[Gods and Gnomes? Oh this was too rich. Now it's Davros' turn to laugh. Scathingly.]
We appear to have misunderstood one another... I presumed you were a man of, at least limited, intelligence. Clearly I was mistaken. Your superstitious clinging to creationist mythology and idolised literal gods will bring you nothing. And of course I rely on my work!
[He explains this like he would to a child.]
What a redundant statement! If I were to take away from you your arms, your legs, your abilities... You would be nothing! Everything I have is my own, made by me, crafted and designed by my will alone! Blindness, mutation, death! These are but inconveniences to Davros. My creations are extensions of myself, and through the Daleks I am immortal! It is simply a matter of time, of survival.
You also appear to have made one last mistake... I am not human. Do not dare dirty my name with that primitive races title.