"I think you forget the God I serve," he told Tarrant. "Those of my calling neither fear death, nor doubt their own immortality."
For a brief moment, there was something in the other man's expression that was strangely human. Strangely vulnerable. And then the moment was gone and the cold, mocking mask was back in place. "Touché," he muttered, with a slight bow. "I should know better than to fence rhetoric with your kind. My apologies."

I think this is the sickest burn Damien ever delivers to Tarrant, and he doesn't even know enough to appreciate it yet.