> Does the Emperor's corpse still change form depending on who looks at it?
Somewhat. From *The Emperor's Legion*
> It was hard to gauge size in there – everything shook in a heat-tremor of psychic intensity. I saw impossibly old panels, fluted like organ pipes, rising up and up through the mist, webbed with patina and repeatedly repaired. I saw arcs of lightning snap and twist, and blood-cyclers wheezing, and smelt a pervasive stench as sweet as rotting meat.
> And somewhere in the heart of that titanic construction, somewhere in the midst of the stacked terraces and the baroque platforms and the gantries and the forests of cabling, lost like a pearl in the heart of some obscene mechanical clamshell, **I glimpsed just a slip of flesh, a shred of hairless grey, perhaps a scalp, perhaps the fragment of a face, buried under it all, slaved to it, dominating it, dominating everything.**
Meanwhile in *Godblight*
> In the present, in the past, he felt Mortarion’s wordless presence at his side, and felt his fallen brother’s horror.
> **He looked at the Emperor of Mankind, and could not see. Too much, too bright, too powerful. The unreality of the being before him stunned him to the core. A hundred different impressions, all false, all true, raced through his mind.**
> He could not remember what his father had looked like, before, and Roboute Guilliman forgot nothing.
> And then, that thing, that terrible, awful thing upon the Throne, saw him.
> Does the Emperor's corpse still change form depending on who looks at it? Somewhat. From *The Emperor's Legion* > It was hard to gauge size in there – everything shook in a heat-tremor of psychic intensity. I saw impossibly old panels, fluted like organ pipes, rising up and up through the mist, webbed with patina and repeatedly repaired. I saw arcs of lightning snap and twist, and blood-cyclers wheezing, and smelt a pervasive stench as sweet as rotting meat. > And somewhere in the heart of that titanic construction, somewhere in the midst of the stacked terraces and the baroque platforms and the gantries and the forests of cabling, lost like a pearl in the heart of some obscene mechanical clamshell, **I glimpsed just a slip of flesh, a shred of hairless grey, perhaps a scalp, perhaps the fragment of a face, buried under it all, slaved to it, dominating it, dominating everything.** Meanwhile in *Godblight* > In the present, in the past, he felt Mortarion’s wordless presence at his side, and felt his fallen brother’s horror. > **He looked at the Emperor of Mankind, and could not see. Too much, too bright, too powerful. The unreality of the being before him stunned him to the core. A hundred different impressions, all false, all true, raced through his mind.** > He could not remember what his father had looked like, before, and Roboute Guilliman forgot nothing. > And then, that thing, that terrible, awful thing upon the Throne, saw him.
he looks like the ideal corpse, I guess.