Many of the seemingly new-spawned or divergent Genestealer Cults that infest Imperial worlds are, in truth, splinters of existing broods working their way under the skin of a new population. These splinter cults retain much of their primogenitors’ culture and way of war, while also developing their own identity.

Whether stalking prey amidst primordial wilds or hunting rivals in the urban jungle of the underhive, the faithful of this cult have learned well the ways of the ambush predator. When they spring their trap, its jaws close inescapably.

Faith is a weapon for this cult. Their broods go to battle filled with a zealot’s frenzy, and fall upon their enemies in a frothing mass driven by devotion to the Star Children.

The mental influence of this cult’s leaders over their faithful brothers and sisters is especially strong. Many of their broods act almost as extensions of their masters’ wills, displaying a resolute spirit and martial efficiency that would shame the finest Imperial shock troops. They press forward or withdraw in perfect order, no matter their peril.

This cult has its roots amidst the Imperial underclasses who toil in the sprawling mines, manufactorums and abattoirs deep beneath their masters’ feet. Out of sight and mind for many generations, these faithful were able to stockpile many hidden caches of hardware and materiel to supply the armies of ascension.

Be they nomadic pioneers, underground freedom fighters or tribes raised upon hostile alien worlds, the faithful of this cult have mastered a highly mobile form of warfare. They swarm around their enemies, ducking from one patch of cover to the next while maintaining constant harassing fire.

This cult’s Patriarch has an overwhelming, almost god-like presence that flows out through the Broodmind to erode the individual personalities of its faithful. Hollow-eyed but utterly devout, they fight to the last with no thought for their own survival.

These cultists have access to alchemical and medicae facilities in which they experiment obsessively. The most toxic chemical agents produced from this process are distributed amongst their broods and used to coat blades, talons and - in the most extreme cases - even fangs, with hideous consequences for the cult’s foes.

Hailing from a war world, a fortress world or some other location with strong military traditions, this cult boasts unusually well-drilled broods. Quite aside from any Brood Brothers in their ranks, even the lowliest of the faithful can fight with the skill of seasoned paramilitaries.

Hardship is nothing new to the faithful of this cult. Having long suffered appalling conditions beneath a repressive regime, their brothers and sisters have become tough enough to shrug off all but the most punishing of wounds.

Whether hewing riches from hellish pits, butchering animal carcasses or toiling in forges, the faithful of this cult have become experts in handling the outsized industrial tools they now wield as weapons. To such warriors, it is no more challenging to butcher their foes than it is to tunnel through a rock face or carve up a slab of meat.

The faithful of this cult exhibit an inhuman ferocity and swiftness in battle that is all too reminiscent of the xenos bio-horrors whose taint surges through their veins. Enemies find their defence lines broken and overrun one after another with frightening speed.

This cult places great value upon its armoured fighting vehicles and swarms of light bikes and Ridgerunners. All such assets are ritually girded with additional armour plating, as well as being hung with fetishes and daubed with wyrm-form icons the better to earn the favour of the Patriarch.

The Broodmind signature of this cult is especially prominent and powerful. It resonates through each and every one of the faithful - none more so than their psykers, who are able to syphon this bombastic energy and transform it into potent synaptic emanations.

This cult has taken hold amongst the underbelly of its host society, to be spread by murderers, smugglers and rogues. Whether they hail from the serf classes of a feudal world, the vicious gangers of a hive city or the lawless frontiers of Human space, its faithful know how to brawl and slay without even a modicum of honour.

Wielding hefty industrial saws and drills, sufficiently determined broodkin can carve their way through the toughest enemy defence lines.

Like an alien predator suddenly pouncing upon its cornered prey, the cult surges forward as one.

As enemy fire hammers their position, so the faithful melt into the shadows to avoid its fury.

Many of the same techniques employed in freeing precious ores from bedrock can be applied to violently digging enemies out of fortified positions.

The faithful think nothing of abusing the machine spirits of their weaponry, deeming the stirring of those spirits’ wrath to be an acceptable price for the overcharged slaughter they can wreak.

The Aberrants of the cult’s dark underbelly take a grim satisfaction in their ability to shrug off horrific damage.

At great speed, the cult’s outriders roar into optimal firing positions to inflict catastrophic damage.

A key tenet of guerrilla warfare is knowing how to concentrate the fire of even inferior weapons to inflict maximum harm.

Even should their vehicle be terribly damaged and they themselves fatally wounded, this crew fight on with zealous fervour.

Even the most grievous wounds can be sealed over by those with the alien biology of the Tyranid under their skin.

Genestealer Cults are willing to sacrifice any asset for the cause.

Clamavuses are able to send corrupting data-wyrms burrowing into enemy machine spirits to weaken and degrade their hosts.

Even in death, the Kelermorph seeks to set a bloodthirsty example.

Cult psykers are able to employ the minds of the faithful as willing conduits for their unnatural powers.

Determined to destroy their enemies, some broodkin will risk hurling explosives into combat at point-blank range.

Each Patriarch’s broodcoven is made up of powerful individuals possessed of the skills and charisma needed to further its will.

The relics taken reverently from the Patriarch’s lair include captured guns, sentient blades and strange biomantic artefacts.

Through constant harassment tactics, Atalan Jackals can misdirect their enemies’ attention and leave them wide open to attack from an unexpected quarter.

So strong is the Genestealer influence on the psyches of some hybrids that occasionally their bestial nature takes over. The consequences are always bloody.

A long-planned strategy comes to fruition as the cultists rise up.

The cultists who infest this world know well that secrecy can be made into a weapon of war.

Genestealer Cultists are not above rigging valuable battlefield assets with explosive traps.

In dark nooks and crevices the true believers of the cult whisper and skulk, all but invisible to those who approach.

Ever cunning and duplicitous, broods of the faithful often vanish back into tunnels and vents after their initial strike, ready to attack again elsewhere.

A sudden hail of cultist fire forces the enemies’ heads down, leaving them unable to respond to the broodkin onslaught.

Squirming, crawling and scrabbling through confined spaces is second nature to many broodkin, and is a skill they use to assail seemingly impregnable enemy positions.

The faithful will gladly hurl themselves into harm’s way to protect the masters of their cult.

Light, swift cult elements often perform hit-and-run strikes against exposed enemies before racing back to cover.

Swift salvoes of gunfire suppress the enemy and spread panic in their ranks moments before the fanatical charge of the broodkin strikes home.

Some Sanctuses coat their blades and munitions with neurological agents formulated to fill the victim’s mind with psychic white noise. Disorientating at the very least, this effect induces hideous mental feedback in psykers.

Through pheromones or Broodmind summons, a slinking familiar is called from the shadows.

This explosive has been enhanced with unstable compounds brewed by the cults finest Biophaguses.