The war room of Bloodmire's castle was a hive of activity, maps and charts covering every available surface.
At the center of it all stood Atenzi, his golden-crimson eyes fixed on a detailed model of Naaim.
Báthory watched him from her seat at the head of the table, her gaze never leaving his face.
"Jesus will be our most formidable opponent," Atenzi mused, his fingers tracing the borders of the fallen Messiah's domain. "But even gods have weaknesses."
Báthory leaned forward, intrigued. "Oh? And what weakness have you discerned in our divine adversary?"
Atenzi's lips curved in a cold smile. "During our last encounter, when he healed Genghis Khan, I noticed something.
It was subtle, easy to miss if you weren't looking for it."
He turned to face Báthory, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of discovery. "A part of Jesus's fingertip, just a tiny part, underwent necrosis.
Dead tissue, right there on the hand of a supposed immortal."
