The traitor of Artis

The soldier came and stood in front of the chair to which Blade was tied. His ocher uniform bore gold embroidery all along the sleeves, distinctive signs of his ranks and functions. He pointed a “bracelet” of fire connected by a thin wire to his wide, thick belt into Blade's face. — So you don't recognize me? he said with a laugh. It's true the uniform changes a man, but perhaps it's my voice that leads you astray. Blade had finally recognized him. The traitor was there, before him, and he was at his mercy.
— Where is Richard Blade, traveler of the infinite, going? Into what “dimensions” can the soulless brain of the computer project it? In which past or future worlds? In which previously unknown universes? — Blade, a man made of muscles, blood, sex and intelligence. — Will Blade be the human toy of the machine that I 'sends to fight the terrifying monsters, the wild and perverse goddesses of a world elsewhere?