The warrior's footfalls echoed on the cobbles. His breath steamed in the cold, frosty air. He heard the frantic movement of assailants in the shadowed alley shuffling to surround him.
The warrior laughed. It was a bitter, dry laugh. "It won't do you any good. I feel no pain. Prepare to meet Balor."
In your world the pantheon is a rotating system of formerly human individuals. You have been selected for god-duty for the next 2,000 years. How are you going to get out of this?