“Even rot has rhythm. Even death deserves a dance.”
In the shadow of titans and gods, one Nurgling has claimed the stage. Clad in nothing but sass and pustule, he rides the shoulder of a Plague Marine Champion like a crowned fool—equal parts herald and havoc.
This is note about horror. It’s about personality in decay. It’s about how joy survives in the swamp, how comedy walks hand-in-hand with entropy.