Urban Witchcasters

A song of Frogs and Fire

There was no reason for him to be standing there—none at all. It's not like all the strength in his legs vanished or he was paralysed by fear.

Whatever human instinct he possessed had been screaming for him to run as fast as his legs could carry him since the moment that giant boulder of a frog appeared.

And yet, he stood, dauntless.

The weight of the massive frog creature pressed against the side of the building it'd just burst out of, further destroying what was left of it.

Marcus shielded his eyes from the dust cloud that followed and locked eyes with the monster.

The smell of sewage washed the entire alleyway, gunk stained the giant frog and the debris around him.

Never in his life—not since that cursed day he was forced to live through at age six—had he laid eyes on a supernatural creature this big.

And to think he'd started to consider doubting his own memory—like he could forget the face of that man, or the beasts that followed him.

The tremor that reverberated through his body brought him out of his thoughts and shook his heart. Like blood wasn't pumping fast enough already.

The pain from his last fight had dulled, but still shot all over; he clutched his sides, standing on one spot. He would only turn his back if it was part of a plan to kill this monster.

But how the hell was he supposed to do that? A broken baseball bat and some barbed wire wouldn't cut it against a 30-foot monster. He needed a plan, one that ended with this thing dead.

Another step sent a second wave of tremors running through his body. If it were seven years ago, when he killed his first supernatural creature, he'd have run till his lungs gave out.

Since then he'd learned to ignore fear and rationality when facing these things—those “emotions” were impossible to get rid of and they only bogged him down—but he couldn't ignore the hint of that same terror rushing through his blood.

It was like a nightmare crawled out of his dreams—and past—and existed right before him. Another step from the monster sent a gust of wind blasting into Marcus's face. The smell of sewage was far more rancid than it had been with the smaller frog, and the skin on this one was far more… gross.

He could hear an unpleasant squelch each time it moved, and as it approached him, those stark black eyes fixed their gaze on his blood-covered body.

With each step, it wobbled side to side as it shifted its massive weight in its approach. Only a few metres stood between them now, and from this distance, nearly any movement he could think of would result in his death.

But what mattered was which movement could kill this thing. He racked his mind, thinking of a way to kill something this big, locking eyes with the demon.

Then he remembered a gas station not too far from here.

An idea jumped into his head. A dangerously stupid idea.

However, before he could move, something flew out of the debris of the demolished building the frog burst out of. Something black and human-sized, wearing a black suit.

The frog turned to the human flying at it, swinging its massive arm like it tried to swat a fly. The wind growled. Right before the hit connected, the human spun like a top and caught fire, slamming into its palm strike.

Flames hissed as the two collided.

The monster screamed in a mix of a croak and screech. Its deafening sound rang through his ear, accompanied by disbelief.

The frog's palm sizzled; burned from that clash—badly. As it writhed in pain, he watched the suit-wearing human-shaped… thing, fly in his direction.

Caution and panic consumed him.

There was only one thing that could do something like that to a beast that size—only one thing that could set itself on fire—another supernatural entity.

He suddenly felt like the gemstone in his pocket, and its smoky internal aura, carried an importance far greater than he could imagine.

Whether that be a result of its luminous otherworldliness, or the fact that it came out the guts of a Loveland frog, he listened to his gut and zipped his pockets closed. He liked practical fashion, and that was his whole getup: a, now ripped, padded hoodie, on sturdy zippered jeans, and hiking shoes.

The person-shaped creature landed a metre in front of him, tumbling backwards till it got to its feet right next to him, still on fire.

He fell on his butt, raising a hand to block the heatwave radiating from the creature, straining to keep his eyes open.

If he'd seen wrong before, he was sure now. This thing was definitely on fire. Heat kissed his skin painfully, causing his nervous sweat and dry blood to evaporate. He had to remind himself just how non-fireproof he was before he created distance and got to his feet.

Now he could get a better look without burning alive first. And yet, against all reason, he was wrong about the nature of the flaming entity.

It looked like a person. A flaming person.

He imagined this was how Moses felt looking at the burning bush.

Right in front of him, stood a teenage girl—a redhead wearing a black, battered suit jacket with rolled up sleeves, holding a... Japanese katana?—and she was definitely on fire.

“A shape shifter?“ Marcus muttered, snapping out of it. She couldn't be anything else. No human could set themselves on fire, much less survive it.

But he'd never heard of a shape shifter that could do that either.

She turned to him, just now realising his existence, most likely due to the massive frog that had mostly recovered from her—its, earlier strike.

“Shit! Civilians were supposed to steer clear of this area!“ she grated.

“Civilians?” Marcus noted. The fact she could take, and how natural her words sounded made her seem human despite all reason. But the term she used… if he didn't know better (he probably didn't), she sounded like she was affiliated with some form of law enforcement.

“What the hell are you doing here!? Run!“

“You plan on dealing with that thing alone?“ Even Marcus knew when he was outmatched. Unless she was planning to somehow set fire to the inside of its belly, there was a fat chance she could take that thing down herself.

Not to mention she was injured—almost as injured as him in fact. From the look of things, she'd been fighting this thing somewhere, and it got out of hand. But who the hell was she anyway?

After hunting the supernatural for so many years, he thought nothing could surprise him anymore, and yet he stood face to face with a flaming human.

She held her sword in front of her, looking at the recovering behemoth. This girl was crazy. She actually planned on fighting this thing alone. Her sword looked like a toothpick compared to that thing. How was she supposed to…

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.