”This is it. The big door at the end of the hall, besides the big guy” Griever murmured to the men behind him. ”Check your rebreathers and put those ugly faces on.”
The instruction was hardly necessary. Their demon-face rebreathers had been checked and double-checked barely five minutes ago and the Sangu brothers did not need to expend effort to terrify people. Armed all the way to their rotted teeth, with muscled arms carpeted by scar tissue and painted faces of rough-hewn granite, they looked as mean and nasty as any who had walked Ovligath’s underhive.
Three-fourths into the hall, the door guard noticed them. A bloated mountain of a man, he positioned himself between the door and the interlopers, began to rumble out a challenge. He didn’t get far before three lasbolts punched sizzling holes into his torso. The brothers put two more into his skull to be sure.
Griever was appreciative of the fact that his rebreather protected him from the stench. Nurglites never smelled good, but they were even worse when they burned. Gesturing the brothers to stand guard, he got to work on the door. The locking mechanism was standard issue. Bypassing it was a matter of minutes.
A series of clunks, then metallic scraping sound as ancient servos began to drag slabs of reinforced steel aside. Griever and the brothers positioned themselves to face the doorway, weapons at the ready.
The first thing they noticed were the rats. The spacious chamber was overrun with chittering vermin. The room was furnished with things that would have been expensive in their better days, but now bore testament to the god of entropy. Amidst the time-worn clutter, a tall, gaunt figure dressed in moth-eaten ballroom dress stood facing away from the doorway. If the occupant had noticed the intruders, they didn’t acknowledge them.
A vague feeling of unease came over Griever, but he forced it aside and tried to focus on the job. Taking a few careful steps towards the gangly being, he raised his voice and declared: "You've got three laspistols aimed on your head, Nurglite. Turn around slowly, no funny business, and we won’t fry you.”
Long seconds passed without the tall figure acknowledging the threat, or indeed, the presence of the thugs. His patience wearing thin quickly, Griever took a few more hurried steps before he was stopped by an unearthly sound, seemingly coming from everywhere at once.
”YOUR PRESENCE TELLS ME ULGO'S GONE TO JOIN GRANDFATHER NOW. AS ALL WILL, IN TIME.”
The strange voice, a droning legion of mourners, submerged the gangers in a sea of dizzying echoes. Shaking his head to ward off the noise, Griever took aim on the figure again, only to realize his body was answering his commands with drugged, shaky, sluggish motions, much too slow to take the shot before the voice ripped into him again...
"A LAMENTATION, AND A CELEBRATION, FOR POOR, POOR ULGO... YES. HE WAS ALWAYS A MOST FAITHFUL SERVANT. HIS FLESH WILL NOURISH A MILLION LIVES."
Shaking violently, Griever's weapon slipped from his grasp and clattered on the floor. A sharp crack of a laspistol pierced the disorienting echoes, the lasbolt slamming the far wall harmlessly - Griever's panicked mind told him it must have been one of the Sangu brothers. Finally, he could see the figure turning around, revealing a profligate death mask of lavish makeup, behind which icy eyes pierced into him, their insane gaze giving rise to a whole new level of terror welling up inside him. Without shifting his eyes from Griever's, the figure began to sing, a crawling, terrible dirge that made him crumple like a mannequin whose strings had been cut. As blood began to trickle out of his ears and his terrified mind tried to will his body into action, Griever noticed one of the rats scurrying into his field of vision. The rodent was wearing a harness with an attached miniature amplifier, transmitting the Nurglite's harrowing song.
A rat-mounted miniaturized morivox system, what remained of his rational mind reasoned. As the rat-swarm began to gnaw on his carcass, Griever despondently ruminated how unfit of a Blood God's servant his death would be.