Iblis’ Affliction

by Nero Seal

  No one claimed to have seen Iblīs. No one had ever survived a meeting with him, or those who did had never talked about him. No one knew his age, so Talha had always assumed he had to be some sick old fuck. But this man was young, and his facial features were almost gentle. Tall and lean, he was beautiful, rather than scary. But the butchered body of Behçet, lying by his feet, spoke better than words. No doubt, this was Iblīs.

  “Is that right?” Talha wasn’t sure if he stated or asked. “You are Iblīs?”

  The younger man didn’t answer, but his full lips, drew up, revealing a perfect row of white teeth.

  “Why did you kill Behçet? Wasn’t he your master?”

  “Why?” An agile voice, speaking in flawless Turkish, sent hundreds of goosebumps down Talha’s back. Iblīs smirked, granting Behçet’s body a glance full of contempt. “Behçet disappointed.”

  “Disappointed?”

  “Behçet got weak. Behçet was scared. The weak can’t own Slater. Only the strong can.”

  Slater? Is that his name?

  The young man squatted down and his long, strong fingers touched the dead eye of his former master. Nails digging into the socket, he squeezed the eyeball between his fingers, then jerked his hand back. The sight of the torn blood vessels stretching in the air after Slater’s fingers made Talha’s stomach roil. A sour taste filled his mouth. Someone retched behind him. Horrified and mesmerized at once, he watched Iblīs pull out another throwing knife and pin the eye to the map, over New York.

  Iblīs stepped back, giving his creation another look of appreciation. A liver, heart, adrenal gland, and part of a lung decorated the colorful paper, creating a horrifying design only pure evil and chaos could produce.

  ‘Weak can’t own Slater. Only strong can.’ Iblīs’ words looped in Talha’s head, intoxicating his blood. For years, the name Iblīs chilled the blood in people’s veins. Merciless, bloody, the ripper of the Assani Cartel instilled wild, unconscious fear in the minds of Behçet’s enemies. Iblīs alone was a great strength, a great power, making people believe ‘the one who owned Iblīs owned the world’. At that moment, more than anything, Talha wanted to own this man.

  “You have no master now, right? Be mine,” he heard himself say. “I’ll pay you double what you got from Behçet.”

  A beautiful head tilted to the side, informing Talha that Slater had heard.

  “Are you insane?” Dinçer clutched his shoulder, but Talha pried his hand off with a shrug. “He slaughtered his master. Look at what he did! He’s crazy.”

  Ignoring his friend, Talha added, “I want you. And I always get what I want.”

  Iblīs’ head moved from the left tilt to the right before the younger man turned away from his map and faced Talha again; an uncertain smile played on his lips. “Huh?”

  Slater inched forward, and Talha heard someone move behind his back.

  “Dinçer, leave.” The insanity of his actions syringed a massive dose of adrenaline into his blood, producing a weird, drug-like effect.

  “But Talha…”

  “Leave,” he repeated, never breaking eye contact with the mesmerizing glint of the icy-blue irises. “If he kills me, no revenge should follow. This is my decision."

  “Talha, huh…” The breath of a desert wrapped around Talha, making him feel home. The wind that guided him north-west spoke in the same low whisper Iblīs used now. At that moment, Talha understood that nothing was accidental. For the best or worst, he was destined to meet Slater.

  The sickening smell of blood and death washed over him as the reaper took another step. His body tensed, his self-protection instincts screamed for him to run, but he forced himself to stay. Staring into the transparent eyes, he waited for the younger man to decide, as the realization that he might die right now tightened his stomach.

  “I’ve heard about you,” Slater said. “People like you. People respect you. They say you are a fair and honest master. They say you are scared of no one. Is that true?” Talha said nothing. Slater continued, “You look young. Getting out of one death trap and you want to enter another. You aren’t smart, are you? Have you nothing to lose?”

  Iblīs leaned forward, sucking air in through his nose the same way wild animals do, and the smile touched his eyes. “No, that’s not the case. You are thirsty. Power-thirsty… My favorite type. Aren’t you afraid?”

  Talha didn’t reply, worried that his nervousness might find its way into his voice, so he squared his jaw, hoping his body language could speak better than words.

  “Interesting… I’ve never had such a young and handsome master. That makes me curious; will you be able to handle me?” The liquid voice, rasping with suspicion, made Talha clench his fists.

  Forcing his vocal cords into submission, he said, “Try me.”

  “Hmm…”

  “What do you want? Money? Power? Luxuries?”

  Slater giggled. “No… Slater doesn’t need money. Slater can’t be bought, but Slater can be owned.”

  “What do you want then?”

  “Everything: your soul, body, life, and devotion. Betray me, and I’ll kill you. Disgrace yourself, and I’ll kill you. Fear anything, and I’ll kill you. Get weak, and I’ll kill you. Rules are simple, Talha.” Iblīs’ breath touched his face, as the younger man got to his toes and leveled their eyes. Their faces so close, Talha could feel the warmth of Slater’s skin with his chest. “Are you scared yet?”

  “Why would I be?”

  “Huh? You are funny. Fine. I’ll follow you. But there will be no escape from the deal. And the price is steep, Master. I belong to you, but you, Master, belong to me.”

  The word ‘deal’ escaped Talha’s lips, and he hoped he wouldn’t live to regret his hasty decision.

  PRESENT

  ICE AND FIRE FLOGGING HIS BODY kicked him out of sleep. Muscles contracting, he gasped for air, but the stripe of duct tape prevented his mouth from opening. Subduing the first rush of panic, he drew in a long breath. Eyes blinking the water off, he managed to lift his upper body and look around. Water cascades rushed down his sides. Cold pools gathered in the indents of his stomach. Ice cubes littered the floor; some remained on his belly. His gaze stumbled over black pants, traveled up the strong hips and stomach, before reaching the head, tilted to the side.

  “Morning shower, Talha.” Slater sniggered. Standing on Talha’s left, he put the tin bucket aside. An acute smile split his face with a white line of his pressed lips. Squatting down, he ran his long fingers over Talha’s belly, flicked several ice cubes off on his wake, then leaned closer and blew at Talha’s skin, chasing the remaining droplets off his navel. “How was your wedding night with Hanım? Did you make her happy?”

  Talha growled. All blood vessels in his body shrunk, and the bone-deep chill he had been fighting all night rushed down his spine and reverberated with a splitting headache. Body shaking, he pierced Slater with a murderous stare, but the younger man didn’t seem to notice.

  “How did you sleep?” The electric gaze grazed Talha’s skin, as the ripper gave him a once over. Slater’s throat bobbed, and his hot palm landed on Talha’s cold stomach. Talha tensed as all his senses edged under the touch, seeking, absorbing the drops of Slater’s warmth. “Or were you too busy with Hanım to sleep?”

  Talha didn’t respond.

  “You don’t look very happy. Didn’t you enjoy yourself?” The frown on Slater’s face morphed into understanding. “Oh, right. Stupid me. How could you enjoy yourself if your hands are tied and Hanım doesn’t have them at all?”

  Pressing an elbow against his knee, Slater propped his chin upon his palm and chewed on his lip.

  “What to do?” he wondered. His beautiful features transformed into a demonic mask. “Let’s make a deal, shall we? Kiss Hanım like a bride, fuck her mouth like you mean it, and I promise I will let you go.”

  Are you insane? Talha tried to repeat his mental question, but only “Agrh ugh ighsharh?” ripped through his throat.

  Slat
er’s lips twitched in a poorly concealed grin. His fingers sank into the platinum mess of Camilla’s hair as he hoisted her head and brought it to his face.

  “What? She is still pretty, isn’t she? Smells a little bit off, but well, it shouldn’t stop true love.” The back of his index finger brushed against Camilla’s slack face, outlining her cheek and chin. Giving her a weird look, Slater pecked her on the forehead. “So, you have the choice, Talha. Either you make love to your beloved Hanım, or you are going to face a long and agonizing death by my hand.”

  Talha faced away.

  “What would it be, Talha?” Camilla’s head entered Talha’s field of vision. Dark spots colored the cheek that had pressed to the ground, and an unbearable stench of death crawled up his nose, turning his stomach. Grabbing her chin with his free hand, Slater mimicked her voice and moved her jaw up and down. “Kiss me, Talha, or am I not pretty anymore?”

  The spiteful insult whacked Talha’s head back to the glacial eyes. An impetuous blood rush slamming into his head wiped every thought and erased the corners of the room. An animalistic roar broke out of his throat, and he yanked the ropes, again and again, until his wrists burned.

  He was mad at Slater for killing Zaal, Camilla, and her people, but it wasn’t the first time Slater had slipped out of his grasp, so Talha counted times like this as his own failures. He wasn’t particularly furious about Slater kidnapping him, and, eventually, he would be able to forgive him the rape. But this was UNFORGIVABLE.

  SLATER’S INSIDES BOUNCED. Shrinking and expanding with building up energy, they pulsed and trembled, forcing his body into a constant movement. It was harder and harder for Slater to stay put by Talha’s side.

  Choose this bitch. Come on, choose her! Pure, agonizing hatred storming in his chest, he shoved the severed head into Talha’s face, forcing the choice upon him.

  Talha betrayed Slater. Talha got weak. Talha should die… But no matter how many times he repeated it in his head; he couldn’t bring himself to finish off the man. The air was potent with emotion, but unlike the sour taste of fear, this was spicy, hot, bitter. This wasn’t fear but all-consuming rage. Rage that burned out the oxygen from Slater’s lungs, making him weak.

  Not good… He had no problems with killing his previous masters once they brought disgrace upon themselves or showed any weakness, then why couldn’t he kill Talha? Talha is the worst. Talha chose a woman over Slater. Talha submitted to a pussy. Slater should kill him!

  Locking his gaze with Talha’s, Slater felt the overpowering effect the amber eyes always had over him. The unbending will the man emitted absorbed into his skin, demanding he submit. Even now, beaten up, abused, and raped, Talha didn’t sink in despair, intensifying the burning ache in Slater’s chest. Talha didn’t break down, didn’t beg, didn’t tremble in fear.

  Master should suffer. Master should drown in disgrace, then Slater can kill him.

  “Make your choice, Master, or I will make it for you. What will it be?”

  But Talha did nothing to indicate his decision. Swaying right and left, the head stayed by Talha’s face for another minute. Slater realized that Master had never spared Camilla even a fraction of attention. Once again, Master looked only at him. With loathing, with hatred, but his focus was on Slater.

  Master isn’t fair. Master can’t throw Slater away and pick him up whenever Master pleases. There is no way back. Master chose her once, and Master will have to choose her again. Broken or not, Master will. But he never said it; instead, his lips dropped, “Very well, Talha.”

  His spare hand reached behind his back, and the habitual weight of the karambit landed in his palm. The black claw swished in the air and licked Talha’s chest, slicing the tender flesh above his heart. The vertical, two inches cut instantly beaded with blood.

  “That’s one, Master.”

  Slater froze, overwhelmed. The smell of blood wafted in, making his head spin. The crimson line on his master’s chest was so perfect, so beautiful, that he wondered why he had never marked Master’s body before. Red beads of blood swelled and formed a lazy trickle. So beautiful, so perfect. He itched to taste it. Submitting to the weird craving, he leaned forward and brushed his tongue against the wound. An electric impulse ran from the tip of his tongue down to the depth of his core, instilling a weird agitation. The dramatic contrast of temperatures between his mouth and Master’s body set his soul in turbulence, making him unsure about what to do next. He glanced up.

  Emotions flickered on Talha’s face as he stared down at his chest, morphing from confusion into astonishment and disbelief, then to something dark and unpleasant. Something that made Slater’s chest blaze with pain—disappointment.

  Crushing his tangled feelings, Slater said, “You traded me to Hanım, didn’t you?” Bringing her head up to his own ear, he frowned, listening to the silent mouth. His smile returned. “Well, then, it makes her my Mistress. And Hanım just told me—she wants you to suffer.”

  Getting up, Slater licked the droplets of Talha’s blood off the blade before sheathing it.

  “You refused my deal, so now there is no salvation. I offered you life, now you will only face death. The day will come when you fuck her mouth. I have all the time in the world, but you don’t. Time spares no one, Talha. Day by day, she will rot, so my advice, do it now while she is still pretty, and I will kill you fast and painless because every day you refuse her, you will scream, cry, and suffer. Everyone can be broken, Talha. Give up. There is nothing left for you, only pain.”

  SLATER HAD LEFT LONG AGO, but his even voice, void of emotions, still rang in Talha’s ears. Psychopathic, short-tempered, unbalanced, Slater had always been hard to deal with, but this sepulchral, lifeless voice stripped of his ever-present, liquid intonation was something new, something Talha wished never to hear again.

  Beams of light sneaked through the grate into the small chamber with the warm summer air. Talha embraced the heat with all his being. But the more day progressed, the more his prison resembled a suffocating ‘brazen bull’. Overheated, packed with dust and the sickening stench of death, it made him gag and wish he could breathe through his mouth.

  His bladder ached, and at some point, he had to let himself go. He found little consolation in the thought that he didn’t need to take a shit yet. His feverish mind threw him from deep remorse that he hadn’t listened to Ejder and hadn’t chipped Slater, to the realization that even if he managed to survive, the road to England would be closed for him forever.

  ‘You reek of a bitch, Master.’ Slater’s voice rang in his mind, and he closed his eyes, seeking escape from the torturing realization. I should have known. I should have seen it coming. He was obviously bothered by Camilla, but I ignored him, hoping the sex and beating would do the trick. I should have talked to him. I should have made him understand. Now it’s too late...

  He shuddered, remembering the demonic feast Slater arranged and couldn’t help but wonder who’d been the “lucky” one to make the discovery.

  Was it Ejder? The police? Someone else? Is anyone looking for Slater now? Is anyone looking for me? What will happen if they find Slater?

  There was no way in the world that Slater would give anyone his location, and at that moment, Talha hoped that no one would find Slater.

  The pain in his ass had dulled and didn’t reappear again, suggesting that Slater took his time preparing him. The vivid memory of abuse seared his cheeks and made his blood boil; it also plunged him into a thoughtful mood.

  Talha had never bottomed before. Slater had never shown any kind of interest in topping him, so Talha had never raised this question, satisfied with how things had been. Talha had never touched another man in his life, making Slater the only exception… If he wanted to kill me, torture me, punish me, why did he bother with stretching me? This doesn’t make any sense…

  The vivid image of Slater’s red, flustered face surfaced in his memory. Covered with sweat and trembling with primitive need, Slater had always been differen
t from any man. The only one Talha could ever imagine in his bed.

  The image blurred, then sharpened, plunging him into a mist of memories.

  5 YEARS AGO

  “MAKE A LIST OF THINGS YOU NEED, and Zeynep will take care of it. Do you have anything you want to pick up? Documents? Weapon? Money?”

  “No, I have everything I need, Master.”

  Talha frowned, listening to the rather unpleasant, oscillating voice of his new assassin. The curious gaze Slater gave him flickered with sparks of hidden laughter as if Slater doubted that someone like Talha was worth his loyalty. This thought pissed Talha off.

  “Your room,” Talha said, controlling his temper. Pushing the door open, he invited Slater in with a careless hand gesture. Heavy with gold and blue, the spare bedroom was a little ostentatious for his liking, but he hoped Slater wouldn’t mind. “Zeynep will help you with everything else.”

  Sparing the room no glance and ignoring the maid, Slater peered into Talha’s face.

  “Slater stays here alone?” The constant jumping from the first person to third, confused the hell out of Talha, but he noticed that more often than not, Slater jumped to the third person when his voice trembled with emotion.

  “Do you want a woman?”

  “A woman?” A creepy smile stretched Slater’s lips as his head tilted to the side. His eyes lost all curiosity and now glared at Talha with an open challenge.

  Touched by the same irritation that seized Slater’s shoulders, Talha uttered, “Whatever it is you want, tell Zeynep. She will arrange everything. And, I don’t know what rules you had to follow in Behçet’s house. You lived with him, right?”

  “Yes, Master.”