Iblis’ Affliction

by Nero Seal

  Working his wrist up and down, he felt the rope vibrate, tighten, and tear. Every muscle shrieked with intensified circulation as he slowly lifted his upper body. The blood, slamming into his head plunged the room into darkness and forced him to slap the ground with his palm. His spine cracked as Slater’s head rolled off his shoulder and bumped against the ground. The younger man flinched, sat up, and his muddy gaze fixed on Talha.

  Talha’s heart leaped to his throat as Slater’s confused look traveled down his hand and fixed on the knife.

  “Huh… Master is free.” A cruel smile stretched the left side of Slater’s mouth, and his face darkened.

  Biting the inside of his cheek, Talha put the knife to the ground and backhanded Slater’s face with his free hand. “Enough, Slater.”

  Head whipping to the side, Slater hunched forward but didn’t attempt to look up again. Swallowing thick saliva, Talha picked up the karambit, flipped it in his hand, and offered it to Slater handle forward.

  “Release me. Now.”

  Slater chuckled. Head rolling to the side, he granted Talha a hard stare. “Master is strong. Slater is weak. Master can do what Slater can’t. Strong should live.”

  Getting onto his knees, Slater took the knife and cut the other rope, before sitting back on his heels. His gaze glued to an invisible spot on the floor. He didn’t raise his eyes even when Talha got to his feet and strolled down the chamber.

  “Where are my clothes?”

  “Next room.” The dull answer drowned in the darkness.

  Slamming the door open, Talha entered the vast, almost empty room, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he didn’t smell the suffocating stench of decay. A dim electric lamp hung above the door, the light barely strong enough to recognize the dirty red color of the walls. Another door drowned in the gloom at the opposite wall. Approaching the corner, he grabbed his cock and, aiming at the wall, let go. His aching bladder, releasing, sent a rush of endorphins down his spine. His head fell backward as relief washed over. Shaking the drops off the tip, Talha examined his surroundings. Carefully folded, his clothes lay on a stool that stood by the right wall, close to the door. Picking up his pants, he quickly tugged them on and hurried back to the chamber.

  Slater lay on the floor on the same spot where Talha had been lying five minutes ago. His fingers drew small circles at the ground.

  “Get up,” Talha ordered.

  “Leave, Master…” Slater croaked. “Leave before Slater changes his mind. Slater won’t follow you anymore. Slater will stay here.”

  Swallowing the rising anger, Talha sucked in a deep breath, then blew out the air of irritation. His gaze landed on Camilla’s head. How fast death took away her beauty, covering her smooth skin with green spots. How fast her eyes lost their color. Grabbing Slater’s backpack, Talha picked up Camilla’s arm, then stumbled toward her head. Dropping on his knees, he touched her icy cheeks but a strong hand seized his forearm.

  “No, Master. Leave her. Hanım stays with Slater. Slater will guard her sleep. Slater will share her fate.” Staining Talha’s soul with his listless, muddy gaze, Slater released his wrist and rested his head against the ground. “Hanım is broken, so is Slater. We don’t belong up there. Master doesn’t need broken things. But when Master breaks someone else, Master can bring them here, to the graveyard of his broken toys. Now, leave, Master. We will be waiting for you in Hell.”

  Talha’s fists itched to smash this face bloody, but he had no time for it. Leashing his anger, he ordered, “Get up.”

  When Slater didn’t waver, Talha carefully took Camilla’s head in his hands and put it in the backpack. Hooking it over his shoulders, he grabbed the front of Slater’s shirt.

  “Get the fuck up!”

  “No… Slater doesn’t want to.”

  “Get up!” Jerking Slater’s shirt, Talha pushed the words through gritted teeth, then backhanded Slater’s face.

  “Master is funny. So selfish…” Slater grinned. The angry glow lit up his eyes; he hissed, “Leave now, Master, or I will get mad.”

  “Then get mad, because I’m fucking furious,” Talha said, wanting to smash this beautiful face against the floor. Anger, confusion, relief, desperation—everything mixed, shuffling white and black. He was furious at Slater for raping him, for slaughtering everyone in his house, for kicking the shit out of him, for locking him down here for days. He was mad at Slater for never saying anything about his feelings and angry at himself for never noticing Slater’s distress. He was so mad, that he wasn’t even sure he was mad at all or just tired. “Don’t even dream about dying here in peace after what you have done. I’ll be the one to decide when and how you will die, and trust me, it won’t be merciful.”

  Without thinking, he hauled Slater’s upper body toward himself and collided his lips with Slater’s. Unable to control his emotions, he sank his teeth into the full bottom lip, and the metallic taste bloomed on his tongue. Talha withdrew, leaving the reaper blinking in confusion. He couldn’t remember ever being this pissed in his life. He needed Slater to get furious too, it only seemed fair. He wanted to see a cruel grin and hear words full of hatred, so he could hit his beautiful face, but instead, Slater’s lips quivered. The reaper lowered his chin, trying to glue a smile to his face, but it constantly slipped off.

  “Master is so cruel.”

  Talha’s chest contracted, and unsettling emotions stormed through his core, seeking a way out.

  “Whatever. Get up.” Talha got to his feet and tugged Slater upright. An arm wound around his torso, tugging him somewhere. Slater stumbled, swayed, and leaned forward with all his weight, resting his sweaty forehead in the crook of Talha’s neck.

  “So many flies… Funny… Is that because Slater is rotting? Did they come to feast?” Talha frowned, unsure what Slater was talking about. A weak voice seared his neck, “Slater can’t feel his legs…”

  “Put pressure on your wound! Where is your fucking car?”

  “So many flies…”

  TALHA BARELY REGISTERED DRAGGING SLATER down the red stone corridor, pushing the metal door open, and stumbling outside. The rising sun perforated dense clouds, showering the Earth in pink light. But even this grayish morning was too much for eyes used to darkness. It took a minute before his vision adapted and he could look around. A net of mist hung in the air, clinging to his face. A red stone minaret pierced a pink cloud, casting a thick shadow over the overgrown, desolated backyard. Through the broken windows of the old, abandoned mosque, Talha saw a white ceiling and a tapered square column. The powerful form of the once magnificent building was painfully familiar to Talha’s exhausted mind.

  Turning his back to the mosque, he spotted Slater’s black Honda CR-V hiding in the shadows of currant bushes. Slapping through the debris toward it, he didn’t pay attention to the wet ground, the sharp stones stabbing his soles, or the piece of old wire that caught his pants. All he could think about was the drenched shirt and hot liquid oozing from under his fingers. Slater’s pain threshold had always been high. Never before, even when seriously wounded, had Talha seen him this pale, this immobile. Slater’s legs barely moved. His eyes dimmed, and his heavy eyelids half-swallowed his unfocused pupils.

  Pulling the rear passenger door open, Talha shoved Slater in the rear seat. He didn’t register how he got into the car and started the engine, but he remembered how his hands shook when he drove out of the desolate backyard. Racing through the morning city, he constantly checked the rearview mirror to see blood pooling on the beige leather seat. Every time he took a left turn, a small wave of blood ran over the cushion and dropped to the carpet.

  Slamming the brake with his foot, he parked before the main entrance of the private hospital. Getting out of the car, he opened the rear door, and grabbing Slater’s icy hand, pulled the ripper outside and into his arms. Slater’s knees buckled, and his body started sinking to the black, dusty asphalt.

  Talha grounded his teeth, riled with the lack of strength. The
days spent in immobility did their job, and now he felt no stronger than a newly born kitten. Wrapping Slater’s arm around his neck, he hauled him toward the main entrance.

  ONE NURSE RUSHED TOWARD Talha, checking Slater’s vitals as another one darted toward the doctors’ lounge. A moment later, Miraç emerged.

  “Reis, are you okay?”

  “Him first,” Talha said, lifting his chin toward Slater’s pale face.

  Materializing by Talha’s side, Miraç checked Slater’s eyes then his pulse, before tugging up his wet shirt. “A gurney, now! Prepare the operating room.”

  Head spinning, he watched Slater being taken from his arms and placed onto the wheeled stretcher. The world dimmed, and he had to lean against the wall for balance. His mind blanked as exhaustion took over. He wasn’t sure how much time passed before Miraç touched his shoulder.

  “Slater?” His heart sped up from the mere thought that Slater might not make it.

  “The knife scratched his liver. The laceration is small, but I wish he came sooner. We sewed the cut and drained the blood from his stomach. The burn on his hand was terribly infected; he is lucky he doesn’t have sepsis. We cleaned it and put him on antibiotics. He is in intensive care now, but he isn’t conscious. He’ll live. At least until your brother gets his hands on him.”

  Miraç’s voice sounded dull. Talha rubbed his temples with his fingers. The information bounced against his tired brain.

  “Reis?” A hand invaded his personal space, waving in front of his face, then grabbed his shoulder. “Reis, come with me, it looks like you need medical attention yourself.”

  “I’m okay…” Talha swallowed. “I’m not wounded, but I can’t hear with my left ear and my head is spinning.”

  “Come-come.” With his hand wrapped around Talha’s torso, Miraç ushered him in the office.

  THREE HOURS LATER, propping himself against the wall, opposite to Slater’s medical bed, Talha drowned himself in a disgusting multi-vitamin drink and contemplation. A pile of nootropic and sedative drugs stood untouched close to the salmon sandwich wrapped in plastic. Despite spending days in captivity, hunger was the least of his problems. A part of him wanted to follow Miraç’s advice and swallow the pills to ease the noise in his head the concussion and perforated eardrum caused, but he didn’t want the sedatives to shuffle his thoughts and affect his judgment.

  A quick update from Miraç revealed a pitiful picture. Camilla’s death split the Hale Family. For now, Ejder managed to avoid the war, writing things off to the confusion and the inability to recreate the whole picture of the massacre. Since Talha had been missing as well, the Hale Family never declared war, but the relationship between two organizations was irrevocably embittered. To add to it, Ejder placed a price on Slater’s head.

  Refusing to talk to anyone until he decided what to do with Slater, Talha told Miraç to inform Ejder about his whereabouts and physical state. He also passed a message to Dinçer, asking him to bring his clothes. Even after taking a shower and borrowing Miraç’s spare suit, Talha couldn’t shake off the suffocating stench of decay that haunted him. He hoped that his own clothes, his scent, would help him shake it off.

  “What a mess…” Talha sank his fingers into his hair. His thoughts jumped all over, and the constant tiny noise in his damaged ear kept stirring his headache. He deliberately distanced himself from Slater, so he wouldn’t strangle the wounded reaper in his sleep. Still, his eyes kept searching Slater’s pale arms, covered with healed burns and the bandage, wrapped around his right hand, the net of bluish veins stretching beneath his transparent skin and the endotracheal tube sticking out from his mouth. A part of Talha needed to reach out and touch his skin to make sure it wasn’t deathly-cold, the other one itched to disconnect the machine so the reaper would pass silently.

  It was irrational. He understood it, yet he couldn’t help glancing up at the heart monitor to verify that Slater’s pulse remained stable.

  After what felt like an eternity, he glanced out of the window. Another sultry, dusty day stood in full bloom, burning color out of the asphalt. Just like the color, he couldn’t stay indecisive forever. A new spike of pain pierced his head making him avert his eyes from the painfully bright landscape. Soon, he would have to face his people and explain what had happened, yet he had no idea what to say.

  The truth? That I couldn’t control my reaper? That Slater was jealous of Camilla and killed her for this stupid reason? That he kept me in a dungeon for days, fucking me, torturing me?

  The thought made his vision throb with red. There was no way he would ever admit it. It would be suicide. No one would respect or fear him again. He could see the faces of his enemies, full of mockery, gossiping in juicy detail that Talha’s male lover slaughtered his bride out of jealousy.

  Cold sweat beaded on his nape.

  I should kill him… It’s time to admit that I was never able to control him. He was never completely loyal to me. Only to himself. I liked to think that he belonged to me, but I don’t even know what’s going on in his head.

  The last thought lit a match in the oily pond of his dormant anger. He raped me. He disgraced me. He murdered people who trusted me, were loyal to me. There is only one way out of this mess—he should die. Even if I don’t kill him, Ejder will never let it go. Me, disconnecting the machine now, would be mercy. So many people died. We lost England, and we are about to have a war with the Hale Family. I can’t protect him anymore. I shouldn’t protect him anymore. If I stand against my people, I’ll drown Turkey in blood. And for what?

  His glare fixed on Slater’s immobile frame.

  For a disloyal dog who only wanted to fuck.

  Yet, despite the thoughts, he didn’t approach the ventilator, as a single look at Slater’s closed eyes reanimated the feverish whisper in his memory. ‘Slater isn’t stupid. Master will leave Slater as soon as Master is free. Then Slater will be alone in Hell. Only Slater and Hanım.’

  Talha’s throat closed with a bitter emotion he didn’t have the mental capacity to classify.

  “I can’t forgive you. It’s not the first time you betrayed me, but this is the last one,” Talha whispered. “There is a price on your head. Even if I cancel the contract, how many people have figured out your identity? Half of the criminal world of Anatolia wishes to see Iblīs dead. You are a walking target. What you’ve started is unstoppable. I can’t risk Ejder’s life and the lives of people who trust me, to save yours. I can’t start a war I won’t be able to win.”

  Even while sleeping, Slater’s face wore a grim expression, and Talha voiced the unsaid question the reaper would definitely ask if he was awake, “Why did Master promise not to leave Slater? If Master left Slater in the mosque, it would have ended where it started. It would be so much easier—walk away and never look back.”

  Talha sighed. “Indeed, why? Why can’t I leave you? Why can I never give you up? You are such a shitty assassin, Slater. You cause me so many problems… You are so fucking needy, so troublesome.”

  Talha smirked, remembering the Royal Game and the lousy job Slater had done with covering his tracks when he reprinted Salik’s footprints, and how he carelessly used his karambits to dig the snake-trap. How furious Talha became finding a curvy print from a claw-knife on the pit wall.

  Back then, he wanted to kill Slater. Despite clearly seeing two pairs of prints—one above the other—he had never informed anyone about Slater’s presence. Two reasons had stopped him. First, he didn’t know Slater’s agenda. The way he’d chosen to disable Talha’s people suggested that he wished no deaths. Talha suspected that it was either payback for leaving him home or yet another test. The second reason was way more serious. Telling people that Iblīs sided with Salik would result in two outcomes. People would panic and run, leaving Salik in the woods; or the game would turn into a bloody, devil-hunting adventure very few would survive. So he’d kept his mouth shut, watching and analyzing until he grew tired of the meaningless chase and screams full of pain. It
didn’t matter who Slater was. No one was allowed to make a fool of him and his traditions.

  Leaving his people behind, Talha had stepped into the woods alone, wondering if this was what Slater wanted. Finding Salik was easy, but he had been surprised that Slater never interrupted his hare chase, even though he gave him enough time to show up. After knocking Salik out and firing the signal gun to inform his people that the Royal Game had ended, he examined the knife Salik had used. His suspicion confirmed. Lacking a manufacturer’s mark, the weapon was bespoke. None of his people would carry anything like this, let alone gift it to Salik. The thought irritated even more, as he’d imagined Slater watching the combat from afar, waiting for one of them to die. And to set the example, Talha had delivered a brutal death to Salik so Slater would think twice before betraying him again. Except, back then, he didn’t know that to keep Slater in check, he would have to constantly play a meaningless game of domination.

  If he had met Slater in the woods, he had no doubts that he would have killed him, but the long road back home provided him with a lot of thinking time.

  By the time he returned home, his righteousness diminished. The thought that Slater hadn’t killed anyone didn’t leave his mind, throwing him in a loop of unanswered questions. What did Slater want? Was it another test? If so, did he pass? Or, maybe, it was another sick game?

  Talha didn’t know.

  Slater’s combat knife burned his skin when he’d entered his bedroom. He wasn’t sure if he should approach the reaper about the topic, but seeing the honey syrup drip from Slater’s wrist to his bedsheets, he’d stopped caring. His voice was calm when he’d tossed the knife to Slater and ordered him to change the linens.

  Talha shook his head, remembering the blinding smile Slater had granted him that evening as if Talha did exactly what Slater wanted, needed. Brushing his fingers over his lips, Talha sank in the memories of the night Slater came into his bed once again.