Once the atmosphere had softened somewhat, even the more disagreeable aspects of the plan seemed easier to stomach.
"I suspect the orchestrators of this trial allowed our meeting as a signal that it's time to conclude," Conrad Curze remarked, taking the initiative. "We can proceed to the 'next phase'—though I've no fondness for my capricious father's notion of 'binding me to another via some sorcery,' if that 'other' is you, it's at least tolerable."
Fujimaru Ritsuka shrugged indifferently. "Well… let's start with the 'contract' itself. It's necessary—at least in the plan's initial stages."
"Enlighten me."
"We're both from Nostramo, so let's skip the niceties: You remember you're dead, right?"
"Vividly."
"And after ten thousand years in the materium, even a Primarch's remains would have decayed to nothing. That's understandable, yes?"
Conrad Curze waved a hand dismissively, urging her to continue.
"Given that, as a purely warp-borne entity—just a soul and essence now—how do you plan to walk the physical world without a body? You can't rely on bloody sacrifices like some lesser daemon, right?"
Under Fujimaru's pointed stare, Conrad Curze hesitated for two suspicious seconds before glancing away.
"—You actually considered that?!"
"...The Imperium is vast. Any world would yield countless sinners." The dead Primarch knew Fujimaru opposed the idea but hadn't grasped why. To him, it was logical. "If time is short, seizing a less-than-ideal vessel from a deserving target would suffice."
Fujimaru took a deep breath, pressing her hands to her face in despair.
"We'll need a long talk about laws and due process later…" Her voice was muffled behind her palms. "But I thought you had standards. Doesn't this—this near-cannibalism—bother you at all?"
Conrad Curze smirked, a shadow curling at the edges of his lips. "Did the Thronebound not tell you? I once carved statues from the flesh of the dead—including one of my father. He even spoke through it."
He brought this up not to make a point, but to unsettle the seemingly young mortal before him. Yet Fujimaru—neither ordinary nor truly adolescent—was far past being rattled by mere gore. Her response was another sigh, longer and louder, before she dropped her hands with a stern look.
"We'll discuss that too. Starting with your Legion's 'decorative' use of corpses and flayed skin." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "I won't waste breath on 'respect for the dead,' and I'm not criticizing your 'artistic traditions'—but at least mind the sanitation."
Against his will, Conrad Curze felt a flicker of amusement. If this "contract" bound him to her, life would hardly be dull.
Fujimaru waved a hand as if swatting the topic away. "Anyway—the 'contract' is a modified system to solve your lack of a physical form. Simplified: I can weave a near-identical body from ether in reality. The contract ensures it's you inhabiting it, not some warp-born stray."
Pausing to confirm no objections, she added: "It has other functions, but think of it as a deed of ownership. If you hate it, we'll dissolve it once we're out of the warp. Besides, you've maintained contracts on a far larger scale before."
Conrad Curze arched a brow. "I recall no such thing."
"Even ignoring my illusions, there's your Legion!" She gestured toward the Astartes on the bridge. "Did you never realize the geneseed implantation is essentially a 'genomic contract' with their Primarch?"
She studied his expression, then sighed. "Right. You didn't."
"So this 'genomic contract'—"
"—I regret using that example. I'm terrible at explaining magecraft theory!"
After a moment of sulking, she rallied: "The Astartes process exemplifies it well: They forge a genomic pact with their Primarch, undergoing metamorphosis, inheriting traits or abilities randomly, and instinctively struggling to rebel. Once established, it's irreversible. Higher-tier contracts—like Tiamat's—can overwrite a subject's psyche entirely. Thankfully, geneseed isn't that extreme."
Conrad Curze nodded. "And the contract the Emperor intends for us?"
"A standard magecraft pact, adapted from Chaldea's Spiritron summoning system." She shrugged. "No gene or soul tampering, no strict hierarchy—just a thaumaturgical 'channel' linking us. Might share some abilities. No elaborate rituals, easily dissolved, and reversible if needed. Practical for emergencies."
The Primarch remained noncommittal.
"You seem… unenthused?" Fujimaru circled him, trying to catch his gaze. "I'm used to multiple contracts, so one more doesn't matter. But if you hate it, we'll void it once your body's stable. I can even swear on my soul if that helps."
"That's not the issue." He nudged her back with a finger. "Stick to the plan. You've done well—but in this 'grand design,' you have your role, I have mine. We're temporary allies. No need to get cozy."
With that, he relinquished control of the illusion. Time resumed—and like shattered glass, Conrad Curze's form dissolved into nothingness.
He had left the trial.
From Conrad Curze's Perspective
To him, it was the world that fractured—the Nightfall, Fujimaru, even his own illusory body crumbling into golden motes, scattering into the infinite, formless expanse of the warp.
Here, time and space held no meaning. Though Fujimaru and the Emperor spoke of schedules and timelines, such concepts were moot until their return to reality. Even a Primarch could only describe his state in vague terms:
He floated in a gold-drenched void—directionless, boundless, weightless. His own form wavered at the edges, limbs dissolving into viscous black tendrils. The instability gnawed at him.
But what grated most was the figure before him: Ferrus Manus, radiant and solid, his soul-form unnervingly stable.
They had never been close in life. Death hadn't changed that. Their last "conversation" had nearly reignited their feud—had the Emperor not intervened, one might have slain the other anew.
"Have you decided?" Ferrus cut straight to the point, tone brittle.
"Since when do I have a choice?" Conrad sneered. "I am damned. Death was my only rightful end. Yet our father insists on resurrecting his 'tools' as he pleases. How many times must I refuse before he listens?"
This was why he'd withdrawn so abruptly. The reminder was bitter: he was a monster, lurking in shadows. Fujimaru, meanwhile—
"Father chose you for a reason," Ferrus interjected, derailing his thoughts with the same rote line he'd repeated fifty-six times. "Even if we don't yet understa—"
"—Or perhaps," Conrad cut in, sharp as a blade, "he woke me because you refused. Unlike me, you've had ten millennia as a 'Legion of the Damned,' free to manifest. Yet your sons have never witnessed your 'miracles.'"
His grin turned venomous. "Could it be… you fear that with a body, you'd no longer have excuses to avoid them?"