Physical Body is irrelevant

Lights blazing, the gun-cutter surged in overhead in a killing run. The downdraft blasted the icy bracken flat and threw us over. Medea was low, so low...
The gun-servitors trained wing and chin turrets on the charging daemonhost.
When they opened up, their firepower was so monumental, they vaporised it.
...
‘You have no idea what you’re up against, do you?’ asked Husmaan.
We all turned. The old skin-hunter from Windhover was stalking down the moor slope towards us, his long-las slung over one crooked arm. Fierce graupel had begun to fleck down from the clouding sky.
‘Do you?’ he hissed again. I felt Bequin tense.
It wasn’t Husmaan.
Husmaan looked at me. White light shone from his eyes. His voice was Prophaniti’s.
‘Not the slightest clue,’ he said. ‘You can destroy my physical host, but you cannot break the links to the master.’
‘Husmaan!’ Inshabel cried.
‘Not here any more. He was the most open mind, so I took him. He will serve for a while.’



"Malleus", Chapter Fifteen