Urban Witchcasters

Attack on Frogs (part 2): Rumbling

The creature swung at Marcus, aiming for his neck, but the tip of its claws missed it by a hair's breath.

It miscalculated its swing. Maybe because of the blood running down its head. But it didn't miscalculate its trajectory; it slammed straight into Marcus's chest, sending him flying back, creasing into the wall behind him.

The body slam sent all the breath out of him a second time; he fell to the ground gasping for air. Still, he never let go of the bat.

Breath strained and legs shaky, his tenacity brought him back to his feet. Blood ran down the side of his head. If something wasn't broken before, it definitely was now.

With one eye closed—covered by the blood—he watched the frog prepare to launch at him again. This time, he was prepared.

Right before it jumped, he side-stepped and swung hard again without looking, bashing its head mid-flight as hard as he could.

The force snapped his bat in half, leaving the upper half stuck to the frog's head. It let out a piercing scream as it tossed and turned on the floor, writhing in pain.

With the lower, jagged end of the bat in hand, he'd be damned if he'd give this thing a third chance to end their death match.

Some barbed wire was still wrapped around the bat; given it was cheap enough for him to afford, he wasn't surprised it snapped alongside the bat.

He raised his foot and slammed it down on one of its hind legs, pinning it. A bloody grin crawled on his face—hiking shoes proved perfect for its slippery skin. With his other foot, he slammed it straight into the upper end of the bat, driving the barbed wire even deeper into its skull.

The monster screeched again, trying to kick him with its other hind leg, swinging its claws frantically. Marcus gritted his teeth and watched for the perfect opportunity.

The instant he saw one, he drove the other end of the bat into the mouth of the creature—hard.

A wild swing tore him across the back, ripping through clothes and skin, drawing blood. The excruciating pain sent shocks through his body but the taste of blood in his mouth fueled his bloodlust. Leveraging his size, he pressed his body weight into the bat, forcibly plunging the jagged barbed lower end deeper into the frog's throat.

The swings became more frantic; more and more blood spit onto his face and clothes. That meant it was dying. His grin grew wider, maybe as a result of how much blood he'd lost. But that was a trade he'd take any day if it meant this devil's agonizing death?

He twisted the bat and leaned harder till it started drowning in its own blood. Another swing hit him in his sides, right beside where it slammed into him before. It hit hard enough to send him tumbling to the floor, clutching at his sides with anger boiling over within him. Just how many times would this thing anger him before it died?

He rushed to his feet and sprinted at the thing, driving his foot into the back end of the bat still lodged in its mouth. A squelching sound echoed as it started gagging. It shook once, then once now but weaker, and then it stopped moving.

Angry yet satisfied breaths escaped Marcus's mouth as he looked down at its body—its head caved in; blood covering both of them. He couldn't help but grin.

Another devil dead meant one less creature for the world—or at least New York City (or at least his school)—to worry about.

He fell on his butt right in front of the dead creature, catching his breath as all the pain, bruises, and blood loss from the battle slowly caught up to him.

His gaze lingered on the frog as the unpleasant thought of eating the flesh of this thing flashed through his mind.

He didn't need to eat much. A few handfuls would do, but its flesh was the most putrid thing he could imagine.

Ignoring the fact that it smelled of human waste, the smell coming from its corpse was the same vomit-inducing putridity all supernatural creatures had. Same one he'd come to know and hate.

And the fact that their bodies disintegrated a few hours after they died, meant he had to eat them raw. He'd tried taking them home to cook in hopes of improving the taste, but they always disintegrated before he did.

His body spasmed from the thought of pushing its flesh down his throat. But he only had about an hour or so before its body would start disintegrating.

He truly was the luckiest sixteen-year-old alive.

On the bright side, eating this thing would heal a few of his injuries—partially. His monster-killing gig would've run out of business a long time ago if it didn't.

It was only about a twenty-five to fifty percent heal, depending on how much he could stomach down. Other than the mind-numbing pain, the partial healing factor was the only other reason he ate these things.

He bent over, sticking his hands into the flesh in its stomach with closed eyes. His hand easily tore through with not much effort on his end. He squeezed his eyes tight, though he honestly couldn't tell if that made it better or worse.

The bodies of these creatures—all creatures he'd hunted—became disgustingly tender a few minutes after they died.

The moist feeling of blood, bones, flesh, and innards violating the skin of a minor was every bit as disgusting and familiar as Marcus remembered.

He squeezed his hand, pulling out a chunk as organs spilt. Marcus swallowed his vomit. The chunk of supernatural frog flesh stared at him as blood ran down his head.

Its texture was uncomfortable: like holding jelly mixed with food chunks from the kitchen sink. It smelled like decay and blood. Inched the chunk closer to his face, he counted to three and simply shoved everything into his mouth and swallowed without chewing.

Thoughts of bacteria-covered flesh going down his throat sent the flesh in reverse. He covered his mouth and tilted his head up, forcibly swallowing it down his throat.

After that, he forced the “food” back down three more times before it made it all the way to his stomach.

Marcus sighed, taking multiple steps back until his back met the wall, sliding down till he sat. He felt the meat in his stomach disintegrate, releasing energy to his muscles.

His body jumped back to life—painfully. The lingering pain in his ankles waned; the torn skin on his back didn't change, but it hurt less.

Marcus eyed the frog. He'd need a few more bites to make sure he healed enough to move properly—that much should be enough to stave off the pain of the curse as well.

Waving bad thoughts, he forced himself to walk over to the frog. Once again, over and over, he shoved his hand into the frog's belly, taking chunk after chunk and swallowing each one like Kirby.

The more flesh that went down his throat, the more of his body got restored. His ribs only stung now, and the skin on his back had more or less healed, though it would leave a temporary scar.

Every other little cut and bruise closed as well; the bleeding from his head stopped. Residual pain still echoed through his body, but he could make it home without looking too beat up now.

Despite this, he stuffed one last handful into his mouth to be safe. As he did, his stomach tried to dropkick the food back out. It was as he swallowed it the second time that a tiny chunk got caught between his teeth by accident.

Just his luck.

Praying he wouldn't throw up, he reached into his mouth to pick out the chunk. But when he grabbed it, it felt solid.

That was weird. He'd purposefully avoided any parts with bones so it'd go down easier. And this felt stronger than bone.

He pulled it out and stared at the chunk of flesh in his palm. Wiping off the pieces of flesh, what was left in his palm looked like a gemstone.

His curiosity got the better of him, and he picked it up, examining it.

It was translucent, shining with a blue light, glowing even.

The edges were transparent, but the inside of the gem almost looked… alive. It was like smoke dancing underwater, with shifting hues of blue and intensities of light.

Marcus didn't know much about gemstones, but he knew they didn't shine—at least not the way this one did.

Sometimes—very rarely, but sometimes—supernatural creatures left behind bits of themselves after they died, while the rest disintegrated. A goblin's foot, a gargoyles tooth, the wings of a fairy… the list goes on.

But the most he'd seen a Loveland frog leave behind was the hair on its back or a claw, not a gemstone.

Inspecting it closer, he noticed a crack around the back. Some of the light was… leaking?

The bizarre light leaked from the small crack like smoke through the window of a burning house. Light wasn't smoke; this shouldn't be possible.

And as it leaked, the escaped “light” danced around his fingertips and disappeared, dimming as the seconds went by.

He'd never seen anything like this—he'd never heard of anything like this. What was it doing in the belly of a Loveland frog?

He shook his head and stuffed it into his pocket. What he needed to do was hide this frog's body now that it was dead and he'd eaten his fill. He could figure out what the gem was later.

“Where the hell do I toss your slimy ass?“ thought Marcus as he turned to the frog.

He looked around and decided the nearest dumpster would be best. He just needed to stuff the frog in a black bag and wait for it to disintegrate.

That way, even if someone came through here in a few hours, all they'd meet was a pile of dust.

Still, he didn't want anyone stumbling upon a humanoid frog before that time elapsed. Luckily for him, there didn't seem to be many people around—or any people for that matter.

Now that he thought about it, there weren't any cars on the street when he was running to the second alleyway—no angry screams from New Yorkers.

He wasn't that far from the school, but he wasn't close to it either. But that didn't explain the lack of people.

“Thoughts to figure out later,” he muttered, getting up and pulling the bat from the frog's mouth and skull—the blood on them would disintegrate faster than its body would. He hoisted the frog, realising just how much pain he was still in.

Heading straight for the dumpster, he was about to toss the frog straight in when the building beside him exploded in a deafening boom, sending debris raining down like missiles.

The dust that followed nearly blinded him.

He dropped the body and shielded his face. Holding his breath, he tried desperately to keep himself upright as his ears still rang.

His heart shot to rates even higher than it was during his previous battle; its loud insistent beating echoing in his ears. His entire body trembled.

As the dust settled and he opened his eyes, everywhere became darker than before. Almost like he was standing… in something's shadow.

He heard a croak. A very loud, guttural croak.

Audacity brought his face upwards, and he stood face to face with yet another frog, just like the dead one at his feet. Except… this was impossible.

This new frog was 30 feet tall… and it was looking at Marcus.