There was always a catch. Of course there was. Belief was a strong thing, he was right. And their belief would make him stronger. But John couldn't ask that of the people on the station. He wasn't about to start preaching the word of the great God of the Sea. He wasn't going to preach the word of any God to anyone, for that matter. John pressed his tongue against the inside of his bottom lip and smiled, laughing under his breath. He shook his head and looked down at the ground for a moment.
"Mate, my soul is already marked" he said, lifting his gaze back up to the God. "When I'm dead, I'm damned to Hell. So unless you want to pick a fight with the greater Demons of Hell, might be best to forget about my soul. No. I can't ask the people here to believe in you either. It's not my place..." he shook his head again, pulling a flask from his jacket pocket. He had to stop himself from saying anything cruel out of irritation or anger. Didn't the God have the power to protect the people, thus gaining their belief? That was what he wanted to ask. But he held back. He didn't even both approaching the subject of magic again, that would wait.