Page 14 of Iblis' Affliction
“You want to know my name?” He tilted his head, taking a small step in her direction. “It’s Iblis.”
She gasped. Slater’s smile grew bigger.
“Let’s surprise Master, shall we?”
A SINGLE THREAD OF CHRISTMAS LIGHTSstretched from the hall, drowning in the darkness, and up the massive staircase that split the mansion into two even halves. Wrapping around white spindles, it twinkled with a mesmerizing golden light and disappeared in the right corridor.
Talha frowned, holding his breath. The windows stood draped over. No sound disturbed the suffocating silence, as if the night had already swallowed the world, except it wasn’t even four.
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, Hanim 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.
