Abaddon had split himself to make the task more efficient.
Helping as many as ten people at a time was the most practical way to get through an entire cargo hold of 1,500 split-minded gods.
However, that didn't mean it didn't hurt like hell.
Every time that Abaddon used the new powers that he still didn't understand, his mind felt like it was being kicked by a professional soccer player.
By the time he had helped a hundred of them, his nose had started bleeding and his sweating had become worse.
These were symptoms that all ten of his bodies tried to hide, but when one of his wives was basically part bloodhound, that was next to impossible.
"Stareee...."
Abaddon turned to the side and pretended to be looking for the next god in need of his mystical help.
He had been ignoring Bekka's searing gaze for so long now. It was admittedly much easier to do when you were actually working on something important.
