Iblis’ Affliction

by Nero Seal

  Where is everyone? Hand on the holster, he inched forward, following the guiding lights. A thought about an attack crossed his mind, but he quickly dismissed it. The Christmas lights and the closed drapes are too fucking elaborate for it… and bodies would be all over. If not an attack, then what? And where the fuck is Slater?

  Talha opened his mouth to call out, but something squished under his foot. A sour taste flooded his mouth, and the arctic frost of foreboding evil seized his chest. He lowered his gaze. A sticky, black, oily puddle marred the white marble under his sole. It stretched to the wall.

  “What the hell?” he asked, and Hell answered.

  “Welcome home, Master.” The soft, honeyed baritone tickled the back of his neck. Talha held his breath to still his leaping heart. As always, he hadn’t heard Slater approach. Fast and silent, Slater was his personal ripper for a reason, and now Talha wondered if this time he would fall victim to his own weapon.

  “What’s going on, Slater?” Talha asked in an even, emotionless voice. His fingers released the cold steel of the gun. If his willpower wasn’t enough to control Slater’s demons, nothing would; the man had no respect for guns and even less for the people who used them.

  A strong shoulder collided with Talha’s in an intentional blow as the reaper passed him. Swaggering to the second floor, he turned right toward the Great Hall, but stalled, squinted over his shoulder, and smiled.

  “It’s Christmas, Master.” His hand slapped the wall, and more Christmas lights flashed out with colors decorating the entrance’s arch.

  Talha’s heart fell at the sight of more blood. The puddles, big and frequent, spotted the floor; blood smudges stretched from every direction to the depth of the Great Hall, telling a horrific story of mass murder. Multiple bodies had been dragged through the graveyard his house had become.

  Closing his eyes, Talha sought escape from the upcoming nightmare and the sickening stench of death that smashed against his face, confirming his suspicion. His foot landed on the last step, and he turned right, following the bloodstains that reflected the bright colors of the Christmas lights.

  Slater’s body never stilled. Strolling to and fro, as if the invisible forces demanded him to move, he circled Talha. Merging with shadows in one corner of the room, he reappeared from another.

  “What Christmas, Slater? It’s July,” Talha finally managed a delayed reply.

  “Hmm?” The ripper halted. Their gazes linked, and Talha noticed smudges of something black covering his face. Electricity lurked behind Slater’s pupils as he granted him a conspiratorial smile. “What kind of a surprise would it be in December, Master?”

  Talha tried to process the response, but failed. His focus shifted from the ripper to the vast space of the Grand Hall. Something tall and black stood in the dark corner on his right. Unable to make out the form, his gaze moved to the better lit areas. He squinted.

  The long tables, forming a huge Π in the middle of the room, were draped with white tablecloths and dark table runners. Silverware and glasses glinted in the lights as the black silhouettes behind the tables, deformed with darkness, played tricks with his eyes creating the illusion of seated people.

  Not possible… Even if Slater slaughtered all the staff in the mansion, there are too many bodies.

  As if reading his thoughts, Slater approached him from behind. “Oh, Slater forgot, Hanım arrived today.”

  His eyes dried up, refusing to blink, and small tremors settled in his fingertips. Clenching his fists, Talha shook off the settling fear and stepped toward the main table; two tall, throne-like chairs stood empty behind it, bringing Talha a slight hope that Slater had spared Camilla. But with every step, with every small detail he absorbed, the hope withered, decayed, until it completely died.

  Every glass on every table stood empty, except the two on the main table that brimmed with red liquid, and there, under a silver cover, the main entrée was presented.

  Time stretched and slowed, intensifying the surrounding darkness. The air, swirling in Talha’s lungs, condensed, making it impossible to breathe. It had a metallic taste to it. Heartbeats, reverberating throughout his body, echoed in his fingertips when he trudged to the table. Every cell rebelled, yelling at him not to look, but his hand, acting on its own, landed on the cold silver and removed the cover.

  For a second, staring into the white eyes of Zaal’s severed head, he felt nothing, but in a flash, a wave of nausea clutched his stomach, as every small detail sank in. Well baked, brown skin crisped over Zaal’s cheeks, glinting with cooking fat. His bushy brows and short eyelashes curled with heat but didn’t burn unlike the wrinkled red apple stuffed in his mouth that still emitted light threads of steam.

  “What have you done, Slater?” Through the thick fog of his failing hearing, he heard himself say. Not blinking, not breathing, he stared into the dead, colorless eyes, unable to collect his thoughts.

  “Surprise, Master!” A click resounded in the empty space. Bright light struck Talha’s eyes, making him squint and release the silver cover. Falling on the large plate, it jingled. “Aren’t you happy?”

  This can’t be real… A smile of disbelief tickled the corners of his lips. His focus bounced from the split throat of one man to the slashed gut of another, then moved to a disfigured body he couldn’t identify. Slater wouldn’t betray me like this…

  “Oh, sorry, Master. Slater forgot you don’t eat pork.”

  Severed limbs, cooked and raw, were served on this cannibalistic feast. Dead bodies, mutilated, dismembered, were seated at the perfectly laid out tables, where the main dish was his butchered bodyguard. Guts and blood flooded the white marble floor that once wore a beautiful, silverish hue.

  All of them are men… Talha noticed. Slater usually didn’t find pleasure in killing women or children, finding them too boring and weak, so Talha asked, “That’s a lot of cooking, Slater. Did you do this all by yourself?”

  “No, Master,” Slater’s voice swelled with pride. “The maids helped.”

  “Where are the maids? Did you kill them too?”

  “No. Basement.” The ringing voice dulled with irritation, but then Slater added in a completely different, smooth and liquid tone, “Slater has a gift for you, Master.”

  Talha shook his head, unwilling to face the reaper. The words ‘Whatever you have, I don’t want it’ froze on his lips. Summoning all his willpower, he forced his facial muscles into submission and turned around, taking in the whole picture.

  Blood. Blood. Blood. Red splashes covered the walls, tablecloths, and curtains, turning the sublime atmosphere of the majestic Grand Hall into the blood-curdling scene from Hell. A hopeless dread, sinking deep into his bones, froze his marrows. Every muscle aching, he wasn’t sure where to look. Fighting the itch to stick his fingers into his hair, Talha faced his ripper.

  If I can’t handle him, I’ll join them…

  Face covered in blood, Slater smiled and pointed at a tall Christmas tree. Only then did Talha noticed bloody guts decorating the branches and organs hanging on threads. A death grin twisted the pale lips of Camilla’s severed head as it adorned the top of the tree. Her opened, unfocused, muddy eyes didn’t sparkle anymore.

  Talha had seen plenty of blood and death in his life, but this was Hell on Earth, and his own Iblīs had brought the flames of disaster upon his house.

  “Sorry, I couldn’t find a star,” Slater offered in an unapologetic voice. When Talha said nothing, fearing his voice would break, the reaper’s mood shifted for the worse. His smile dimmed. He cocked his head and looked at Talha as if searching for signs of appreciation. Without finding any, he started pacing again.

  Talha didn’t bother following him. If Slater wanted to kill him, he would have already been dead. Instead, his gaze traveled over a marble sculpture that stood by the Christmas tree. Small and delicate, pale and headless, it froze in the same posture as Venus. A tablecloth draped around her waist, hiding her nudity, and a few long javelins, stabbing through
the flesh, fixed her body into the correct position.

  “She is beautiful, isn’t she?” Slater’s low whisper tickled his ear, substituted Talha’s blood with ice. “You wanted to keep her, Master? Now you can.”

  One hand clasped over Talha’s throat, the other arm entwined his waist, as Slater’s chin rested on his shoulder, washing his face in a sweet, rose aroma. The rapid beating of Slater’s heart drummed against Talha’s back.

  There was no point in resisting. Raised in the Philippines, Slater was a skilled silat fighter trained not for sparring, but murder. Even in the best shape, Talha doubted he could win in fair combat. If he fought now, he would be dead within seconds. The only weapon he could rely on was his words.

  “If you sleep with the Devil, you can’t expect to get out of Hell,” Slater repeated Talha’s words. “You traded me to a pussy, Master. You got weak.”

  “No, Slater!” Pushing the order into his tone, Talha forced his way around to face his ripper, but the icy-blue eyes greeting him didn’t reflect any kindness.

  Bringing a blood-covered finger to his full lips, Slater hushed, “Shhh…”

  His hand shot forward. The iron clamps of his fingers squeezed Talha’s neck, and Slater’s sweet breath trembled on his lips.

  “It’s Christmas, Talha. Make a wish.”

  Something glinted in Slater’s hand. A needle stabbed into his throat and heat jolted through Talha’s veins. A bitter, medical taste deluged his mouth. He blinked with heavy lids, then again, but the bloody room drifted and dissolved into darkness.

  THE BUMPY SURFACE of the ground grazed Talha’s back with every thrust. Something slick and heavy rubbed against his chest. Cool drops bombarded his skin and scattered down his cheeks and neck. Dull pain resounded throughout his body with every bump, sending waves of nausea up his throat. Head rolling to the side, a groan of pain vibrated in his trachea and not finding the way out, crashed against his glued lips. He tried to swallow, but his tongue, taking all the space in his parched mouth, didn’t respond.

  “Oh, you are awake,” the familiar, liquid voice sounded pleased. Talha forced his heavy eyelids open. “This is great. I don’t think I can cum if you’re not looking at me.”

  Slater’s face, red and flustered, towered over him. Rivers of sweat trickled down his forehead and angular cheekbones. Gathering on his chin and the tip of his nose, they dripped down onto Talha’s face. Up and down, Slater’s body slicked against his. The constant motion aggravated his nausea, and Talha desperately wanted to tell him to stop, but his lips disobeyed, and only a muffled groan broke through.

  “Yeah, that’s so much better…” Slater whispered, and a crease formed between his brows. Torn breathing danced over Talha’s face, as the electric gaze pierced his soul, making it impossible to look away.

  Fighting the fog of confusion, Talha blinked, then again and again. With every second, his awareness returned, bringing to his attention a growing pain in his guts and dull numbness in his lower body. Breaking the spell of Slater’s gaze, he looked down and winced. His stomach glistened with sweat. A black rope ringed his ankles, tying them tight to his thighs. Slater’s hips smashed against his buttocks with every thrust of his body.

  What the hell? He growled, granting the reaper a warning glare. He tried to open his mouth to tell Slater to fuck off but failed. His lips refused to move; something was stuck over his mouth.

  Fucker! With his insides dull and bloated, legs numb, and back aching, Talha couldn’t help wondering how long Slater had been doing this?

  An acrid drop of Slater’s sweat hit his eye, forcing him to blink and look away. Through the grayness of his muddy vision, he examined the red, uneven ceiling of the small dim chamber, then dragged his gaze down the ancient walls, until it stopped at the dull gray floor. Wiping his face off on his strained arm, he concentrated on his surroundings. His upper body was sprawled on the cold stone. Tight ropes, completing a few circles around his wrists, tied his arms to rings embedded into the two parallel walls.

  Head whipping toward his rapist, Talha growled again, investing all the indignation he could muster into the glare, then he hurled his shoulders forward.

  “It’s so hot inside you,” Slater said, ignoring him, then leaned in and brushed his lips over Talha’s mouth, surprising him for a second. The thin layer of what Talha assumed was duct tape, prevented their lips from joining. “I almost regret we didn’t do it sooner.”

  “Ur-ghur!” Talha heaved again, suffocating under the sticky weight of his assaulter, but Slater only grinned in reply.

  The medical afterglow muffled Talha’s thoughts and fuzzed the blood-curdling rage tightening his chest, but all his being itched to hit Slater’s smug face.

  How dare he? Who does he think he is to defile me like this?

  “Yes, look at me…” Slater exhaled; his face distorted with painful pleasure before he pulled out from Talha’s body with a wet, dirty sound. Shoving Talha’s legs aside, Slater shuffled up the rough ground on his knees, until his hips leveled with Talha’s face. Hand fisting in his prisoner’s hair, Slater yanked his head up.

  Disrespected, drugged, raped; a supernova of boiling agony combusting in Talha’s chest. His wounded pride shredded his soul, demanding revenge. Eyes fixed on his rapist, Talha watched Slater’s palm clasp his leaking cock and give it a few strokes. Slater’s face contorted, unshaved chin moved to his naked shoulder. His teeth bared in a painful grimace a second before warm jizz hit Talha’s face.

  A sticky mess dribbling down his brow and cheek settled a tremor of frenzy into his fingertips. Fists clenched, Talha threw himself forward, but the ropes, biting into his wrists, hurled him back.

  Face softening, releasing the tension, Slater looked into his eyes, then grinned.

  “Sorry, Master, I made a mess…” Sarcasm broke into his voice. Giving his softening cock a few more strokes, he squeezed the last drops out then licked his fingers. “I would ask you to clean me up with your tongue, but for that, I would have to ungag you…” Expression puzzled, Slater added, “Too bad I can’t do that, yet…”

  A gentle palm brushed Talha’s damp hair away from his forehead, skidded down the sweaty cheek, then clasped the back of his neck, lifting his head. Resting his elbow against the ground, Slater tucked one leg under his ass, the other pressed against Talha’s side. He leaned closer. Their noses bumped, and the sweet smell of nougat invaded Talha’s lungs. Unable to tell what kind of a game the ripper played, Talha froze as Slater’s tongue pressed to his eye, smearing the sticky mess all over his cheek.

  “Ugh…” Talha scowled. Glaring at Slater, he mentally drilled a silent order into his head. Release me right now, you fucking Mutt, or I’ll kill you!

  Hurt, thirsty, insulted, a storm of emotions brewed, threatening to form into something he might come to regret. Never in his life had he been this furious.

  But Slater didn’t seem to notice. Warm and wet, his tongue kept flicking over Talha’s face removing the last drops of his passion.

  The nasty noise of grinding teeth rattled in Talha’s head as he drew back and granted Slater with a headbutt. The juicy sound of bone crashing against the cheek brought him a slight relief.

  Slater’s head whacked to the side. Surprise bled through his features, and a blizzard of confusion swirled behind his eyes. Rubbing his cheek, Slater recoiled leaving Talha’s wet body unprotected from the drafts that sneaked from every corner.

  “Oh, Master is mad.” Slater poked his reddening cheek with a finger, then cocked his head listening to the pain. Aggression, coming from Slater’s naked body in heavy waves, bounced against Talha’s skin.

  “Doesn’t Slater excite you anymore?” Slater’s cheek twitched, shoulders tensed, eyes narrowed, and he glanced down, confirming his words. “You can’t even get hard… Master doesn’t want Slater anymore, does he? Well then… can’t be helped.” Retreating, he grabbed the black backpack, undid a zipper, and shoved his hand inside. “Maybe Master wants Hanım? Sorry, I w
asn’t able to bring her whole.”

  Fingers fisted in the blood-tangled hair, he extracted Camilla’s head.

  BA-DUMP. Saliva flooded Talha’s mouth.

  BA-DUMP. He blinked, then again, but the illusion didn’t dissolve.

  BA-DUMP. The Christmas tree… The armless, headless Venus pierced by long spears… Zaal’s baked head… And the image of Hell on Earth, Slater had created in his home, slammed back into his mind making him want to puke.

  Heart choking with a maddening rush of blood, he stared at the unfocused, muddy eyes and gaping mouth frozen in a horrified grimace. A chemical mix of cortisol and adrenaline, flooding his system, cleared his head. Once again, he glanced up at the ropes binding his wrists, and then back at the severed head in Slater’s hands. Sticky, cold fear crawled up his spine and into his consciousness, wetting his palms with perspiration. Holy shit, Slater… What have you done..?

  “Do you want to kiss her?” Slater hissed, leaping forward. Camilla’s head bouncing in his fist, he shoved it forward, almost imprinting it into Talha’s face.

  A mere inch apart with the dead head, Talha could see every pore on her skin, as the putrid stench washed over him. Pulling the restraints, he instinctively recoiled.

  “No? Maybe you want to fuck her mouth?”

  Hand darting down, Slater imprinted Camilla’s face into Talha’s groin, forcing the older man to twist and wriggle in an attempt to get away.

  What the fuck? A bloody wave slammed against Talha’s ears, drowning everything in a drawn-out, roaring noise. He yelled, ‘enough!’, but only a muffled groan escaped his throat.

  “No? Did you grow tired of her already?” A vicious smile molded Slater’s face into a demonic mask. “Or now that she is broken, you don’t want her either?”

  The smile, growing darker and wider, washed Talha in cold sweat. Releasing Camilla’s hair, the reaper placed the head on the floor a few inches from Talha’s face.