Yet his spirit, united with Dorn’s in that exquisite agonising pang, in that orgasmus of death, would transmigrate into a being of boiling ionised gas. In this form he would hover over the battlefield, dipping down to engulf enemy troopers, to consume these like fat in a furnace so that their smoke would rise up as incense into Dorn’s amber nostrils and by way of that conduit across time and space – beyond mortality itself – into the God-Emperor’s seered olfactory lobes so that the Divine Person would pause for a microsecond in his eternal scrutiny of the cosmos from his Golden Throne and
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I mean it's better than farting on him I guess?
