Tiny Hero Ch 5: The One Who Is Forever Unchanging! Frida the Obelisk!

I stared up at Frida's ginormous face, watching as her smirk deepened. I barely knew her back in elementary school—we had never really talked, and the only time we spent together was when I was trying (and failing) to defend her against bullies. And, last I checked, she wasn't an Obelisk.

Something tugged at my waist, snapping me out of my thoughts. I glanced down to see the young boy I had just saved clutching onto me, his tiny fingers digging into my shirt as he hid behind me, trembling.

"Frida..." I called, lifting my gaze back up to her massive face. "Please help me get this boy back to his parents."

Her smirk faltered just a little as her eyes flicked down to the kid, who shrank even further under her gaze. She tilted her head slightly, as if considering it, then chuckled.

"And why should I?" she asked, her voice dripping with amusement. "Who are you to demand anything from me?"

I sighed, keeping my voice level. "I'm not giving orders, I'm making a request."

Her grin widened again, this time with unmistakable arrogance. "A request? From a Minari?" She leaned in slightly, her massive lips curling. "You really haven't changed, have you?"

Her warm breath washed over me, carrying the salty scent of the ocean. I felt the boy shiver behind me, gripping my shirt even tighter.

Frida's eyes glinted with something playful, something dangerous. "Actually... the boy looks kind of tasty. Maybe he'd serve me better as a snack." She licked her lips for emphasis, letting out a soft hum of mock delight. "After all, isn't that what Minari are? Servants? Slaves?"

My blood ran cold.

I didn't say anything, not at first. I just stared up at her, my mind trying to process what I was hearing. It didn't fit—it didn't match the memory of the girl I had tried to protect all those years ago. But Frida stood above me now, smiling like she had all the power in the world, like she knew exactly how this was going to go.

And she was right, wasn't she? What could I possibly do?

I clenched my fists. My gaze drifted down to the vast skin beneath my feet—the surface of her palm, warm and slightly damp from the sea. Then I looked back up, anger bubbling in my chest.

"No," I said, my voice firm. "I won't let this boy be nothing but a meal to you."

Frida's eyes widened slightly, as if surprised by my defiance. Then, her expression darkened. The playfulness vanished, replaced by something sharper, something deadly. She regarded me like an insect that had forgotten its place.

"And what if I tell you," she said, voice low, "to pick up the boy and toss him into my mouth?"

I didn't hesitate. "I wouldn't do it."

Frida's lips pursed, her massive face drawing closer—so close that her nose nearly bumped into me. Her eyes bore into mine, searching for something, waiting for something.

"Then you have a choice," she whispered, her voice like thunder in my ears. "Sacrifice the boy... or yourself."

The boy trembled harder behind me, his small fingers still latched onto my waist. There was no doubt in my mind that he would never forget this moment for as long as he lived.

I took a deep breath, swallowing the fear that threatened to choke me. "If you have to take something," I said, my voice steady, "then take it from me."

Silence stretched between us.

Then, to my shock, Frida smiled.

"You really are the same," she murmured, shaking her head. "Alright. I've decided."

She leaned back slightly, lifting me up just a little higher. "I'll spare the boy... and you, for your bravery."

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. Relief flooded through me so fast that my knees almost buckled. I looked up at her, wary but grateful. "Thank you."

Frida just smirked, her eyes still gleaming with amusement. "Don't thank me yet, Peter. We're not done talking."

Peter chuckled nervously as he looked up at Frida, he was ready for this conversation to end.

"I need to get back to work," he muttered, looking down at his fellow workers down at the beach. 

Frida, looming above him like a living mountain, quirked an amused brow. "Oh? And what job could possibly be more important than talking to me?"

Peter shot her a tired look. "Literally any job."

Frida smirked. "Hmph. How dull. Maybe I should step on your boss. That'd get you out of work." She tapped a massive finger against her chin, as if genuinely considering it. "It'd be easy. Probably fun, too."

Peter stared at her. "Okay, what the hell happened to you?"

Frida's smile wavered, and something in her expression shifted. She lifted her hand, bringing him closer to her face. Her enormous, dark eyes studied him with something unreadable. Then, in a lower, colder voice, she said, "You never really knew me, Peter. Not really. I was just some weak little kid you had to save over and over again. Not anymore." Her lips curled into something almost sinister. "Now I have power. All the power." She tilted her head slightly, eyes gleaming. "And you... you're just my little toy."

Peter barely had time to process that before she moved—so fast he didn't even register what was happening until he was suddenly plunging into darkness.

A thick, humid, wet darkness.

The realization hit him a second too late. Oh, she put me in her mouth.

Then it hit him again, this time literally, as her massive tongue sent him tumbling sideways. He tried to grab onto something—anything—but there was nothing but slick, shifting muscle and the constant rush of hot saliva. It was like being tossed into a washing machine filled with warm spit. He slammed into the side of her cheek, then immediately got shoved back the other way, pinned under her tongue as it effortlessly toyed with him.

This is it. This is how I die.

And worst of all? It smelled terrible in here.

Before he could fully process his own impending doom, the entire world tilted. A rush of motion. Then—

WHOOSH!

Peter rocketed out of the cavern of flesh and landed with an unceremonious thud onto the burning hot sand.

For a moment, he just lay there, spread-eagled, letting the sun bake the remaining saliva into a disgusting film on his skin. His entire body ached. His dignity was shattered. He could still hear the squelch of Frida's mouth as she licked her lips.

"Well," she mused, stretching as she rose to her full, absurdly colossal height. "Now that I know you work here, I suppose I'll be stopping by a lot more often."

Peter, face still planted in the sand, lifted a single, exhausted hand and gave her a weak thumbs-up. "Yay..."

Frida laughed—a rich, delighted sound that sent vibrations through the earth beneath him. "Good. I'll see you soon, Peter."

He let out a long, suffering sigh. "Looking forward to it."