"Ugh... hh... hh..."
Faint wheezing, like the creak of worn-out bellows, persisted with jarring incongruity amid the deathly stillness at the bottom of the impact crater, in the filth soaked with green blood and a slurry of flesh and bone.
Uralk, the Ork Warboss from Ullanor, had his chest and abdomen torn open, his bones shattered, his spine ripped out, and his face ruined beyond recognition. He had become a vast, writhing lump of flesh that barely retained its shape. Yet the almost instinctive, savage vitality originating from his "WAAAGH!!!" psychic core, together with the purest, most absolute rage born from the destruction of all his dignity and ambition, stubbornly sustained his final breath.
The sole remaining eye in his crushed head, sunk deep in the mire, had not closed.
Webs of blood vessels covered the eyeball, and its pupil had dilated, yet it still turned with stubborn, agonizing effort, fixing on Lorgar as he stood at the crater's edge, looking down on him like a golden deity.
All his former arrogance, cruelty, and excitement at the hunt had vanished from that gaze. Only venomous resentment remained, mingled with endless pain and boundless hatred after being ground utterly into the dust.
He could not move, could not roar, could not even think clearly. But the fury that embodied the entire meaning of his existence burst from his dying soul like a tangible curse, "nailing" itself to Lorgar.
Yet beyond "watching" him with that final gaze, he could do nothing.
Even lifting a finger or moving his tongue had become an impossible wish.
Lorgar naturally felt that stare.
He tilted his head slightly, the lines of his bronze face as cold and hard as carved stone in the faint light he emitted and the moon reflected.
He calmly met Uralk's venomous