"This way, my Lords. I think you'll like what's in the next hold."
Heth leads the Space Marines out and down the hall once again. They round a corner, Heth glances back, seems about to say something when an unmistakable sound reaches the team's ears. Bolter fire, distant and muffled by intervening metal, but apparent to the Space Marines' senses nonetheless.
A moment later, four servitors round a corner in the hall ahead. Their eyes glow green with a malign sorcery, and black ichor pulses from their eyes and pores. Heavy vice grips on their hands snap shut with menace. Their eyes lock on the Space Marines, and in unison a stream of blasphemies issues forth from their internal vox units.
"Death to the servants of the Corpse Emperor!"