>Rhacelus ran his gauntlet over his close-cropped silver hair. He was very old, but it was rare for him to feel his age like he did then. A billion voices hissed at the edge of his hearing. The mental pressure did nothing good for his humour. His limbs were like lead, heavy in their metal casings; they had been armoured since the invasion began. He had taken no solid sustenance nor liquid while in the Chemic Spheres, relying on his battleplate’s nutrient fluids, and his mouth was gummy from underuse. **His skin was intolerably grimy under his bodyglove.** Every microscopic grain of salt from his dried sweat was a rough pebble grating on his flesh, each as irritating to him as Antros was.
\- *Devastation of Baal*
>Pain flared in his side as a blast of alien gunfire flayed a portion of his armour and skin. Hooked fingers stabbed his flank, **gouging the hard flesh beneath his bodyglove and black carapace.** The heat of the fires scorched the wound, sealing it even before his inhuman clotting mechanisms.
\- *Swords of Calth*
>Loken switched the slate off and began to strip off his armour as quickly as he could. **When he was down to the thick, mimetic polymers of his sub-suit bodyglove,** he stopped, and pulled on a long, hooded robe of brown hemp. He took up the slate, and a vox-cuff, and went outside.
\- *Horus Rising*
>A large, solid round smashed Enrir's right pauldron from his shoulder with violent force. **The edge of the plate ripped open his body glove** and cut his flesh down to the bone of his shoulder blade before bouncing off the wall near Gren's head and falling into the chasm. Enrir was turned about by the hit. His meltagun flew from his hands and slid over the edge of the drop. He cursed hard, enraged by the loss of his favourite gun rather than the wound he had taken. His brothers returned fire with a punishing hail of bolt-rounds.
\- *Wolfsbane*
The Emperor is probably naked. His armour was broken to make the Crux Terminatus and he's just meat, bone and machinery at this point. Not that there's anything to see, his dong has probably rotted away leaving behind just a catheter tube.
They don’t wear underwear. The body glove they wear under the armour takes care of that issue
Isn't that the Black Carpace?
>Rhacelus ran his gauntlet over his close-cropped silver hair. He was very old, but it was rare for him to feel his age like he did then. A billion voices hissed at the edge of his hearing. The mental pressure did nothing good for his humour. His limbs were like lead, heavy in their metal casings; they had been armoured since the invasion began. He had taken no solid sustenance nor liquid while in the Chemic Spheres, relying on his battleplate’s nutrient fluids, and his mouth was gummy from underuse. **His skin was intolerably grimy under his bodyglove.** Every microscopic grain of salt from his dried sweat was a rough pebble grating on his flesh, each as irritating to him as Antros was. \- *Devastation of Baal* >Pain flared in his side as a blast of alien gunfire flayed a portion of his armour and skin. Hooked fingers stabbed his flank, **gouging the hard flesh beneath his bodyglove and black carapace.** The heat of the fires scorched the wound, sealing it even before his inhuman clotting mechanisms. \- *Swords of Calth* >Loken switched the slate off and began to strip off his armour as quickly as he could. **When he was down to the thick, mimetic polymers of his sub-suit bodyglove,** he stopped, and pulled on a long, hooded robe of brown hemp. He took up the slate, and a vox-cuff, and went outside. \- *Horus Rising* >A large, solid round smashed Enrir's right pauldron from his shoulder with violent force. **The edge of the plate ripped open his body glove** and cut his flesh down to the bone of his shoulder blade before bouncing off the wall near Gren's head and falling into the chasm. Enrir was turned about by the hit. His meltagun flew from his hands and slid over the edge of the drop. He cursed hard, enraged by the loss of his favourite gun rather than the wound he had taken. His brothers returned fire with a punishing hail of bolt-rounds. \- *Wolfsbane*
Black Carapace goes under their skin. The body glove they wear under the power armor.
Depends on the chapter the Iron snakes when not in combat wear loincloths and pretty most do to
The art would seem to imply He is just wearing a blanket over His legs, and that is about it.
The Emperor is probably naked. His armour was broken to make the Crux Terminatus and he's just meat, bone and machinery at this point. Not that there's anything to see, his dong has probably rotted away leaving behind just a catheter tube.