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The Ethiopian Avenger

12

Sometimes, I wonder why humanity ever invented religion, except perhaps as a means of further dividing the species. I mean, besides racial differences and disputes over territory, what other factor has contributed to more death and bloodshed across human history? I've noticed that in those movies and television shows about the future, such as Star Trek, they show diverse populations and worlds but leave out religion. Good call if you ask me.

My name is Abraham Teshome and I was born in the City of Dabat, on the northern arm of Ethiopia. My parents Elias and Mariam Teshome moved to the region of Ontario, Canada, and raised our family there. I remember very little of Ethiopia, a land that continues to haunt my dreams, since I'd only seen seven rains ( local term ) when we left the country.

All I remember is that conflict over ethnicity and religion plagued Ethiopia at the time, and my parents, being from the Animist faith, caught up between the Orthodox Christians and the Muslims, felt that Ethiopia was unstable, so they tried their luck in Canada. I grew up in Toronto, and I consider this vast, diverse metropolis to be my home.

I believe in Waaq, the ancient sky god that was worshipped across Somalia and Ethiopia and other lands in the Horn of Africa before the arrival of the Abrahamic faiths such as Christianity and Islam. This faith is pretty simple. We believe that Waaq, typically represented in the form of a tall, robust dark-skinned man standing against a clear blue sky, essentially protecting the world.

Waaq the Sky God was served by a group of benevolent spirits called the Ayaanle, and the chief enemy of the benevolent Waaq was an immortal monster called Habbab Ina Kamas. In ancient times, Habbab Ina Kamas descended from the realm of the spirits and possessed a man's body, thus enabling him to gather followers and rule a vast land that stretched from Ethiopia to Somalia.

Eventually, Waaq sent mankind a champion, Qori Ismaris, a man who could transform himself into a hyena. Qori Ismaris had been given supernatural powers by Waaq the Sky God to save mankind from Habbab In Kamas's tyranny, and he defeated the immortal monster, dispatching him to the Underworld. Although defeated, Habbab In Kamas swore eternal hatred toward both humans and Waaq and vowed that one day, he would bring down both the Kingdom of Heaven and the earth.

Habbab In Kamas had a consort, a flesh-eating and shape-shifting female entity known as Dhegdeer, a demon said to haunt forests in ancient Ethiopia and Somalia, and she had a fondness for feeding on youths. Habbab sired many offspring upon Dhegdeer, and they were said to be the first demons, immortal beings hell-bent on either corrupting or subjugating mankind.

A descendant of the heroic Qori Ismaris was the legendary Queen Araweello, who was famous for her great height as well as her beauty and wisdom. This fierce warrior woman inherited great power from her supernatural ancestor Qori Ismaris, and was said to have subjugated the strongest men in the land stretching from Somalia to Ethiopia.

Even today, many Somalis and Ethiopians speak of the legendary Queen Araweello with reverence and great respect. Indeed, this woman warrior was said to have promoted matriarchal values which elevated the status of women in the region. Of course, this all but vanished once the patriarchal Abrahamic faiths arrived in Somalia and Ethiopia.

The worship of Waaq the benevolent Sky God spread beyond the borders of Ethiopia and Somalia and included what is today known as Eritrea as well as parts of Northern Africa. The arrival of Christianity in the region dethroned the worship of Waaq as the primary religion of the Horn of Africa, and Islam's ascent much later all but wiped out this beautiful Animist faith, which only survives in parts of Ethiopia today.

That's my faith, ladies and gentlemen, and it is as important to me as the dominant religions of Judaism, Christianity and Islam matter to most human beings alive upon this earth today. My faith is much older than these, and the sole reason we practitioners don't exist in great numbers is because we don't proselytize like Christians and Muslims do. The belief in Waaq the Sky God doesn't mandate spreading in numbers.

"Earth to Abe, quit daydreaming," a loud feminine voice chimed in, startling me out of my musings. I sat at a corner of the University of Toronto library, and sitting across from me, a certain young Middle-Eastern woman rolled her lovely brown eyes. I sighed deeply and smiled at my girlfriend Afaf Halevi, who looked downright peeved.

"Sorry, Afaf, I was lost in thought," I said, somewhat apologetically, and Afaf sighed and shrugged. Tall and slender, with long black hair, light bronze skin and light brown eyes, this Arab gal took my breath away from the moment we met. I first saw her at school, in the Atrium, where she and a host of other Arab students were handing out flyers about American troops abusing their power while in Arab countries.

"You do that shit way too much, my dude," Afaf said crossly, and I smiled and reached for her long, sleek hands. Gently I took them in mind, and then, looking coyly into Afaf's almond-shaped golden brown eyes, I brought her hands to my lips. Tenderly I kissed them, and Afaf looked annoyed, but grinned just the same. I know what my lady likes.

"Got a lot on my mind, my lady, but that's no excuse to neglect you, let me make it up to you," I said, and Afaf smiled when I pulled two tickets out of my pocket. Will Smith is one of my favorite actors, and Afaf likes his movies too, so I figured I'd take her to see the new movie Focus at the Cineplex Cinemas on Dundas Street.

"Damn you, Abe, I've been wanting to see it for ages," Afaf giggled, and practically snatched her ticket out of my hand. I smiled and watched her as she looked the ticket over. Afaf turned the ticket over this way and that, and then finally thanked me. Leaning over, she planted a kiss on my lips. Afaf winked at me, and just like that, everything was copacetic between us once more.

"See you tonight at five," I say with a smile, and then, linking arms with Afaf, I walk her to her next class. I love walking around the University of Toronto campus with Afaf. We're from different worlds, to say the least. I'm Ethiopian, as I said before, and Afaf is half Arab and half Greek, born in Mississauga, Ontario, to a Palestinian Muslim father and a Greek-Canadian mother. I'm a practicing Animist and Afaf is a lapsed Sunni Muslim. I'm a criminal justice student and Afaf is into civil engineering. Technically, our worlds aren't supposed to mix, but we met and we just clicked. Who gives a fuck what people think of us?

I am twenty years old, and as far as you and I know, we only live once. I'm all about appreciating the time I have and the people in my life. During Reading Week last year, I took Afaf on a trip to Ottawa and we stayed at the Marriott hotel downtown. I'd never been to the Capital before, and neither had Afaf. Too bad we spent most of that week in our hotel room.

"Feels so good to be away from Toronto, thanks for bringing me here," Afaf said to me as I stepped out of the shower, and I smiled and looked at my tall, golden-hued and raven-haired girlfriend as she lay on the bed, clad in a crimson negligee, and nothing else.

"Don't tell me, show me," I said, a challenge in my voice, and Afaf rose from the bed, lazily walking up to me. I pulled her into my arms and kissed her, and just like that, the two of us began making love. Afaf drew me to the bed, and we tumbled there, playfully wrestling, before getting our freak on.

"Oh you taste good coming from the shower," Afaf whispered, kissing my lips and then she playfully bit my nipples, which caused me to groan. Laughing, Afaf grabbed my junk and went straight for the dick. I sighed happily as Afaf took my dick into her mouth while massaging my balls gently.

"Amen," I said, and Afaf shot me a look while going down on me. I know that look. Smiling sheepishly, I fell silent as my lady continued working her magic on me. Once Afaf got me hard as a piston, I was ready to burst and warned her but Afaf just kept on going. I cried out and shuddered violently as I came and when I did, Afaf swallowed every last drop of my manly seed.

"Love the way you taste," Afaf said with a wicked grin, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. I smiled and pulled her on top of me, kissing her full and deep. I gently caressed Afaf's breasts, and sucked first the left, then the right. Afaf suddenly rolled off of me, and I wondered if I'd done something wrong, but she lay right next to me, and grabbed my face, nudging it downward.

"Yes ma'am," I said as I finally understood what Afaf expected of me. I smiled and kissed her breasts once more, and licked a path from her tits to her slightly rounded belly, and finally reached her pelvic area. I slipped my hands between Afaf's shapely thighs, and then buried my face between her legs.

"Finally," Afaf sighed happily, and I began eating her pussy like a hungry man. I love the way she smells and tastes. A lot of females like to shave down below but not this one. Afaf is one of those girls who takes the whole 'natural woman' thing to extremes. Doesn't shave anything below the neck, and that's okay by me. I ate Afaf's pussy with gusto, and pretty soon I had my woman squirming and squealing in delight.

"Give me some of that ass," I said to Afaf, much later, after I'd made her cum at least twice by licking her pussy. Afaf grinned and nodded, and happily assumed the position. Face down and ass up, my all-time favorite. I grinned happily as Afaf got on all fours, shaking that big bronze butt at me.

"Don't fucking stare at it, eat it!" Afaf snapped, and I grinned, and nodded. Seriously, you can't blame me for staring at her thick, heart-shaped butt. I kissed it, and then licked it before rolling a condom on my Jimmy and sliding my dick into Afaf's cunt from behind. My lady sighed happily as I entered her, and just like that, we began fucking. We made love for hours, and then passed out, it was a good day.

We returned to Toronto, happy as can be, three days later. I care deeply for Afaf, and I've introduced her to my parents, who absolutely loved her. That's why I feel so bad because of what I've been doing behind her back, well, behind everyone's backs, come to think of it. I have been leading a double life. Nope, I am not cheating on my lady, nor am I engaging in illicit or illegal activity. I've just been fulfilling The Mission, as it were.

As a follower of Waaq the Sky God, I am sworn to fight the Agents of Evil wherever they happen to be. There's been a string of murders plaguing Ontario for decades. The bodies of women, primarily sex workers, have been found in places like Toronto, Hamilton and Ottawa. The police suspect a serial killer, and they're only half-right. The truth is much more complicated, and far worse than anything you can imagine.

The person responsible for the deaths was a serial killer, but the creep died and came back to life, and has kept on killing. Lieutenant Colonel Randall Winston of the Canadian Armed Forces was a decorated officer with a habit of killing women, primarily sex workers, but mostly minority women, selected from Ontario's Aboriginal population and growing population of African and Latino immigrants.

Once caught, Winston was tried, found guilty and executed. A media firestorm followed this sensational case, for Lieutenant Colonel Randall Wilson, educated at St. Francis Xavier University in Nova Scotia, was once friends with Prime Minister Brian Mulroney. He was hanged on November 17, 1962. One of the last people executed before the Death Penalty was abolished in Canada. The world thought it got rid of this wicked man, who boasted of killing hundreds of women, even though the police only found seven of the victims.

"Tonight you die for good, asshole," I said to myself as I looked at the picture of Lieutenant Colonel Randall Wilson. Someone used dark magic to resurrect this piece of shit, and just like the remorseless creep he was, Wilson got right back to his old tricks in the twenty-first century. By the time I found out what he was up to, the bozo had already slain three sex workers in the Vanier area.

Now, in the movies, resurrected ghouls and golems are exceptionally hard to kill. In real life, they're even more so. Fortunately for me, I don't play fair. Whoever brought Wilson back to life only resurrected him partially. During the day, Wilson lies dead, but as soon as the sun vanishes from the sky, he awakens, bloodthirsty as ever. The police got close, but never found his lair. I did. The bozo is living at a one-bedroom spot on Montreal Road in Ottawa, in the Vanier area, not far from the cemetery.

I boarded the Greyhound bus leaving downtown Toronto for the bus station on Catherine Street in Ottawa at eight o'clock in the morning. Clad in a black leather jacket, green silk shirt, black tie and black silk pants, I looked like any well-dressed, traveling young gentleman. Only I was a warrior on a holy mission to destroy a force of unspeakable enemy. I arrived in the City of Ottawa at noon, and booked a room at the Days Inn.

It felt weird to be back in Ottawa again, albeit from radically different circumstances than last time. The last time I was in town, I was with my sweet Afaf, on our first romantic holiday together. This time, I'm here on, well, business, I suppose. I've got to take out Wilson, the serial killer who simply will not die. Once and for all, I've got to put him down.

"Enjoy your stay with us, sir," said the pretty Somali gal working at the Days Inn entrance. I smiled and thanked her, then headed out for lunch. I walked to a nearby Haitian restaurant called Creole Sensations, ate some delicious rice and beans with goat meat, and then headed to Montreal Road. It's always good to familiarize yourself with your enemy's stomping grounds.

Decades ago, the Vanier area was Wilson's primary hunting ground, and several of his victims and I suspect that didn't change. The bozo even made the mistake of getting himself a place under a name frighteningly similar to the one he used, decades ago. Seriously, he goes by Russell Winters now, if you can believe it. The guy might as well paint a target on himself. Of course, Wilson does this because the world at large believes he is dead.

"It ends tonight," I said to myself as I stood in the middle of the Notre Dame Cemetery on Montreal Road. Located at the heart of the Vanier sector in Ottawa, this Roman Catholic cemetery opened in 1872. Here lie the bodies of Roseanne Lalonde, Marianne Sikyahonaw and Carla Gutierrez, three of serial killer Lieutenant Colonel Randall Wilson's last victims. Women cut down in the prime of their lives, the unwitting victims of a handsome, charming and mild-mannered man who turned out to be a monster.

Night fell, and I returned to the hotel room, showered and prepared myself. As is customary among followers of Waaq the Sky God, I prayed with my eyes turned heavenward and asked the Creator for strength against my foe. Afterwards, I sat in the dark, deep in thought. I thought of my parents in Toronto, my girlfriend Afaf, and our friends and classmates at the University of Toronto. I was risking my entire world by going up against this evil alone.

"I love you all," I said as I looked upon the picture which Afaf and I took with my parents when we went out for dinner six months ago. It was the fateful night when I introduced the young woman that I love to my parents, and we had a great time at Lalibela, one of the nicest Ethiopian restaurants in the Toronto area. Good times indeed.

I closed my eyes, steeling myself for what was to come. Resolutely I exited my hotel room, and then headed downstairs. I walked out, clad in a simple red T-shirt and blue jeans, with a gym bag in hand. Just another young black man walking the streets of Ottawa at night. A few people looked at me but in Vanier, a part of town teeming with Africans, Arabs and other minorities, I kind of fit in. Good.

I went to the Notre Dame Cemetery on Montreal Road, and waited. I didn't have long to wait. It's often been said that every killer eventually returns to the scene of the crime. Not sure how true that is, but I do know that monsters, both human and otherwise, like to visit their victims graves. I knew that a creep like Lieutenant Colonel Randall Winston wouldn't be able to resist. Sure enough, I spotted a tall, powerfully built, forty-something white man as he entered the cemetery.

Discretely I followed him. I sensed that this was my foe, but I wanted to make sure. The last thing I wanted was to hurt some innocent guy who was just paying his respects to his loved ones at their grave. I followed him, and sure enough, the guy stopped at the grave of Marianne Sikyahonaw, one of the Aboriginal Canadian women slaughtered by Lieutenant Colonel Randall Winston.

"I knew you'd come here," I said loudly, and Lieutenant Colonel Randall Winston whirled around, stunned to find me standing twenty meters away from him. I know how to move silently, it's part of my training as a warrior-priest of Waaq the Sky God. I looked at Lieutenant Colonel Randall Winston, and the tall, alabaster-skinned, dark-haired dude looked at me smugly. Clad in a dark suit, he looked like any of the Canadian businessmen one might see in downtown Ottawa or Toronto, but he knew what he truly was.

"Who the fuck are you, negro?" Lieutenant Colonel Randall Winston said, looking me up and down. For a second, his eyes flashed crimson, a reflection of the wickedness within. Whoever or whatever brought him back made him more than human. What stood before me was no mere resurrected mortal man, but a spawn of evil.

"Someone who's here to make sure you stay dead this time," I said, and swiftly pulled my ceremonial battle-axe out of my gym bag, which I dropped on the grass. Hefting my axe, I glared at my foe, who smiled smugly as I assumed a fighting stance. The undead serial killer seemed absolutely confident, and why shouldn't he? He cheated death, but his luck was about to run out.

"Listen up, you uppity nigger, I've killed lots of women and men far stronger than you, bullets don't do Jack to me, and you think you can take me on with an axe? Ha!" Lieutenant Colonel Randall Winston shook his head, laughed heartily and then, he charged me.

I was waiting for the lieutenant colonel's attack, and when he came at me, I was more than ready for him. To the untrained eye, the axe I held in my hands was just an antique with intricate carvings in both the blade and its foot-and-a-half metallic handle. What you wouldn't know is that this axe, passed down from father to son, mother to daughter, has been in my family for untold thousands of years.

"Come meet your doom," I said, and hurled the axe at Lieutenant Colonel Randall Wilson. Instead of batting the axe away like a superhuman such as he easily could have, he foolishly stepped right into the blow. When a magic wielder brings a dead man back to life and uses hellfire to empower him, the resulting entity is nigh indestructible. Impervious to almost any weapon. Almost.

"What the fuck?" Lieutenant Colonel Randall Winston cried out, gasping in surprise as the axe embedded itself in his chest, rather than bounce off it like any man-made weapon would. Imbue any mortal body or object with hellfire and it becomes indestructible, but a weapon forged in heaven can still penetrate it. Yin and Yang, and all that.

"No mortal weapon can hurt me, this is some kind of bullshit," Lieutenant Colonel Randall Wilson, formerly of the Canadian Armed Forces, executed for serial murder of women, cried out pitifully as he sank to his knees. I approached him slowly and carefully, for I knew better than to underestimate my opponents, unlike this dude.

12
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