Page 21 of Iblis' Affliction
His memory leafed through all the information he had ever received on Iblis 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 Iblis—the evil jinn, created from the smokeless fire. It took Iblis half a year to make the Asani Cartel the largest organization in Istanbul.
No one claimed to have seen Iblis. 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 Iblis.
“Is that right?” Talha wasn’t sure if he stated or asked. “You are Iblis?”
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. Iblis 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 Iblis pull out another throwing knife and pin the eye to the map, over New York.
Iblis 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.’Iblis’ words looped in Talha’s head, intoxicating his blood. For years, the name Iblis 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. Iblis alone was a great strength, a great power, making people believe ‘the one who owned Iblis 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.”
Iblis’ 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 Iblis 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?”
Iblis 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?”
