Infinity Blade 02 - Redemption

the point that it grew to middle age in the course of an afternoon.
    I will have to be more careful with healing, he thought. His body’s Deathless nature would heal him slowly on its own. Unfortunately, when surrounded by enemies and lacking his armor, he had often needed the ring for a quick burst of restoration.
    He shook his head, tucking away his ring in a pouch he had tied at his waist. He then fished out his others. One teleportation ring. That could be useful; it separated into two different loops, and when one was activated, it would teleport the smaller ring to the larger. You could use it to summon a weapon in a moment of need, for example. Unfortunately, the process did not work on living flesh.
    He tucked that one away and inspected the third. Constructed of black metal, it looked like iron fresh from the forge. He held it cautiously. They knew so little of the element they called Incarnate Dark. Even the Worker had always seemed wary of it, though he—and his scientists—spoke of it in their usual scholarly way, explaining its import in the universe and its influence on the movement of celestial bodies.
    To Raidriar, Incarnate Dark was just another tool. A dangerous tool—in other words, the best kind.
    He slid on the ring and summoned from it a small shield of force that fit his palm and fingers like an invisible glove. He felt only a faint tingling. An anticipation of energy to come.
    He allowed a tiny amount of that energy to seep through, a fraction of a drop of Darkness Incarnate. His shielded skin reflected the energy—or the not -energy—outward. Raidriar pressed his hand against the wooden door.
    The door crumpled.
    The darkness pulled everything toward it, ripping the door to its fundamental pieces, sucking them inward. Wood cracked and popped, as if an invisible hand squeezed the sides in with an awful strength. In seconds, the Incarnate Dark had been expended, leaving the door in shambles, the greater portion of it simply . . . gone. It had been sucked through the tiny portal in his ring that was connected—like all of the rings—to a distant power.
    The cell now open, Raidriar stepped inside.

DEVIATION
THE SIXTH
    URIEL ENTERED his house, laughing to himself. The storm would probably cover his entrance, wouldn’t it? Perhaps he should be more quiet.
    He laughed anyway. Of course . He moved up the stairs, leaving wet steps. He pushed open the door to the bedroom. Mary screamed, reaching for blankets. Adram scrambled out of the bed in shock, falling to the floor.
    Uriel took off his jacket, shaking the rain free. “You know, this makes sense,” he said, chuckling. “The world makes sense for once. I could actually have guessed this would happen!”
    Adram—a look of sheer panic on his face—barreled out of the room, carrying his trousers. Mary was weeping. Why should she cry? She hadn’t been hurt.
    Uriel sat down on the bed. “I stayed late too many times, I see. That’s a number. I can add that in a column and see what it creates. If it had been another person in the office talking about his wife, I probably would have noticed immediately what was happening.” He looked toward her. “But it wasn’t another man’s wife. It was you . The flaw was never in the numbers. It’s in me. I can’t see them when you are involved.”
    “Uriel . . .” she said, reaching a trembling hand toward him. Below, Adram’s monster of a car roared to life.
    “Now, now, don’t worry about me. I don’t have emotions, you see. Adram explained it all. I . . . I don’t . . .” That wetness on his cheeks. Rainwater, obviously. He took a deep breath. “Jori?”
    She glanced wildly at the clock. “Jori!”
    “I’ll go for him,” Uriel said, standing. “I hope he’s not riding home in this. And then, weren’t we going to have Thai? Something special. For me . . .”
    Uriel walked toward the door.
    “Uriel . . .” Mary said. “I’m sor—”
    “Stop. You don’t get to say that.”
    He walked out. Where had his smile gone? The situation really was amazing. Perfect, even. That he should be so oblivious. He—
    Tires screeched outside.

CHAPTER
NINE
    TWO FIGURES —dirtied, blinking against the sudden light—huddled inside the cell that Raidriar entered. A stout, bald man stood up on trembling legs, raising a hand toward Raidriar. Then, the man fell to his knees and bowed himself.
    “My God,” Eves breathed, “you have returned.”
    Excellent. Eves, Raidriar’s High Devoted,