"And that's why you are here. Right at the very end, you finally grew a spine. You shoved your fingers into that ungrateful girl, gave her what she was begging for, and then walked away."
"Damn that was cold."
The old man clapped his hands together slowly.
"I respect that," the old man said, "It took you twenty-odd years, but you finally stopped being a little bitch. It's just a shame my previous chosen one ran you over with a ten-tonne truck immediately afterwards."
Rick froze. His eyes widened. "Wait. The psycho driving the truck... you know him?"
"Of course I know him," the old man chuckled.
"So this is your fault!" Rick yelled, "You two are in it together."
"Fucking shameless. I even gave that old bastard my drink."
"Who the fuck are you?"
The old man stood up from his golden throne. He spread his arms wide, looking incredibly smug.
"I am the God of Mischief," he announced grandly.
Rick blinked. The anger drained out of his face, replaced entirely by deadpan confusion, "What? You are Loki? That bastard son of that old guy... What was his name again?"
The old man's smug expression instantly vanished, and his face twisted into a scowl of pure insult. "Do not ever compare me to that pathetic, horned vagabond! I am stronger, more respected and far more entertaining than that idiot."
"Right, sure," Rick said sarcastically, crossing his arms, "So, God of Mischief. Why am I here? You going to send me to Valhalla? Or drop me into a fiery pit?"
The God walked slowly down the marble steps of his throne, stopping a few feet in front of Rick. He sized him up again.
"I felt a bit of pity for you, Rick," the God admitted, "And I was highly impressed by your sudden ruthless attitude right before your death. You have potential. So, I am going to give you a second chance. I am going to make your life awesome."
Rick's heart skipped a beat. His gamer brain instantly went into overdrive. He knew this trope. He had read the manga; he had watched the anime. He was getting the classic protagonist treatment.
"Wait, seriously?" Rick asked, his eyes lighting up, "Are you going to Isekai me? Am I going to a magical world? Do I get an all powerful staff? Do I get fuck Elves? Kill Demon lords?"
"Or maybe a legendary "sword"?!"
The God of Mischief stared at Rick for three seconds before bursting into loud, obnoxious laughter. He laughed so hard he had to wipe a tear from his eye.
"A magical world? Hahahaha!" the God wheezed, "Fuck no! Why would I waste a perfectly good fantasy world on you?"
"No... No... No... You are going straight back to your own miserable, blue, boring Earth."
Rick's excitement crashed instantly, "What? To Earth? Are you taking the piss? Why?"
"I just got run over by a truck! I don't want to go back there! It's a rigged, depressing shithole!"
"Relax, boy," the God grinned, stepping closer and clapping a heavy hand on Rick's shoulder, "I am not sending you back empty-handed."
"I am going to give you some... superpowers and stuff. A little something to help you navigate your pathetic reality."
"If you use it right, and you will conquer that shithole world of yours."
"You will get money, power, and more women than you know what to do with."
Rick narrowed his eyes suspiciously, "Superpowers and stuff? That sounds incredibly vague."
"You will figure it out," the God said dismissively, "Just try not to die immediately this time. I want to be entertained."
Before Rick could ask another question, the God snapped his fingers directly in front of Rick's face.
A blinding flash of pure white light erupted in the hall. Rick didn't even have time to scream before his body was violently ripped out of the void, sent hurtling back towards the mortal realm.
The white hall was suddenly empty. The God of Mischief stood alone, adjusting the cuffs of his pristine white suit. He walked back up the steps and sat down heavily on his golden throne, letting out a satisfied sigh.
A second later, the air rippled near the base of the throne.
The stinky, ragged homeless man from the alleyway materialised out of nowhere. He was still holding a crushed beer can. He looked around the pristine white hall, his dirty boots leaving muddy footprints on the glowing floor.
"You are done with your orientation class?" the homeless man asked, his raspy voice full of disbelief.
The God of Mischief rolled his eyes, "Of course I am. He's got the right attitude. Much better than yours, you old drunk."
The homeless man scoffed, tossing the empty beer can aside.
"Don't give me that shit. You gave me that exact same speech three hundred years ago. You said you were going to make my life awesome. You said I was going to conquer the world."
"And you could have," the God retorted smoothly, "If you weren't so incompetent."
"It's a curse!" the homeless man yelled, pointing a dirty, shaking finger at the God, "That thing of yours is a bloody nightmare! It ruined my life! I ended up drinking myself into the gutter just to cope with the absolute chaos you put in my head!"
"It's just performance issue," the God smirked, completely unfazed, "Don't blame me for that."
The homeless man let out a long, heavy sigh. He dropped his hand, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He looked at the empty spot where Rick had been standing just moments before.
"I just ran that kid over with a truck," the homeless man muttered softly, a rare hint of guilt in his gravelly voice, "I made him a player in this stupid little game of yours."
The homeless man scratched his dirty, matted beard.
"I really hope that boy does better with your blessing than I did," he sighed.
"Otherwise, you just sent him back to a fate far worse than death."
The God of Mischief simply smiled.
"We shall see."
[A/N: For every 50 Power stones, I will release a bonus chapter the next day! Keep supporting the story.]