"Why did you always crawl out of the shadows?"
"Because it made you look like a standard, elusive villain?"
Fabius had nothing but contempt for Vashtorr, the so-called minor god. In his view, gods did not exist at all. Calling a Warp creature like Vashtorr, who merely played at being divine, a minor god was like being too scared to pick the biggest piece when eating shit.
"You need me." Vashtorr did not take offense at Fabius's lack of manners, appearing quite tolerant.
Fabius still wore that mad, wicked smile. "Let's discuss your terms first."
"Clone Abaddon, then hand the clone over to me," Vashtorr said.
Clone Abaddon.
The words "confused and bewildered" were practically written across Fabius's face when he heard that demand.
Though Fabius had roughly guessed that Vashtorr had sought him out because of cloning technology, he had never dreamed that Vashtorr would ask him to create a clone of Abaddon.
Rumor had it that Vashtorr had temporarily taken control of the Black Legion as the Warmaster's close friend and partner, using the massive undertaking of rebuilding the Soul of Vengeance and securing the Black Legion's logistics, weapons, and equipment supplies. Why would he want an Abaddon clone?
Fabius sank into thought. He was wary of Warp creatures, and unless he figured things out, he would not say another word to Vashtorr.
"Some suspect that I can repair Abaddon's wounds, or revive him in some grotesque state that his subordinates would find horrifying. For example, I might use Vile Arts to turn him into a half-daemonic being."
Vashtorr took the initiative, laying his cards on the table before Fabius.
"But in truth, I can do no such thing. His body was grievously wounded. That damned bird-man woman and the cyborg infused the power of the Anathema into