Infinity Blade 02 - Redemption

his ancient enemy. The man once named Galath, the one who had given him immortality.
    The Worker smiled. “You see? That is what makes you so wonderful ! The others, they never really bought in. It’s an act to them. When they put aside the masks, they put aside the god. But you . . . you believe .” He hesitated. “Of course, it does make you damn pretentious on occasion.”
    The Worker raised a hand, and a column of light split the ground. A pillar rose, releasing a series of daerils.
    “More minions?” Raidriar demanded. “This is pointless. Face me yourself and know my fury!”
    “Do you listen to yourself, Raidriar?” the Worker said, amused. “You really are something special.” He turned back to his screens, tapping away at a set of figures. Most of the screens were in motion. Deadminds executing commands. He was working on something big. Something important.
    Raidriar didn’t have time to look over much before engaging the first of the daerils. The fight was not terribly difficult. Yes, the creature had been created well, but it could not match the God King, fully armored, with the Infinity Blade in his hands. He dispatched the beast, leaving it to twitch its final moments on the floor.
    “A waste,” Raidriar said, shaking his head. “Such a fine creation, slain for no reason.”
    “I agree,” the Worker said from above. “It will be a shame to see you dead.”
    Raidriar snorted. “Do not play your games with me, Worker. Your life is mine, and I have come to claim it.”
    “You see?” the Worker said, tapping on his screen, then moving to the next one. “There you go again. Once in a while, I create something truly remarkable. Thank you for reminding me of that.”
    “I am not one of your pawns, Worker.”
    The man on the throne above hesitated, then turned. “You really do believe that, don’t you, Raidriar?”
    “It is the truth.”
    The Worker grinned broadly. “Wonderful.”
    “I came to you as a child,” Raidriar said. “I am not some daeril plaything, crafted from the flayed souls of men. I am—”
    “—your doom,” the Worker said. “Yes, yes.”
    Raidriar hesitated. That had actually been what he’d been about to say. A—
    “—fortuitous guess on the Worker’s part,” the Worker said.
    Can he . . . read my mind somehow?
    “No, I can’t read your mind, Raidriar,” the Worker said. “Let’s just say I’ve known a few versions of your personality subtype before.”
    “I was born, not created!”
    “Oh?” the Worker asked. “And there was no interference between your birth and now? No changes made to your Q.I.P. to grant . . . say . . . functional immortality?”
    Control, Raidriar told himself. Retain control. He is playing with you. Ausar imprisoned him for a thousand years in the Vault of Tears. If he could read everyone as perfectly as he pretends, that would never have happened.
    “Well, fight your way past my guardians,” the Worker said, going back to his typing on the projected screens. “Then we’ll be on with our climactic final duel, or whatever you want to call it.”
    So, what trap would the Worker have laid for him? Raidriar approached the throne hesitantly, noting a figure sitting beside the stone stairwell that led to the throne.
    The figure wore gold armor, helm on the steps beside him. The face looked . . . beleaguered. A mop of brown hair, too-thin features.
    Eyes that had seen eternity.
    “Ashimar,” Raidriar said, using the being’s Deathless name. Once, this creature had been known by another name, however. An ancient name. Jarred.
    “Jori,” Ashimar replied. He sounded tired.
    “So,” Raidriar said, stopping before the steps. “He pits us against each other. Another of his games.”
    Ashimar nodded.
    “I have not forgotten the kindness you showed me,” Raidriar said, “when I was young. The stories of my father you shared, memories I needed before I truly came to my strength. For that, I will spare you. Lay down your weapon and leave this place.”
    “He’s only going to take one with him,” Ashimar said softly, rising. “A seed, he calls it. Me or you. His favorite pets. Everything else will be . . . gone.”
    “What are you talking about?” Raidriar snapped.
    “You can’t fight him, Jori,” Ashimar said, sighing. “He knows too much. Everything we do is but a string he has pulled.”
    “And this?” Raidriar asked, raising the Infinity Blade toward the steps and throne. “I hold the only weapon that can