Urban Witchcasters

The wizard and the frog('s belly)

Laid flat on his back, Marcus held his breath from the smell of dead things and dumpsters that dominated the inside of the frog's mouth. What he assumed was thick slimy spit, kept him stuck to its tongue.

Unpleasantness washed through him. Like the smell didn't make him gag enough. His skin rubbed against the rough and unreasonably slimy tongue he laid on.

After two tugs, he was free from its sticky tongue and got on his feet, only for thick, slimy, and heavy spit to drip onto his back. Shivers ran down his spine.

Everywhere was pitch dark, but what else could he expect from the inside of the mouth of a massive Loveland frog?

He unzipped his jeans and took out the lighter.

The pint-sized flame barely let him see his own feet, but it was bright enough for what he planned on doing.

Luckily for him, he was in the mouth of the frog and not the belly, and he'd let go of both fuel containers AFTER the thing swallowed him.

By his estimation, he was dangerously close to the thing's throat, and he preferred not to get swallowed, but those containers couldn't be far. He began searching for them using the faint light.

Hiking shoes made it easier to walk on the slippery and sticky tongue of the monster, but each step he took had to be slow enough not to bother this thing enough for it to swallow him.

Not far from where he laid, he found both fuel containers, unopened, covered in spit. He picked them both—one under his armpit, the other in one hand with the lighter in the other—and walked to the back of its throat.

This was the most dangerous part of his entire plan—other than the getting swallowed alive part. He squatted and emptied one of the fuel containers down its throat hoping the frog wouldn't notice.

It did, and it didn't like that.

The frog flipped its tongue, trying to toss Marcus down its throat. He fell on his back on purpose, praying its sticky spit would keep him stuck to its tongue, while making sure not to lose the lighter or put out its flame.

He felt a tremor echo through its mouth. It was very subtle but there. That meant it moved. He only hoped it didn't move towards that girl out there, because whether or not she died would be his fault, since he kicked her sword and everything.

Tugging hard once again he was able to set himself free and get on his feet.

With the second fuel container in his grasp, he emptied it down its throat too. This time the frog reacted quicker, knocking Marcus off balance, making him hit himself in the ribs with the fuel container and toss it—half-empty—to God knows where.

Marcus fell on its tongue a third time, lying as still as he could, trying not to tremble from the pain of his wounds. This time he turned off the lighter.

With his throbbing wounds and the lighter still in his hands, he very slowly unzipped his pockets in an attempt to stuff the lighter in. If he lost the lighter, then he was as good as dead (like he wasn't already).

The moment the zip came undone, Marcus's body left the tongue violently and flew upwards, hitting the roof of its mouth and sticking there.

Shit!

There was only one explanation he could think of.

This thing just jumped.

He ran out of time.

He lit the lighter just as something small fell from his pocket.

“The gemstone!“ Marcus reached out in a desperate attempt to grab it mid-air but missed.

He was convinced that rock was special. As dumb as they were, humanoid frogs wouldn't want a gemstone unless it wasn't actually just a gemstone.

As his body began to fall, he landed not too far from the stone and clutched it close to himself. The frog would land soon, and that could kill him.

Now or never.

He left the lighter on and tossed it down its throat, closing his eye and waiting for the inevitable.

Fire exploded in a geyser of flames from its stomach, pouring into its throat before blasting out its mouth, burning everything within it, including Marcus.

Not even the smell of smoke or burning flesh could distract him from the excruciating pain that enveloped him. He screamed as his skin burned and his eyes dried up. The taste of his own blood and burning flesh drove him mad.

Its body suddenly tilted hard, accompanied by a large boom that sent Marcus flying out of its mouth—clothes and body charred.

He skid across the street bare skin, smearing his blood on the pavement, before coming to a stop.

In the midst of his pain, he barely opened one eye, enough for him to see the giant frog leaning against a building, letting out satisfyingly agonising wails repeatedly.

Looking away, he saw the girl up to her knees, screaming something he couldn't hear.

He lay on the ground with pain writhing through every pore. He felt like his skin got peeled off in the fall; he was charred all over, but forced a smile.

The frog was done. Sure, it was writhing in unimaginable pain now, but it'd be dead in a minute or so. It wasn't fireproof, that much was clear from its fight against the flaming girl. Fire enough to burn Marcus to this degree meant it was enough to melt the frog's insides. He'd never been so grateful for biology class.

Muffled sounds entered his ears, nothing quite clear enough for him to make out. Even the screams of the giant frog had died out, though he couldn't tell if that was because he was dying or because it was dying—it was probably both.

The loudest thing he could hear was the sound of his breath getting quieter each time he reached for air. It was like someone broke a dam and released all the pain at once the way it increased so rapidly.

The adrenaline wore off, his vision did the same. A second later, he couldn't think.

Everywhere became silent.