Page 59 of Iblis' Affliction
“Huh?” Unable to suppress a giggle, Slater licked sugar dust off his fingers, his interest spiking again. Talha looked confident, maybe too confident. Once again, Slater thought that he loved arrogance in people. Unlike Salik’s, Master’s was delicious. It had that potent, oily scent to it—the scent of the battlefield, overheated metal, and desert.
According to Slater, only a noob would lose against an unarmed opponent, but Master, obviously, had another opinion. Slater wanted to see him in combat to study his skills. In a situation like this, to stand a chance, Master should not only be more skillful but also had to be faster. Salik’s stance and the way he held the knife didn’t come from any martial art but screamed of jail time. The blade migrated from one hand to another, constantly disappearing in the shadows of his wrists.
Slater caught himself thinking that attacking Salik barehanded was an extremely stupid idea. Slater wouldn’t risk it, and there was no way Master was faster or more skillful than Slater.Maybe only more stupid.
“ARRRRGGHHHH!” Rushing forward in bull-like fury, Salik shoved his left palm up, aiming at Talha’s face, distracting him, his armed hand ready to stab. Talha leaped aside.
“Run, Master, run,” Slater whispered. “There is no victory for you.”
The scrawny man launched again with a series of straight jabs and wide flicks of a knife designed to cut Talha’s forearms. Eyes on his opponent Talha retreated in quick, careful steps, and Slater remembered the first rule of self-defense against a knife fighter: if you can’t see a knife, you have already lost.
Yet, Talha acted like he owned the space. Tearing his shirt off his shoulders, he eliminated the opportunity for Salik to grab his shirt and control the distance between them. Slater nodded his appreciation, when Talha didn’t throw the shirt away, but wrapped it around his left fist and forearm, creating a simple cloth shield. It wouldn’t save him from a stab but might help with slashes.
Slater regretted his inability to come closer. He considered to provide Master with anything for self-defense but refrained.If Master dies, c'est la vie. Also, if Slater showed himself, Master might start relying on Slater. That won’t be fair, would it?
Resuming a basic warrior stance, with one foot in front of the other, Salik went for a forward slash, aiming for Talha’s neck. Leaping aside, Talha drove his hand into the top of his boot and drew out a black, curved knife with the prominent sawback and inner curve covered with shark teeth.
Seeing the knife, Salik shrunk aside. The air of dominance dissolved around him as he pulled off his muddy shirt. Instead of wrapping it around his spare hand he clothed it around his armed one, giving Slater a ‘tell’ that his second hand wasn’t nearly as good as his dominant one, and he was scared that Talha might cut his fingers.
Interesting.Slater’s nerves vibrated with elation; his fingers curled around the branch beneath him as he leaned closer to get a better view.
Talha didn’t move, giving the privilege of the first attack to his opponent, except, now Salik wasn’t eager to cut the distance. Moving in small, tentative steps, he kept his eyes glued to Talha’s weapon. Opposing the way Talha held his knife, Salik flicked his blade tooth down.
Slater patted his pocket, looking for the paper bag full of sweets. It rustled under his touch.
Salik’s black eyes flickered on his mud-covered face. He hurled, zapping his hand through the air in wide, half-circling movements. With easy grace, Talha bent backward avoiding the first and second swooshes, before ducking beneath Salik’s left arm.
Salik spun, and his knife rushed in a high downward diagonal slash, aiming at Talha’s unprotected chest. Slater swallowed as the scrawny figure eclipsed his master. Pulse speeding, he fidgeted. His eyes grazed into the blade, watching for signs of blood, then into Talha’s shoulder, visible behind Salik’s back.
Did he cut Master?Weirdly nervous, he counted seconds.Why doesn’t Master defend himself? Why is Master being useless? C’mon Master, show Slater what you are capable of.
Salik struck again with a forehand stroke, informing him that it wasn’t over. Talha shifted, letting the knife skid along his naked arm but not cutting it. Master’s knife flew up and sliced off the bottom part of Salik’s earlobe. Blood gushed from the wound, mixing with dirt.
Noticing that Master was unharmed, Slater’s lips curled in a prideful smile.
“You can still stop, Earless, before you become Noseless or Eyeless. Accept my mercy. Drop the knife, and I’ll end this fast.” Talha said, his voice void of emotions, and for a moment, Slater was envious of Salik. The all-consuming desire returned, smoldering him from within. He yearned to spar with Master too, and catch the gaze full of attention on himself, to feel it glide down his body, anticipating his every move.
Despite the rage deforming Salik’s face, he didn’t rush forward but went for a controlled, clean jab, aiming for Talha’s stomach, then snapped his wrist, going for his inner arm and then throat. The quick exchange of blade flares left them moving in small side steps, circling each other.
Backs curled, eyes locked, they circled each other like wild animals fighting for territory. Jealousy took over, as somehow it looked intimate. Slater wondered how hot it would be to fuck after a sparring, with his body throbbing with fresh cuts and bruises. He itched to find out. None of his masters ever sparred with him, and he wondered if Talha would be an exception. He scratched a mosquito bite behind his ear, feeling a growing dissatisfaction as now he hated how Master looked at Salik. It felt like a waste. Master shouldn’t be looking at pigs. Only at him.
One leg forward, Salik’s knife zigzagged in the air, making it nearly impossible for Talha to retaliate. Choosing to use microseconds for a counterblow, Talha dodged the knife with his shielded hand as his blade sliced Salik’s left forearm.
A step back then a lounge forward, Salik whipped his wounded arm up. The black blood from his slashed arm spurted in Talha’s eyes, distracting him for a fraction of a second. He flinched with a blink, and Salik’s armed hand dove under Talha’s cloth-shield, changed the trajectory, and rushed up.
Slater’s breath caught.Slater was right, Master is stupid after all… How careless.
Red flaring on Talha’s chest he skidded away. Slater’s eyes strained. The thin vertical slash that stretched from the bottom of his ribcage up to his left collarbone. The blood didn’t gush out; it merely seeped, meaning it was a scratch. Hopping aside, Talha glanced at his chest, then scowled up at Salik.
“I offered you an easy death twice. Now you will die in agony and disgrace.” Raising his clothed arm to his chest, Talha flicked the knife left and right, waiting for another attack.
Salik struck down, and Talha dove under his arm. His hand aimed for Salik’s Achilles’ tendon as he tumbled forward. Mud splashed, as he completed a basic roll and got to his feet. Covered in mud, Talha looked savage, irresistible. Slater wanted to serve him, to wipe his body with a warm cloth, then lick it clean.
Slater clicked his tongue, watching Salik struggle for balance. Blood, mixing with dirt, streamed down his foot. Robbed of mobility and ears, he presented a pitiful picture. Dragging his leg, he tried for a low horizontal slash, but Talha dodged.
The game was over. Salik had already lost, and now Master didn’t need to engage, just wear him out. Wait till the bloodloss took its toll and finish the traitor.
Master’s stance relaxed, the flicks of his knife became playful, teasing, provoking. Movements almost lazy, he let Salik closer.
