrol stumbled deeper into the wadi, driven by Soldat 1’s relentless advance, a faint tremor ran through the ground, growing in intensity. The Fox’s mental presence sharpened within Soldat 1’s processors, a low hum of malevolent anticipation. Something was was stirring. And Soldat 1, the first and most loyal of the Dessicated Fox’s reanimated legion of machines, would be there to ensure the Fox’s twisted game played out exactly as he intended. The desert, after all, held more than just sand and heat; it held forgotten horrors, and the Africa Corpse was here to awaken them.
Zeo Genesis is a scalable skirmish miniatures battle game of big armor suits locked in kinetic action. Zeo units go head to head in an escalating shadow war as one of the few human occupied star systems goes dark. Far from any earth we know and in a future of our own making. Humankind has fled before a looming darkness and built a new civilization among unknown stars.
The “Soldat” is a particular type of “Zeoform” unit within the Zeo Genesis game. It’s described as a venerable military zeoform that, despite being somewhat obsolete even at its prototype stage, still performs admirably in garrisons, militias, and second-line units. It was designed with improved armor production techniques, though it made compromises in mobility, sensors, and weaponry, often relying on numbers to prevail against more advanced Zeoforms. The Soldat Zeo belongs to the GuardCorps faction within the game.
“Soldat 1” and the “Desiccated Fox” in 28mm scale
Thanks to Rob for printing the Soldat models for me. Another Soldat in the next few days.
Teaser:
The battle was over in minutes, the desert air still thick with the tang of ozone and spent ammunition. As Soldat 1 stood silent amidst the fallen patrol, a deep, unsettling tremor began in the sand. Cracks spiderwebbed across the dunes, orange light filtering from unseen depths. Gradually, monstrous segments of corroded metal and twisted cables breached the surface. With a low, grinding roar, Soldat 2 uncoiled, a leviathan of steel and necromantic power, rising from the earth like a colossal, ancient sand worm, its multi-faceted optics glowing with malevolent purpose. The true horror of the Africa Corpse was only just beginning to stir.