Infinity Blade: Redemption

heavens.
    EXPLOSIONS ON the horizon.
    “No!” Siris screamed. He ran, frantic, helpless—his horse dead on the steppes somewhere behind him. He’d long since outpaced Terr and TEL.
    The ground shook. Light flashed in the evening darkness. Again and again.
    Destruction.
    Death.
    He’d failed.
    The rebellion was no more.

CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
    SIRIS WALKED, head down, among the blasted ruins of what had once been the rebellion headquarters. Burned bodies lay scattered like fallen branches. The command center was a smoldering heap, not a single wall still standing.
    The Worker had known. All along, he’d known. He’d sent machines across the sky to deliver death. Siris fell to his knees near where small bodies lay in a depression, where they’d tried to hide. The children . . . the children he’d played with . . .
    The Dark Self stirred. Furious, it wanted to lash out. Siris screamed, stabbing the Infinity Blade down into the ground.
    Why? Why hadn’t the people fled? He’d sent messages telling them that the Worker knew where they were! What had gone wrong?
    Coughing.
    Siris stumbled to his feet, pulling the Blade out of the ground and waving it in the darkness. Burning fires gave light to the armored figure who approached. The figure had lost most of its breastplate and was missing one arm, which ended in a burned stump.
    Siris recognized that armor. But moreso, there were few beings who could walk so confidently after taking such terrible wounds.
    “Raidriar,” Siris said, lowering his sword. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be back at the hideout?”
    In a rare show of trust, the God King removed his helm, ripping it free with his remaining hand. The Dark Self thrashed inside of Siris. It recognized that face, identical to that of the Soulless he had killed shortly before.
    “What happened?” Raidriar asked, dropping his helm, then wiping sweat from his brow.
    “He knew,” Siris said. “At the palace, your Soulless . . . he was researching the Worker’s plots. He had found them, pulled them up on his screen. The latest was a strike that had been ordered on this very location.”
    The God King cursed, stumbling closer. Siris tightened his grip on the Infinity Blade.
    “Why are you here?” Siris demanded. What was going on? Isa? She would be back at the hideout, fortunately.
    “Why am I here?” Raidriar said. “You summoned me!”
    “I tried to send everyone away! My message was an alarm!”
    “So he beat us in that, too,” Raidriar said. “He intercepted your communication, twisted it. Damn.” Raidriar glanced at the Infinity Blade, a veiled hunger in his eyes, but he didn’t reach for it. He walked over to a rise of broken earth and slumped down, back to it, breathing out.
    Siris turned about, the numb feeling of loss returning. In his mind’s eye, he remembered these people cheering him, saluting him, looking upon him with awe. He’d failed them miserably.
    “At least you have it,” Raidriar said. “The Weapon.”
    Siris turned the Infinity Blade over in his hand. “He knew I was coming for it, Raidriar. The Worker . . . he knew everything. He even knew that your Soulless was infiltrating his systems.” Siris laughed, feeling as mad as the copy he’d just faced, and settled down on the ground. He pulled out a small mirror—a datapad—and tossed it to Raidriar.
    The God King caught it with his single hand. He grunted, reading the illuminated screen.
    Siris lay back, staring up at the sky. The only direction he could look and not see corpses.
    He could still smell them burning, though. The Dark Self shook and growled. Siris barely kept it contained.
    “He was wrong,” the God King said.
    Siris sat up. “What do you mean? He knew about this, about the rebellion. He knew about Lux, had lists of our officers . . .”
    “He thought you’d have an entire force of Deathless by now,” Raidriar said, holding up the pad. “It says here that this attack was in part meant to clog your rebirthing chamber, force you to spend weeks rebuilding your Deathless army.”
    “A minor error,” Siris said with a sigh. “He was right about everything else.”
    “It is important,” Raidriar said softly. “It means that he can be wrong.” He rubbed his finger along the outside of the mirror, as if it were some holy relic. “Unless this is some way of manipulating us as well. How to know . . . ?”
    Siris groaned, climbing to his feet.
    “And what are you going