Urban Witchcasters

A song of Frogs and Fire (part 2)

The flames surrounding her body moved and swerved, sliding up her back and down her arms before gathering at the blade of her katana. “I just gotta put my back into it, kid. Don't worry about me and run along…” She wore a look of anger for a split second, “I won't let anyone else die,“ she muttered.

He wasn't sure he was meant to hear that last part. But now that he had, coupled with that look on her face he recognised all too well, one question he'd had been answered. She hadn't been fighting alone.

Marcus finally took a look around.

There were others in black suits—bodies laid on the floor and not moving—scattered around the battlefield. None were in pieces or missing limbs, but pools of blood sat underneath each of them. Blood pools too big to belong to living people.

He felt his heart twist. Something inside him made his blood boil. He grabbed his chest, squeezing his shirt.

The scene reminded him of ten years ago… he didn't want to think about that right now.

Of course, the girl wasn't fighting that obtuse-minded giant alone. Her squad was wiped out in the battle and she was the last one standing.

He squeezed his fist, ignoring the increasing pain in his ribs for a brief moment. He wanted this thing dead now more than ever.

“Are you dumb or something!? I said run!“ she yelled, blasting off in a burst of flames and hot wind; whistling through the air like a rocket straight at the giant frog.

She pulled her arm back and swung her sword. The flames on the blade hissed and raged, the metal glowing like it was about to melt. It intensified even more right as she slashed it across the same hand she'd clashed with, burning it further. The beast let out a piercing screech, swinging its other hand to strike her.

She managed to get her footing on the back of the giant's palm a moment before the strike landed. Sinking her sword and funneling her flames deep into its skin, she gritted her teeth as the punch came crashing into her from the side—hard.

She flew like a torpedo and crashed into a different building. Rubble came crashing down as dust filled the air.

Marcus stared with his mouth agape. Was she dead!?

A hit like that would've killed Marcus on impact; he couldn't imagine she could survive… No. On second thought, maybe she could.

She didn't just “jump” at the frog, she flew like a rocket at it, and conjured flames from thin air like a wizard straight out of an RPG.

She definitely wasn't normal. His suspicion rose again, but differently.

Maybe she was cursed like he was, but a different kind. Instead of his need to eat them, maybe she was cursed to always be on fire or produce fire in some way, and she weaponised it to battle these things. Same as he uses his scent for tracking.

Or maybe “she” was actually an “it,” after all—some kind of flame spirit or something. But then she wouldn't have used the word “civilians,” she would've used “humans,” instead.

Or maybe she was simply smart and adapted to human language.

Wait, he was missing the point; what he needed to do was enact the idea he'd had as fast as possible. She'd die if she battled that thing alone, human or not.

“Are you deaf, kid!? Run! Get the hell outta here! You'll only slow me down!“ yelled the flaming girl.

She crawled out of the building, half of her ablaze; her hand still clutching tightly to her sword. Through erratic breaths, not waiting for the beast to make any more moves, she launched herself straight at it again, in a burst of fire.

He stood and watched her go against the massive frog creature singlehandedly. She wielded flames like they were an extension of her body, using them to block attacks, fire diversions, and even control her sword like a telepath.

Wherever she came from, it was clear that she was as hell-bent on killing this thing as he was—and at least four times more prepared, not counting her fire.

The more he watched, the more useless he felt; he had to help her somehow.

She was avoiding and landing a lot of blows and hits, but she was taking a lot of hits too—hits that should've killed her.

Her movements looked flawless and she hit hard, but as the fight drew on, some of her movements stopped making sense to him.

Strikes she could've avoided, she'd block and take head-on instead. A few more head-on collisions like that, and she'd be dead.

It wasn't till she took a barrage of blows, shielding herself with a wall of fire, that he noticed something.

She was protecting the bodies.

Supernatural creature or not, she blocked strikes that would've otherwise flattened the bodies of her fallen comrades. It looked it painful; far more painful than he'd like to experience. Blood spilled down her teeth but she wouldn't budge.

He was sure now—she was human.

And he'd just found a way to help.

He ran next to her, staying close to the floor, right as she crossed her hands above her and blocked another strike that sank her feet what looked like six inches into the concrete.

Yelling at his heart to calm down, he let out the breath he'd been holding.

“Kid, I told you to—”

“Quit calling me 'kid', we're practically the same age.” Marcus bent behind her and cradled the body in his arms. “Just leave this part to me,” he said softly. “At least then you can dodge when you need to.“

The girl didn't say anything, she simply set her arms ablaze, continuing the fight.

Marcus carried the body and ran as fast as his broken ribs would let him. With gritted teeth, he powered through, not thinking about how he held a dead human—another victim of the supernatural—in his arms.

After he'd gotten far—enough for a raised finger to block out the flaming girl's frame from his sight—he put the body down gently, and lingered on it for a moment.

She was a teenager like him—an African-American girl—with blood all over her, and her eyes still a little open. He bent down and closed them, grinding his teeth.

Once again, the damned supernatural had killed someone.

Ignoring the pain, he ran back and forth across the battlefield, gathering every body he found. He laid them side-by-side in a distant location, holding back tears at how unfair this was. As ironic as it seemed, he couldn't help but ask himself what teenagers were even doing fighting monsters like this.

With the last body dropped, they numbered four in total—four victims of that disgusting behemoth. It had to die.

This street had a gas station a gunshot away, which doubled as a convenience store.

He gritted his teeth through the pain and rushed over, finding it… empty? Now that he thought about it, why hadn't anyone shown up since the frog burst out of the building? There hadn't been any humans around before it appeared, but now that it had, he'd expected at least a police car or a news chopper.

Something was going on—something he'd have to figure out later.

He took off his hoodie, wrapped it around his fist, and punched the glass door open. Covering his face with the hoodie, he limped over to the shelves, grabbed two small fuel containers and a lighter, and headed outside.

He pulled out his credit card, and took a moment to grieve for his mom's birthday he'd been saving up for. Then he filled both containers with two gallons each, before heading back to the flaming girl.

By the time he got there, she was barely standing on both feet, covered in blood like he thought she would. Taking all those blows she should've been dodging did more damage than she could probably take.

It's a miracle that she was standing at all. He'd stepped in far later than he should've—but maybe not too late.

He limped over to her side, where she stood, slumped over on her sword pinned to the ground. The moment she spotted him, that bossy tone of hers came back in full force, saturated by unsteady breaths.

“You… you should've run while you had the chance,” she caught her breath, “now we'll both die—” She noticed the fuel containers in his hands, “you… got gas? What're you—”

“You've done enough,” he said as he kicked the flat of her sword, causing her to fall over. And just as he'd guessed, the superhuman was too weak to even get up on her knees.

“Stop!“ her futile efforts to move followed her words, “what're you planning!? You can't fight that thing.“ Her voice broke lightly.

The pain of losing those comrades was probably getting to her now that the adrenaline in her body was wearing off. She couldn't protect either of them in her state.

Standing face to face with the frog, he saw the fruits of her labour.

The air now smelled of burnt sewage, and the skin of the beast was scorched all over. If he didn't know any better, he'd say the thing changed colours while he was gone.

The creature was panting when he limped closer through gritted teeth. He heard its skin still sizzling and took a deep breath.

“Bzzt! Bzzt!“ He yelled at the top of his lungs, flapping both arms like a fly, running towards the monster. The creature looked down at him and opened up its mouth in a pained bellow.

“That's right, I'm talking to you, you smelly slimy son of a—”

It swung its head down with its mouth open and smacked its face into the concrete, swallowing Marcus whole.

But he didn't panic.

This was part of the plan.