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Crown Prince Akira Nakatomi, head of the Nakatomi Clan, with his banner bearer and a warrior monk

📌 This is part of the "Purple and Blood" storyline ◾️

The Black Sea Gambit

It is May 19th 2033, a symbolic date. Under moonlight that silver-painted the Pontic shoreline, five figures emerged silently from an inflatable craft. The "Atreus Solutions" mercenary team moved with practiced precision, securing their vessel against the gentle tide.

Captain Laskaris, an Amasia Avenger specialist, checked his assault rifle's suppressor while Lieutenant Diogenes from Trapezous Shadows scanned the cliffs with thermal optics. The three Dromon Marines—Karas, Petridis, and Santos—formed a defensive perimeter, their wetsuit-clad forms barely distinguishable from the dark volcanic sand.

"Signal's good," whispered Diogenes, indicating the artillery positions two kilometers inland. "Four howitzers, minimal security."

Laskaris nodded. "Prince Alexios is paying top dollar for this beachhead. His Komnenian Restoration Army needs these guns silent before dawn."

The team activated their luminescent tattoos—the company's winged lion insignia briefly glowing blue against their skin before fading to stealth mode.

"Remember," Laskaris said, "we're not just taking history's paycheck. If the Komnenian restoration succeeds, Atreus Solutions gets exclusive security contracts across Pontus."

The team moved forward into the darkness, leaving nothing behind but disappearing footprints in the wet sand.

📌 This is part of the Blackcell storyline ◾️
📌 If you are interested to buy the minifigures or order some similar, please DM me

🦅 Komnenian Dawn

19 May 2033 – Coast of Pontus, near Trapezous

Under the cover of darkness, a black inflatable boat knifed silently through the Pontic surf. The five-man strike team from Myrmidon Solutions Ltd, a mercenary outfit of quiet renown, approached the craggy shore near ancient Trapezous. One operator from the elite Amasia Avengers unit, bred for direct action, led the team. Beside him moved the ghostlike silhouette of a Trapezous Shadows unit scout, his recon gear matte and silent. The trio of Dromon Marines, hardened coastal raiders, followed in tight formation.

Their mission was precise: suppress three mobile artillery units perched inland, threatening the safe landing of the Komnenian Restoration Army. Hired by a bold Pontic prince with imperial dreams, the team’s success would crack open the coast for a wider invasion — the first real step toward reviving the ancient Komnenian dynasty.

📌 This is part of the Blackcell storyline ◾️
📌 Minifigures will be available in April's products drop in our online store

We present to you the armies of the contestants of the "Clash Of Crowns" contest

⚔ Elves of the Golden Vale (Warforged category)
by

The black surf pounded Tosul’s jagged shoreline as Plantasea’s Hell Legion ODA 7 moved in. Six shadows, soaked to the bone, eyes cold behind night-vision lenses. Their target: a rotting co**se of a resort, abandoned for years, now a GLA cache across from Bahn Puor Island.

Captain Vance kicked in the rusted side door. Inside, rot and mildew clung to the crumbling stone walls. Sergeant Holt and Corporal Briggs cleared the first floor in brutal silence — the sharp crack of suppressed rifles ending the only resistance they found: two half-asleep guards who didn’t even get a chance to scream.

They moved fast. Crates cracked open under Maddox’s knife — rifles, explosives, blood money stacked in greasy bundles. Enough to light half the island on fire.

On the rooftop, Kane adjusted his scope against the salty wind. Rourke set up a perimeter, every shadow a threat. They could feel it — this was too easy.

From a collapsed stairwell, movement. More GLA rats, clutching battered AKs, scrambling like cockroaches. Vance didn’t hesitate — three clean shots, three bodies dropped into the dust.

"Load what you can. Burn the rest," Vance growled.

Maddox planted charges while Briggs dragged the last of the stolen cash into waterproof packs. No words — just the hum of violence, the mechanical rhythm of men who had done this too many times to count.

As they exfiltrated across the surf, the charges blew. The old resort coughed fire into the night sky, drowning under its own betrayal.

Hell Legion didn’t look back.

Tonight, Tosul bled for Plantasea.

📌 This MOC is from back 2020 for RPG
📌 Plantasea andTosul are fictional coutnries from this game
📌 DM us to propose you of how to equip your units in the best and most economical way from our products

Two Stalkers move cautiously through the dense mist of the Zone, their breath rasping through aging gas masks. The taller one, known only as Makar, grips a battered AK with both hands, eyes constantly scanning the treeline. His partner, Yuri, shorter and stockier, carries a rusty 2nd world war rifle slung low, fingers twitching near the trigger. They pass an old but still solid bunker, sealed and cold.

The air is heavy with that strange, metallic tang that always comes before trouble. Birds stopped singing miles back. Something's off, but that’s just life in the Zone. As they skirt the bunker’s edge, Makar raises a fist—halt. Yuri freezes.

There’s a sound. Low. Rhythmic. Not mechanical, not natural. A heartbeat? No—two. Coming from inside the bunker.

They exchange glances. Against their better judgment, they enter.

Inside, it’s dark, the air damp with rot and ozone. Then they see it: two figures. Stalkers. Identical gear, same weapons. But motionless, standing in perfect silence like statues. Makar steps closer—and freezes. The gas mask... it's his.

His own battered mask, the scratch on the left lens, the burn mark on the sleeve—it’s him. Yuri turns, eyes wide in the dim light. His double stares back.

A shriek rips through the air—metal, bone, mind. The doppelgängers move, mirroring their every step.

The Zone remembers. The Zone copies.

And it doesn’t let go.
The bunker is an older build of a some level HQ (18?) from Boom Beach mobile game

🎖 BrickLabs first opened its doors on April 21st, 2021, and every year since, we’ve marked the occasion with a bang!

🍾To celebrate our Brickversary, we’re bringing out fresh, exclusive minifigure releases and launching some of our biggest sales of the year.

🎉Get ready—our anniversary event runs from April 21st through April 25th, and you won’t want to miss what we have in store!

-40% in bases
-30% in fabric products
-30% in mugs
-30% in stickers
-30% in World War 2 helmets and weapons -20% in new custom made minifigures
-20% in handpainted Medieval helmets

Knights Of Platamon Army Units and points according to contest rules

⚔ The Raid

Deep in the shadows of geopolitical tension, Plantasea’s secret services established a covert surveillance outpost just a few kilometers from the border of the enigmatic neighboring state of Latveria. This hidden facility, masked as a weather station, appeared to be actively intercepting high-level communications across the frontier — a move that could easily ignite diplomatic chaos if exposed.

Reports soon emerged of unusual signal activity traced directly to Latverian territory, suggesting a potential counter-operation or even sabotage. With deniability as a top priority, Plantasea’s high command activated the elite Beta Squadron of the Hell Legion — their most feared and shadowy unit — to investigate and neutralize the threat.

Under the cover of darkness, Beta Squadron crossed into Latveria in a black operation officially denied by both governments. Their objective: uncover the source of the interference, assess whether Latverian forces were involved, and shut it down — permanently.

📍 This MOC is from back 2022 for RPG

💀 In the hellish mud-choked battlefields, Gefreiter Hans stands as a stoic embodiment of Germanic resilience and discipline. Clad in a weathered dark blue-black uniform stained with grime from countless campaigns, he moves with ghostlike precision through the fog of war. His rusty Stahlhelm helmet, dented from relentless combat and bearing the faded insignia of the Prussian Iron Cross, sits slightly askew with scratched glasses perched atop rather than inside. Below them, a faceless gas mask clings to his features – its lenses fogged and cracked – hissing softly with each measured breath, turning him into an icon of inhuman endurance against the toxic miasma of this apocalyptic conflict.

In his gloved hands, Hans grips a battered submachine gun, its worn metal telling tales of unceasing violence. The weapon bears a massive sword-like bayonet – a brutal fusion of modern firepower and medieval savagery perfect for when ammunition runs scarce and fighting turns savage. Both gun and blade are stained dark with the blood of countless foes, speaking to the relentless close-quarters combat that defines his existence.

Hans belongs to a fanatical remnant of a once-proud empire, now fighting across a nightmarish landscape of barbed wire, crumbling bunkers, and occult-riven trenches. Here, amidst the screams of the damned and the roar of artillery, he battles not just rival nations but infernal forces unleashed by mankind's hubris. Whether storming hellish strongholds or defending cursed positions, his duty remains bound by iron will and unyielding faith – steel, smoke, and sacrifice until the bitter end.

🛡

The Long Watch

The desert stretched endlessly, a wasteland of dust and rock. Between Basra and the Iranian frontier, two Ghost Fang scout-snipers and their robotic dog approached a forgotten outpost.

Lieutenant Sam “Gunner” Rourke and Ari “Hawk” Tanaka moved with practiced ease, wrapped in shemaghs, their old U.S. desert camo BDUs blending into the dust. Their M8 rifles hung low, fingers near the trigger wells. Deacon, their robotic dog, carried all their supplies—rations, ammo, extra weapons, and a comms unit.

The outpost was barely functional—a sagging tent beneath a rusted satellite antenna, with a makeshift wooden fence on two sides. Barrels of water, oil, and lubricant lined the entrance, along with a pile of tires meant for desert buggies.

A man leaned against one of the barrels, wearing a faded Apex Defense vest and a sun-beaten cowboy hat. In his hands was a notebook, not a weapon.

“You Ghost Fang?” he asked, looking up lazily.

Rourke nodded. “Contract says we can resupply.”

The man, Elias Reed, smirked. “Help yourselves inside. Got comms gear under the tent, too.”

Hawk adjusted her shemagh. “We won’t transmit unless necessary.”

“What’s the job?” Reed asked.

Rourke took a sip from his canteen. “Recon at a refinery near the border. Apex is interested. Local militia might be moving in. HQ wants intel on them.”

Reed chuckled. “Same $h1t, different day.”

Rourke had been a Marine Sniper, fighting in the Middle East, then contracting in Africa and Asia. Hawk was ex-JSDF special forces who went off-grid after Japan banned private military work. Reed had fought in Fallujah before becoming a merc, working wherever the pay was good.

No flags, no loyalty—just another mission.

Rourke tapped Deacon. The robotic dog’s optics flared red—no threats, just the endless desert. The long watch continued.

📌 This is part of the Blackcell storyline ◾️
📌 Minifigures will be available in April's products drop in our online store