The night the Rhymer went whack

49

. . . both disappointed.”

And Reshod walked away from his mentor heart broken and ashamed. Never blaming Straffe for making him into a hardcore criminal but pondering why was his core so evil. The pain and anger he felt from his depressed upbringing was normal, everyone he knew encountered the racism, sexism and all the other degrading injustices, but the pain and hatred he felt was much deeper in his soul, so he headed away from Straffe, empty and alone. More alone than the little boy Straffe found in a drainage ditch malnourished and afraid. More alone than the little boy who wanted those soldiers to kill him because he had nothing else to live for. But Straffe had given him life. He smiled at that thought, thinking back on that day and he knew in his heart, he would forever be indebted to his savoir.

So for many months Reshod sat in the hills, living off the land and fighting his growing murderous desires. He had accepted his malicious side, just the not knowing from whence it came was what left him empty. The not being able to find peace after each murder but instead, a growing desire for more blood spilled and more vicious slayings. Then one day, he concluded that he wasn’t going to receive an answer so he packed up what little he had and came down from the hills, leaving satisfied with who he was and questing to carry out his cravings.

Filled with furry, hate and a taste for blood, he needed to settle down, so his first trip was back home. Not The Seine but to his native land of South Africa. He needed a reset, plus, he knew that they were some of the hardest hit by the war. The country, as one of the key members of the revolutionaries, was targeted mercilessly as the old world wanted to see them eradicated off the planet and it almost happened but, like the true warriors they were, a few survived, then prospered again and they too created a haven. So when he arrived, Reshod was pleased and they welcomed him with open arms and instantly he was in rhythm with the beat of his homeland. They had yet to develop the full enjoyment of their freedom, specifically a comfort because of the many years of constant attacks, but Reshod came and changed all of that. For three days, he hosted a massive celebration, a rhythm party he learned from Straffe and once in tune, he gathered a small contingent of warriors and set out toward the surrounding land then proceeded to destroy any and all threats to his native land. A few years later, they returned and that’s how South Africa truly gained its freedom.

Yet his anger didn’t dissipate. He traveled to the other eighteen countries. They needed him as much as South Africa, and they each welcomed him with open arms as he eventually established safe havens in each of these territories, but it still didn’t ease the void he felt with his identity. It actually grew more as he killed more wantonly and more viciously but without passion. It began eating away at him more and more so finally, he decided he must return to The Seine.