It is a story that was told at home, in country house,cottages, happy.

Although installed with a wood fire. Outside the fury of the elements, cold, very cold , the wind blows over the wings flap, rain striking the tiles frosted. In the fireplace crackle fire. The flame lighting bathes the happy faces, radiant in a glimmer strange, almost unreal and misty.

We are at home, safe, warm, it’s so good... A sweater on the shoulders, feet in old and comfortable shoes, eyes riveted on the storyteller who will plunge us into a beautiful story, one is happy.

During the year eleven hundred and eighty nine, in the Chapel of Our Lady of Mercy, at Saint Hilaire, a suburb of Carcassonne.

Built by the companions of the Tour de France, the French Guild, hosted by the Franciscan brothers on the road to Compostele, a peaceful monastery and its austere belfry.

The chapel hosted within it a frog, by a tacit agreement with the proper father. This frog font sinking of the happy day in his basin does not hide his joy to play freely in the font of church (at large despair of faithful parishioners, the rest).

It was a beautiful specimen who answered the sweet name of Batracianus Croâtus. (A migrant, originating from Eastern Europe, had crossed the Alps and northern Italy).

Only then, the college was besieged by the Catharses.

Our batrachian, who did not share the beliefs of the occupier, no longer distracted onlookers: That was the schism, the division. In tacit, it became taciturn. The priest was not perfect and resolved to release Batracianus not far away in a little and dirty pond near the village of Saint Hilaire.

Sad.

---

Two kids who went there try to establish a dialogue on their respective clothes and other: they’re making a fool of them.
  "Oh him, fool are you! What is your tunic! It’s not a Chevignon, you’re not the ball! it does not turn in your head, so the fact not. Tin of race, and your shoes, you saw your pumps ..."
  “So what? that’s beside the point. Let concrete, boy, it’s not the time! But stop, you’re crazy? Did you have cyanide in the test tube or what? Stupid boy! "

And so a Sarasin court shoe will file in the mud at the bottom of this gloomy pond of brackish waters.

Distress...

---

Croâtus the small frog looks with compassion the poor court shoe marinate in the mud of this stagnate water. They are both misunderstood, excluded, rejected. They have everything in common; society did not want them? What will assure them either!

In any case, a love against nature is born. They were happy. They would certainly had a lot of kind, but, whenever, our batrachian hardened by the Francisque, had vow of chastity. Godax the court shoe respected that choice... At least to a certain extent.

Batracianus, breaking its religious commitment... Arriving at twilight of his life the small frog, more and more tired, did an egg. And just yet! it was called Ragondus the doctor to avoid the worst.

Batracianus Croâtus, in a last burst of energy, gently put down his egg in the shoe, with a last glance to his offspring...

Pathetic.

---

A single egg, but what egg! Within one could discern a black point, the eye of Godax Junior.

After only a few hours of incubation, the sky is disturbing veil of clouds, darker, ton miles and spits fireballs incandescent, water becomes cloudy, raises form on the surface of the swamp, a thick smoke, impenetrable, covers the surrounding area.

It seems that the Malign forces have took possession of the undergrowth. Lucifer himself, Inferno, Gezabel, Beelzebuth, Ezekias ... They all come to the party, to participate in the baptism of Godax.

Demon. Isn’t it ?

---

Then, once upon a time, in the forest of Saint Hilaire, sometime later...

An old abandoned trailer. She used to transport troops of the OST, the medieval army for the battle of Castillon. Unserviceable by a jet catapult unexpected as far as fortuitous, it serves as relay fishing with two companions hilarious and cheerful:

Drunk and Canaille prepare their saplings.
  "What a chance that there is this dump next to the marsh, it’s certainely a boon!"
  "Yes, it’s probably a good fertilizer for our fish."

They were perhaps not well crafty, cunning, but certainly they were happy companions. Always close to the fun. Joy !

They take successively an old rusty clyster, a worm-eaten wooden yoke, a copy of the Old Testament all wet, a cracked jug, a bronze candlestick tinted green by oxidation, an Oldsmobile ventilator, an umbrella and a tiny bleak for diner this evening ... Fishing miraculous.

They will be able to barter on the market street in the dark alleys of Carcassonne, between the Aude door and the Narbonne door, a shopping street near the turn of the Inquisition, with its dungeon and its channels whose only vision enough to recant anyone.

Unconcern.

---

The evening arrives. The lines are still under water when Drunk back an old shoe that seems... Disgust, he gives it to the water in a large and gracious gesture, but the shoe will file in a tree. Then, the slipper starts to smoke...

Immediately HE appears as the genius out of his magic lamp, which arises here parental shoes, in a strange form , like a demon.

Shockingly.

---

Godax (because it is indeed him, thus the legend is true! The myth becomes reality) go back in his native pond.

Stupefaction of Drunk which takes Canaille like a witness;
  «You’ve seen, a monster"

Canaille, which has seen nothing;
  «Oh you, you’re not in Scotland! And then, with the talent we have, we would have already caught your monster, in jest "

Anyway, the first reaction: Fold the saplings. Fear grips our companions.

Suddenly, in a strange smoke and opaque fog, Godax, having taken human aspect, gaining the shore with ease, covered with a shell of algae, helped by its webbed feet, a mask and a tuba of diving. Here standing at the edge of the marsh.

A face... plant reveals a misshapen mouth, an abyssal hole where a cavernous voice leaves escapes these words:
  "That’s me, Godax Croâtus Junior, the first and last name. Son of Batracianus Croâtus and Senior Godax, the single, unique, incomparable. Beware of counterfeits. Who dares to disturb me? "

Stupor.

---

With these words, Drunk and Canaille run. Hurry up! ...as two rabbit in the mire of a shotgun!

At the edge of the marsh, Godax completes its metamorphosis, hiding his webbed feet in his famous breeches: He would conquer the world; he had to repair the outrage at his parents.

Nothing can stop it; the hour of revenge has come.

— Hallelujah! —

Tremble, people of little faith!

Pascal Coquet