(non-league story) Have you ever crit so hard you became a god?

Warning: this is kinda long and not that good until half-way through.

Right, so this is a story about a friend of mine during a modified Pathfinder (basically DnD) campaign set in the Warhammer universe. Right off the bat the GM told all of the players that they were all getting 50 AC and he was going to set the enemies around that. If you're not familiar with Pathfinder, you roll a d20 to attack someone and AC represents the number you have to roll above to hit them. You can boost your role with some items and by leveling up and all that but these guys had 50 AC at level 1. So, kind of a big deal.

Anyway, the way it worked was each player was a squad leader for specific roles in their army, and my friend ended up being DPS which he was pretty good for because his character was a Farseer built purely for killing stuff. He could kill pretty much anything but in this campaign it wasn't just your character that you had to worry about, you had a squad to think about, and by the end of the first session it was clear how much you had to think about them.

Each and every player's squad was annihilated, everyone in them dying except for one or two of them, but the player characters were still alive of course. My friend the Farseer was the only one who was able to keep his whole squad, but even then not for long. In each session afterwards he lost more of his squads until there were only two people who had survived more than one mission. One of them was an Eldar who was convinced he was a human and tried to convince everyone else he was human, but the other one is the one we're going to be focusing on. Enter John Pendlebury.

From the start John Pendlebury was already something different. A battle-scarred soldier, his wife left him because h'd been to busy fighting to pay any attention to her so now all he has left is war. Of my friend's original squad he was the only true remnant, but that wasn't so unusual. He'd seen a lot of faces come to pass, he knew the path of war was harsh and unforgiving. But war was all he had left, all he had going for him. He was born a soldier, and he would die a soldier, or so he thought...

In one particular session, the players mounted a full-scale attack on a Necron stronghold. Things already started crazy enough. Another friend of mine was playing an Ork, he was in charge of leading his army into a charge, and he did that by jumping right onto a Monolith and beat it to death with his fists. (look it up if you don't know, it's pretty huge) Things came to a head however, when they entered the inner parts of the stronghold and inside the found a Shard of C'tan. For those who don't know, a Shard of C'tan is basically a piece of a Necron God, so basically, it was their boss fight.

They rolled, their squads moved out, and the battle began. The Shard was untouchable, anyone trying to get near it got disintegrated instantly, and their shots were warped by time and space and they missed completely. It blasts my friend, and he's almost dead in one hit. But now it's John Pendlebury's turn. The dice rolls...

It's a 20.

The players weren't just given big AC, they were also given big damage. And even then, John Pendlebury had big damage. A normal sword in Pathfinder deals a d6 of damage, John Pendlebury dealt 5d20s x 4 for a critical hit. The GM just said; "Don't bother rolling. It's dead. It's fucking dead." As John aimed his gun to shoot, he saw an image of his ex-wife in front of the Shard of C'tan. He let out a cry of anger and shot, instantly turning the Shard of C'tan into dust. The Ork army my other friend had brought looked up at him with awe. Surely, he was a god. Only a god could have that much power.

Such was the power of their belief that John Pendlebury rose up before their eyes and ascended to the heavens. Thusly he became John Pendlebury, the man who crit so hard he became a god.