"A newborn god in the Year of Turmoil..." the Skeleton King murmured.
"What? Where are they?!" Annan cried, looking around.
"I mean you, Annan. You've already taken the first step toward becoming a god."
"Me?" Annan pointed at himself, as incredulous as if he'd heard that Martin had used a wrench to make an Arcane Core. "I'm only an Elite Sorcerer. I can become a god?"
He knew Legendary was the limit for a Professional, but not for a living being. At that point, a Legendary could seek Divinity and become a demigod, then gradually gather Believers and steal a Divine Office until they kindled Divine Fire.
"Legendary status only gives you the right to compete for Divinity. You already have it, so you've skipped that stage."
"Wouldn't that make me the weakest god?"
"You can think of being a god as... a profession." The Skeleton King spoke words that bordered on blasphemy—but few beings had the standing to say them, and he was one.
He explained that godhood did not strengthen one's original profession. It existed separately and drew on Divine Power rather than Magic Power.
Become a god as a Legendary, and you would have both Legendary power and divine power. Become one as an Elite, and you would have both Elite power and divine power.
"Now is a good opportunity, Annan. The gods can't contact Allen World. The whole world is yours to cultivate."
Just as Annan was doing now: stealing the Lady's Believers and making them his own, like that boy Swent.
"Then what's the cost?"
Annan wasn't beside himself with joy. For one thing, it wasn't as though he'd never met a god. Was he supposed to go around telling people he'd once raised two? For another, there was a warning right in front of