Conall stepped forward through the pain, the door looming over him. It was a sinister thing, all black wood with silver accents. A gargoyle knocker decorated the middle. A creak that sounded like a gunshot spread through the void as he opened it. He strode through the doorway, landing in the harsh and alien environment of-

His favorite bar?

And that was where he landed. There were the endless rows of shitty booze and shittier booze. Ready to be poured into a glass tankard. Yes, tankard. Not just a normal pint one, a full-size medieval tankard made of glass. The owner, Travis, had a real thing for the whole 'fantasy' theme. He even had one of those swinging wooden signs out front, with a name that made no sense in the slightest.

The tables were crowded and stained. The corner booths, perfect for ominous brooding, were coming apart at the seams. The place stunk like high Hell, and the drinks didn't taste much better.

But damn if it didn't have charm.

The number of memories Conall had made in this shithole was too high to count. The few celebrations. The constant event of getting dragged there by friends. The far too often one of drowning his troubles in alcohol and loneliness. One thing good about the bar was that it was perfect for that last occasion. Some of the stuff Travis could whip up wouldn't just drown your troubles, it would tie them up, break their bones, and stab them thirty-nine times in the chest.

And there was the man himself. Frozen in the act of pouring a drink, Travis was situated behind the sturdy counter of the bar. His face was frozen in that excited expression he had whenever he found a patron who would listen to his ridiculous stories. The man was staring off into space, looking at an empty seat, empty like they all were.

All the seats but one.

A mountain of a man was seated at the far end of the bar, nursing a beer. He looked to be at least seven feet tall, likely more. His muscles bulged out, struggling against the white three-piece suit that he wore. A green tie hung from his neck, loosened and stained. A mop of sandy brown hair rested on top of his head, complimented by a full curly beard. The man's eyes were solid green, iris, pupil, and whites.

He turned in his chair and gave Conall a slightly amused glance.

"Damn kid," he growled out. "That was pretty fast. Swore off the Divine and immediately charged in to meet one. I like your style."

Conall stood stunned for a moment, eyeing the exit and wondering just what the Hell was going on.

"Who the fuck are you?"

The man just laughed, before he spoke again. "Who do you think dumbass. Have you never seen a God before?" As he finished speaking, an Aura rippled through the room. It was so thick with power that you could see it, like tossing a stone into a lake. If Conall's Aura had scared a raccoon, this one could probably prod an entire planet into submission. And more worryingly, was the designation above the supposed God's head.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

God of Resilience Lv. 629369275308633360397629273998765599012738654091

The God, for that was all he could be, slammed down his drink and rose from his seat. "Listen up kid. I need something, and you are goig to help me get it. If you help, i'll give you all the precious 'control' you want. Deal?" His face sported a smug grin, as if he already knew what Conall's answer would be.

"Get out of my head." The man knew too much. He knew Conall's thoughts on the Divine, he knew about this bar, and he knew just what drove his reckless survival so far.

Another hearty laugh. "No can do pipsqueak. You have barely any Current. Nothing to block me, or any other God out. Your mind, at least for now, is an open book. And to answer what your thinking, Current is just what I call all the magical bullshit. Some call it mana, some call it Qi, and some just call it energy. It see it as affecting the ocean of magic around you with the tide of your will- in essence, a current."

Silence followed. He was still mulling over the fact that he was apparently meeting a God, and now his mind was getting read and he was getting lectured on 'magic'.

"Wh-"

"Who am I? I am Immortus, God of resilience. And as I said earlier, you, Conall Jeffries, are going to help me get something."

What the Hell could a God want that Conall could provide? He opened his mouth to speak, but was again cut off.

"What do I want? The sweet release of death."

"What?" He muttered. A God, whose entire 'domain' was about staying alive, and whose name sounded suspiciously like 'immortal', wanted to die?

The grin faded, and Immortus' face took on a serious and desperate pallor. "Tell me, mortal, do you know how long eternity is? Of course you fucking don't. Look at my Level. Look at my Domain. Look at my name. I have lived longer than this entire universe ever will. I have seen and done everything. I have lost everything. Do you know how many 'true loves' a man can have in eternity? How many spouses and children he can watch grow old and wither away?"

The God stepped forward, his Aura and tone roiling with barely concealed rage. "I long for death more than your pathetic mind can possibly fathom. I have thrown myself into countless black holes, singularities, supernovas. And nothing had the strength to end me. But you. Do you have any Idea how rare it is for a newly integrated being to get to Level 10 with only defensive and healing Skills? How many of those actually answer my call? Or how many of those perish before they can replace me? You are far from my first attempt, but hopefully, you will be the last."

Immortus' hands landed on Conall's shoulders, and the God's eyes bored into the depths of his soul. "If I can get you strong enough while only using Skills that fit within my Domain, than I can bequeath my power to you. I can lose the endless regeneration. I can die."

He leaned back, before offering a hand to shake. "Here's the deal. I give you as much help as the System allows, towards both your goals and mine. And you, little mortal, will eventually fulfil your side of the deal. Not in months, or years, or likely even centuries. But you, mortal, must kill me."