Iblis’ Affliction

by Nero Seal

  The long war with the Asani Cartel drowned streets with blood, exhausting their supply of bullets, money, and men, but it granted Talha control over the port and the ships, opening his road to the West. Making connections, he started shipping the guns and drugs from the Middle East to Europe. The more he earned, the more people joined him. Every time the Asani Cartel attempted to approach their boats they were greeted by a rain of bullets. Without access to open water, they withered, weakened, until finally, an envoy presented a proposition to Talha.

  Behçet Asani—the leader of the Asani Cartel—offered Talha a merger.

  The deal was simple. The Asani Cartel would move under the Demir Group. Splitting territories, they would keep their business but, fairly pay Talha ‘taxes’. To bind the deal, Behçet Asani requested a meeting on neutral territory, under the watchful eye of Allah.

  “CHECK THE BUILDING!” Giving a short order to his men, Talha stepped out of the car and checked his surroundings. So quiet… He almost believed he could hear the dust crisping under the roasting August sun. No birds chirped, no people hung around, but a black jeep parked by the main gates informed him that Behçet Asani had already arrived.

  Resting his back against the car, Talha took in the reverential form of the once majestic building. The bright sun, flooding the streets, only accented the downtrodden appearance of the huge, red-stone mosque. Scarred walls, broken windows, and black moss crawling up the moist cavities, created a weirdly fascinating, post-apocalyptic feel.

  “Clear. Only one man and a boy,” the reply resounded from within.

  Talha checked his watch, then eyed Ejder. “Any news from Salik?”

  “He is stuck in a traffic jam.” Black eyes, serious and smart, peered at him with a question. The stubborn line of his chapped lips emphasized the heavy jaw that bulged with tension. At twenty-two, Ejder looked older, except for his eyes that always shimmered with child-like curiosity.

  Without a word, Talha pointed his chin at the mosque, checked his gun, then strode toward the main entrance.

  Worn, colorless carpets, that had once gracefully covered the floor throughout the building, now rotted from the high humidity. Some windows were boarded up, but the light still made its way through others that glinted with the remains of stained glass; it failed to fully illuminate the tall vaults of the ceiling. Ringing silence, like the one that numbed the air before a severe storm, added to the desolate atmosphere.

  With no obvious reason, every hair on Talha’s arms raised to attention. The same discomfort emitted from his people. Ejder’s voice, coming from behind his shoulder, murmured, “I don’t like it.”

  A teenage boy, no older than fifteen, dressed in black camouflage, appeared from behind a white square column and came up to Talha. His whiskey-colored eyes too serious on his child face. “Asani Bey[13] awaits you.”

  Suppressing the need to throw another glance at Ejder, Talha followed his lead, walking toward the old altar that was cloaked in shadows.

  “It’s nice to finally meet you, Reis.” An adenoidal voice boomed in the space, shattering the heavy silence. Twisting in the air, it split into echoes of different intensity and assaulted him from every direction. Through the screen of swirling dust and crisscrossing sunbeams, Talha picked up a silhouette of a man sitting in a tall, massive chair that substituted for the altar. “Thank you for coming. It’s an honor.”

  The man didn’t get up, didn’t offer Talha his hand. His face drowned in shadows, leaving only knotty fingers covered with heavy gold rings visible. They calmly rested on the black metal of an Uzi—a close-range submachine gun that worked best against a crowd.

  Talha’s cheek twitched in an unborn cringe. His mind blanked.

  “Get back!” he yelled to his men. Shielding Ejder with his shoulder, he pushed him toward the exit, but the massive doors slammed closed. Grabbing his gun, he aimed at the sitting man.

  The events made little sense to him. Even with the Uzi, Behçet was alone. They still had a chance. Talha’s people already had him in their sights. The messenger boy was unarmed, but even if he had a gun too, he would have to target their heads because all of his people wore bullet-proof vests. However, Behçet didn’t look like he intended to start a shootout. With unhurried and slow movements, he put the gun on the floor, got up, and cracked his neck.

  “You are so stupid, Talha.” His rusty, bass brimmed with arrogance as he stepped behind the chair and tugged the chain that hung from above. A low screeching of stone sliding against stone sounded as the man added, “You will die here. Lights!”

  THUD. Something hit the ground to his left; the same sound reached him from his right in the next heartbeat. He twisted his neck, seeking the danger. Plastic shields, painted in the same texture as the inner walls of the mosque, fell from above. Crashing against the floor, they revealed several men standing behind low parapets by every unclosed window fifteen feet above the ground. They fixed night vision goggles over their eyes and released small strings connected to black fabric blinds. Falling, they choked the light, and impenetrable darkness swallowed everything, hitting Talha with a dagger of fear.

  FRRRRRRRRAK. BANG. BANG. BANG.

  The crossfire drummed in his ears. Coming from every direction, it shattered the darkness as a rain of bullets sliced the air. Someone screamed, then again. Footfalls scattered about the vast space, multiplied by echoes, they messed with his senses. Disoriented and lost, he pushed Ejder backward, where he remembered the location of the nearest column. He couldn’t tell if there were windows above the entrance, but he was sure the sound of the falling shields hadn’t come from behind. Ejder, hitting the column first, tumbled, but the next moment his hand grasped Talha’s shirt and pulled him back. Safe behind the square tapered column, Talha leaned against the cool stone and closed his eyes, listening.

  Gunfire, screams, death rattles, and the loud clanging of bullets hitting stone inhabited the air. Twisted and distorted, the sounds entwined in a cacophony accentuated by the strong echo. No matter how hard he tried, he wasn’t able to say from which direction the gunfire and dying screams came until everything quieted down.

  Sooner or later, we will run out of bullets, and they will put us down one by one, like fucking dogs. The helplessness kicked him in the gut. Without thinking, he stuck his hand out from behind the column and fired, aiming somewhere up and right where, if he remembered correctly, the nearest window was located. The instant return fire forced him to recoil, but the darkness thinned a fraction. Guided by a glowing dot, created by a bullet passing through the blinds, he sneaked another look, sending more bullets the same direction. Needles of light cut through the darkness. They weren’t enough to illuminate the building, but his vision, adapting to the dark, made out his surroundings.

  A rustle from the left preceded crossfire, informing him that at least two of his people had found a cover. Another gun joined them from the back, then one more from his right.

  Ejder moved. A BANG rang out above Talha’s ear, and a heavy THUD, coming from the depth of the mosque, suggested that his brother had hit a target. Peeking out, Talha inched the gun sight a fraction away from the riddled window, then shot. The darkness shattered and a hail of bullets bombarded the other side of the column. Shards of stone bit his face and shoulder, forcing him back. Ejder groaned, shuddered, and started to sink.

  “No, no, no. Fuck!” Talha pleaded, fisting Ejder’s shirt collar, he hauled him upright. His chest pressed against his brother’s, supporting his weight as his hands groped Ejder’s body. “Where?”

  “My shoulder. I’m okay…” Ejder hissed, sucking in air.

  Through the loud peals of weapons, Talha heard another body hitting the floor, and the fire pressure from his right weakened. His eyes, adapting further, picked up two shadows hiding behind the column on his left. From the distance, he wasn’t able to make out their faces, but he felt their gazes upon himself.

  Talha reloaded his gun then made a ‘cover me’ sign. Gunfire deluged the air
and he inched right, squinting. Two human silhouettes, on either side of a window, bled through the gloom. Concentrating on the return fire, they didn’t look at his direction. Aiming, he pulled the trigger. One man staggered and dropped his gun, grabbing his throat. He reached the ground the same moment as a barrage of lead hit the column.

  Swallowing the dust, Talha leaned forward and pressed his forearms against the cold stone at either side of Ejder’s head, shielding him from shards.

  How fucking stupid… He winced; his shirt warming with blood that wasn’t his. He growled as helplessness and a need to crush something clenched his fists. I should have never brought Ejder with me. He should have stayed in Mardin.

  “It will be okay,” he whispered to Ejder. “Hold on. I will fix it, I promise. I’m sorry for letting you down.”

  Guilt gnawed at his heart, erasing his survival instincts. Pressing one palm against Ejder’s chest, he shoved his upper body from behind the column and pulled the trigger. The gun misfired.

  BANG! Fire and ice scalded the right side of his head, blanking his vision. His ears rang. Trying to retain his balance, he sidestepped, hand flapping in the air, searching for anything to hold onto. Someone grabbed his arm and hauled him back. Confused, he shook his head. The bright spots in front of his eyes morphed into rainbow bubbles. Something trickled down his face, flooding his right eye. He lifted his hand, wanting to touch it, but swayed left.

  His skull split into a hundred pieces, and a million little invisible legs pitter-pattered over his naked brain. But as soon as Ejder’s hands seized his head, the world glued together. “Abi?”

  Talha blinked. His vision cleared.

  “Give me your gun,” he said, slapping Ejder’s hand away from his face. The weapon changed hands. Once again, Talha signed to his people to cover him. Supporting Ejder with his shoulder, he tilted left, aimed and fired. The thunder of gunfire, coming from the left column, banged against the walls, making the remaining glass in the windows rattle. He fired again, aiming at the vague shadows, and soon everything went quiet.

  Carefully, he unglued himself from the wet chest of his brother and peeped out. No movements caught his attention as he guided the gun sight from one window to another. Circling the column, he checked the rear part, before he slunk toward the altar.

  Dead bodies lay on the floor by the walls and columns like broken dolls. Swallowing a lump in his throat, step by step, Talha stumbled to the altar.

  FRRRRRRRRAK. A red flash shattered the darkness. Gunfire roared in his ears as a hail of lead stuttered against his ribcage, pinning him to the ground. His heart choked with blood, and his guts tangled together. Unable to take a breath or exhale, he curled on his side and scratched alongside the bulletproof vest in an attempt to elevate the pain. His vision failed, then returned, concentrating on small dust particles that swirled in a single beam of light from behind the altar. He blinked, trying to suck some air into his burning lungs, but his body rebelled against him, and he doubled over, spitting out the remaining oxygen.

  A slender figure, dressed in a black camouflage suit, holding an Uzi on one hand, got up from the tall throne-like chair, and made the first step toward Talha. The military boots, slowly approaching, raised small clouds of dust every time a heavy sole hit the floor.

  Talha tried to lift the gun, but his body wasn’t functioning, and a paralyzing numbness prickled his fingertips. Blankly staring into the gloom, he watched the muzzle of the Uzi establish eye contact with him, as the boy granted him a lopsided smile.

  “Allahismarladik[14],” the boy said. A gunshot ripped through the silence and deafened Talha. The young face lost the wicked expression; mouth slacked, eyes unfocused, as his right cheek burst open. Knees buckled, and he toppled on the old, moldy carpet.

  “Güle-güle[15],” Dinçer, Talha’s best friend and lieutenant, called from behind, making him relax in relief.

  Someone kneeled by his side. Agile hands tore his shirt open and loosened his bulletproof vest. He rolled to his back, and air rushed into his lungs. His chest compressed. Unable to sustain the air, he spat it back, but his mouth kept gulping it. He squeezed his eyes and forced himself to sit up. The friendly hand patted his shoulder and his mind cleared.

  “Ejder?” he called, rushing to his feet. The dull pain rebounded in his core from the impact point, and he rubbed his chest where the bullets had hit him. “Get the fucking light!”

  Someone opened the door and a strong cascade of light sliced through the gloom, as the car drove up and stopped in the doorways. A new wave of gunshots reached him from the outside, but Talha didn’t care. Rushing to his brother, he hauled him upright.

  “Get him to the doctor. Collect our wounded and dead. We need to get out of here before the police arrive.” Talha shoved Ejder to Dinçer, before rushing toward the altar. Grabbing the chain that hung from the ceiling, he tugged. The floor at his feet moved, and a stone slab slid to the side revealing a hidden ladder.

  Without thinking, he descended.

  A string of electric lights illuminated a long corridor, leading one way. Dark, red brick walls and an arch of a ceiling emitted the strong smell of mold. Black spots above holes in the wall suggested that before electricity, torches illuminated this place. Talha heard someone following behind him but didn’t bother looking back. His attention was glued to the wooden door at the end of the passage.

  Kicking the door open, he pointed the gun at the single figure present in the dungeon room. The fireplace glowed orange and illuminated the walls, a large wooden table that took up half the space in the room, and a huge map that sprawled on the wall opposite Talha. In the corner of his eye, he noticed some black deformed objects pinned to the continents, but they didn’t grab his attention, as the blood drumming in his ears, demanded him to kill.

  Something squeaked, rushing from under Talha’s foot. Dropping his aim to the floor, he saw a huge gray rat galloping toward the wall before squeezing its fat body into a small hole.

  Jerking his cheek, he raised the gun at the man again. Streams of sweat, reflecting the fire, rushed down his shirtless torso and the damp mess of his short black hair. The stranger didn’t flinch, as if he didn’t notice Talha’s presence. Both of his arms were covered in something black up to his elbows, as he stood in front of the opposite wall, examining the map. Head tilting, he lifted one hand, squeezing something in his fist, then pressed the formless knot of something to the map where England lay. Lifting his foot, the man slid his other hand under the top of his military boot and fished out a long throwing knife.

  A raspy breath, coming from behind, washed Talha’s ears in heat. The airwave hit the side of his face, and a muzzle entered his field of vision.

  The thin black metal of the throwing knife didn’t reflect any light as the man raised his hand and pinned a formless object to the map. Confused, Talha inched forward, never losing the sight of the man, never lowering his gun. He saw Dinçer and a recruit, Emin, entering the room right after him; both held the man in their sights.

  “Turn around,” Talha ordered. “Hands in the air.”

  The man twisted his torso toward Talha then made a complete spin. Genuine surprise shot up his eyebrow and a corner of his mouth into an approximation of a smile. “Oh, you’re alive. Interesting…”

  Black stains, marring his face and chest, merged with crisp shadows that outlined the relief of his toned muscles. Talha took another step, scrutinizing his features. Full lips on a young, Caucasian face stretched further into a smile, as his glacial eyes pierced Talha’s soul. Despite standing under the threat of three guns, the man showed no signs of distress, quite the opposite; he looked in his domain—confident, relaxed, mildly curious. The maturity had already sharpened his jawline and his cheekbones, but his inquisitive, fearless gaze and smooth skin told Talha that he was in his early twenties. No matter how long Talha scanned his face, this wasn’t Behçet Asani.

  “Bism-m-millah[16]…” Emin stuttered. Talha scanned the body language of th
e thickset man. His gun trembled in his hand as his beady, always wet eyes stared at something on the floor lying behind the wide wooden table. “It’s Iblīs...”

  The atmosphere shifted in the room as a smile on the young, handsome face turned wicked. Iblīs took a step toward them. Lifting his finger to his mouth, he shushed, “Shhhh.”

  “Iblīs?” Talha repeated. His heart, speeding up, sent boiling blood slamming against his face. Swallowing his excitement, he inched right. Approaching Emin, he circled the table and glanced down.

  The body of Behçet Asani sprawled over the floor, his hands pinned to the carpet with throwing daggers as if crucified. His mouth gaped in a silent scream as his dead eyes bulged in horror. A long slice split his large, muscular body from solar plexus to groin. In the bloody wound, Talha saw the grayish mess of his guts, swimming in a pool of blood.

  Emin’s hands shook as he pointed his gun at Iblīs. His pupils dilated, lips whispering prayers, and his finger twitched over the trigger, ready to shoot the Devil. Sidestepping, Talha placed his hand over Emin’s gun, lowering it. Meeting the fearful stare of a feral animal, Talha ordered, “Leave.”

  Tucking Ejder’s gun in the back of his belt, Talha took a small step toward the younger man with his open palms forward. Droplets of sweat glared on the toned body in reflected red and gold light from the fire. The blue eyes scrutinized his every move.

  He is barely older than Ejder. How can this be Iblīs?

  His memory leafed through all the information he had ever received on Iblīs but found nothing useful. People said that three years ago Behçet was no one. Brutal, but not smart, he lacked self-control and flexibility; therefore he had never reached high, remaining a small drug dealer with overly high ambitions. Things changed when he sold his soul to the Devil or so people said. Slicing one throat after another, his personal ripper slaughtered every one of Behçet’s enemies, leaving no witnesses behind. Soon after, people began to believe that the bloody ripper was indeed Iblīs—the evil jinn, created from the smokeless fire. It took Iblīs half a year to make the Asani Cartel the largest organization in Istanbul.