Infinity Blade 02 - Redemption

eventually,” Adram said. The smile he gave was so transparent that Uriel rolled his eyes. “And even if he doesn’t, InstaBe will still be a smash hit. Look, most companies, they never have a real chance to grip the public. They release their products into a tempest of a marketplace, and have to scream just to get the smallest bit of attention.
    “We won’t have that problem. Everyone is going to want an InstaBe. They’ll want five or six! Park your car and go for a hike? You can teleport it to your location when you’re done. Always losing your wallet? Stick a ring on it, teleport it to yourself when you need it.” He grinned even wider. “We’re gonna change the world , folks!”
    “It’s not safe,” Uriel said.
    Adram stilled, his smile cracking. He forced it back on immediately, not showing his annoyance.
    “It’s perfectly safe,” one of the executives said. “Thousands of teleportations made, no mishaps.”
    “The technology itself is safe,” Uriel said. “But it is not safe to give to people. They will kill with it.”
    “Come on, Uriel,” Adram said. “Give us the bright side, remember?”
    “There is none,” Uriel said. “People will teleport bombs into secure locations. Criminals will be armed, no matter where they go. Those are just the minor applications. Militaries will be able to move supplies and equipment instantly. Imagine assault teams who can summon tanks and artillery at the snap of their fingers. This will embolden the governments who have it. They will strike. I have run the numbers, the statistics. What we have developed is a weapon. It will be treated like one.”
    “Guesses,” Adram said.
    “I don’t guess ,” Uriel said. “I project. And I am rarely wrong.” He turned in his seat, looking up at Mr. Galath. “I have a son, sir. I don’t want him to live in a world that isn’t safe . . . Well, a world that is less safe than it is now. If we release this, the result will be war.”
    Mr. Galath nodded slowly. He understood. He got it. Uriel relaxed.
    This was what he was waiting for, Uriel thought. Someone who would speak out against the technology. It seems I am the only one bold enough.
    “He is right,” Mr. Galath said. “We must sell it to governments first, as they will pay the most.” He looked at Adram. “Your name . . . Adram, is it?”
    “Yes, sir!” Adram said, walking down off the stage and toward the audience.
    “I would speak with you after the meeting. You show great initiative. I have a special project I may wish you to be part of.”
    Uriel gaped. He found himself standing. “But . . . No. Sir, not him. Not—”
    Adram slapped Uriel on the shoulder, drawing close. “Hey, Spunky. Thanks for the help. You’re a real . . . pal.”
    The meeting broke up, leaving Uriel standing on the front row, stunned.
    What had just happened?

CHAPTER
FOUR
    SIRIS LOUNGED on the stone chair, one leg up over the broken and ruined side, the bloody corpse of Raidriar at his feet.
    The God King’s body held Siris’s broken sword, rammed through the back, hilt pointing upward. That wouldn’t stop Raidriar from returning to life, but it was a convenient place to hold the weapon.
    “In a way,” Siris said to the empty room, putting his feet up on the back of the dead man, “this is perfect! I was raised to hunt you down and kill you, don’t you see? That was my purpose . To be the Sacrifice, to face you. Now I get to live it, over and over! It’s the only thing in the world!”
    Siris laughed, cackling, unable to control himself. How long had it been? Years? He’d killed Raidriar well over two thousand times now. He didn’t remember how many, exactly. He’d have to ask, next time his footstool started moving.
    What a state he was in! If he controlled the Dark Self, Raidriar won their contest, and Siris was driven deeper and deeper into madness by repeated death. So he let the Dark Self rule, and this happened! This primitive version of himself that moved by instinct. It was madness too!
    He threw back his head and laughed again, tears rolling down his cheeks.
    Light split the sky.
    Siris laughed at it. A fine hallucination. He often dreamed of escaping, of the roof of this chamber splitting to reveal the top of the pillar, lowering down. The promise of freedom . . .
    He looked closer. It was real.
    Siris started, leaping to his feet, his laughter dying. That was no hallucination. The entrance to his prison was a large triangular pillar that