Epilogue: Blaze's Suicide Squad, Mission XI

The moon shone full over the swamp. Across the lake, Blaze could see the fire blazing, naked men and women dancing, leaping over the flames. Chickens were cut, their blood sprayed, and a masked man chanted some of the old names. The smoke rose up into the clear night sky...and as it passed over the moon, it seemed to cast a baleful crimson light over the whole scene.

Rick Flagg moved forward noiselessly, from tree to tree. Blaze was right behind him.

There was a lanky guard, his dark face painted with white to resemble a skull, staring outward from the edge of the circle of firelight. Flagg's knife took him through the throat. No one saw the body fall...and off to the left there was a glug in the water, and Blaze knew another sentry was gone, puleld underneath by Killer Croc's strong hands.

They moved forward, as the masked priest raised a human femur in his hand...and brought it down with a crash on the drum.

A ripple seemed to go through the air. All sound ceased. Then the water in the swamp roiled as if boiling...and Blaze heard Flagg curse and bring up his Mossberg 590 combat shotgun. Blaze grinned, black sparks arcing off of her horns. She didn't mind at all. It was time to cut loose.

Twenty-Four Hours Earlier

Amanda Waller gave the briefing sitting down. Her stomach loomed hugely, even on her broad and squat frame, and her breasts had started to swell to match, drooping down on either side of the doming belly. The scarlet succubus was surprised that the woman was still mobile at all...she had to be carrying at least triplets, given how far along she was, no more than five or six months. Maybe more.

The black woman stabbed at her laptop, bringing a map up on screen.

"For the first forty years of its existence, the CIA has been using a nameless bog in an undeveloped corner of West Virginia to dispose of corpses discreetly and without paperwork. In 1987, they finally switched to a cremation facility, but before that every corpse they needed to disappear was fed into this swamp, deep inside privately-owned land."

The room was mostly empty today. Only Blaze, Flagg, and Killer Croc. Which made sense; Ivy was ready to pop any day, so Harley Quinn was looking after her very pregnant wife. Katana was on bedrest, herself very pregnant. Captain Boomerang was in the infirmary, and the less Blaze knew about it the better. No word on where Bane or the others might be, but Waller had never yet sent them out to a mission completely undermanned.

"Eight months ago, the land was deemed surplus and sold. The CIA did not maintain paper or digital files on the burials, and the significance of the location as a dumping ground where some of our nation's most classified bodies are buried was not revealed until last week, when an older analyst ran across a newspaper article of a vodoun cult have ceremonies near the swamp."

Waller's mouth was in a tighter, deeper frown than normal. A finger stabbed at the computer, and an image came up of a black man in a mask.

"Head of the cult is Jean-Louis Droo, Haitian-American occultist. Codename: Houngan. Former associate of the Brotherhood of Evil and the Secret Society of Supervillains. Right now, we suspect he's just milking his followers for money and sex...but if he can raise the dead as zombies, then his operation is a national security threat."

The pregnant woman stared at each of them in turn.

"We have a short window; the next ritual is tomorrow night. You'll fly out to West Virginia, come up through the swamp on the south side. Disrupt the ritual, capture or neutralize Droo."

"Collateral damage on the cultists?" Flagg said.

"Use your own discretion," she said. "Kill as many, or as few, as you need to. Droo is the primary target. Once he's neutralized, the government can reclaim the land using asset forfeiture and dispose of the bodies properly."

"Well," Croc grumbled. "That sounds easy."

Now

"Kill the interlopers! Samedi commands it!" Houngan shouted. His thigh bone beat on the skin of the drum, each strike like the pulse of the swamp itself. The naked cultists rushed forward, and Flagg pumped and fired, pumped and fired. He was loaded with beanbag rounds, but at this range he was breaking bones and knocking naked men and women off their feet. Croc lurched out of the water like a swamp god and cannonballed into the thick of them like a linebacker; only Blaze could tell that he was moving to cripple and maim rather than kill.

As for the scarlet succubus...

Black lightning flickered along her claws as she moved to the edge of the bog. Forty years under the water, and the undecayed flesh was black as pitch, leathery from the acids in the mud, grey bone poking through. Hundreds of zombies were rising, some mere skeletons, held together with swamp muck and Houngan's magic. Blaze grinned ferociously as she cut loose, sending out slashing waves of power that decapitated whole regiments of the undead, squeezed her fists just to watch them explode in showers of foul-smelling gore, pushed forward and sent them knocking into each other like bowling pins...it had been so long since she could go all-out, and the thrill of it was in her blood.

She didn't care who they had been in life. Prostitutes that had overdosed in a senator's bed, Russian spies caught in the act of sabotage but never claimed by their government, traitors whose crimes were too sensitive for any public trial...and older bones, slaves from a plantation, bootleggers caught be a rival gang, a Native American woman and her lover caught by her husband. Blaze grinned ferociously, lost in the fury of battle as she destroyed them all...

A hand slapped on her shoulder and she turned, black sparks bursting from her eyes...to see Croc standing there.

"Hey. Red. We got the guy. Time to go home."

Blaze blinked. She turned around and saw that, indeed, the zombies were sinking back into the swamp, the power that animated them fading.

"Right. Thanks. Kind of...lost myself there."

Croc gave a fanged grin. "No prob."

After

"...so I said 'just the tip,' and I swear to God if looks could kill, I'd have bled out right there," Flagg said, and sipped his tequila.

Blaze grinned. "Does this mean you've given up on talking your pregnant wife into anal?"

"No! Just, you know, a kind of tactical retreat. Mostly with my balls try to curl up and hide out of fear. I swear, she is scary. Last week, she got me up at 3AM for sushi and pickles. And Harley's been texting, wants Katana to be there to cut the cord..."

Croc reached over and picked up the bottle. He opened his mouth and leaned back, pouring it all in with one sloppy gulp after another.

Blaze and Flagg watched this performance in sudden silence.

"What's up, big guy?" Blaze asked.

The great figure stared ruefully at the empty bottle.

"I dunno. Just everybody seems to have somebody except me, y'know? Here you are with your pregnant, happy wives, getting your cocks cleaned every night, and I..."

Something buzzed. His scaly brow frowned. He fished at his waist, and brought out his cellphone—a burner, the only one they were allowed to carry on a mission.

"It's Waller," he said. His brow furrowed further. "Says we gotta come in for debriefing."

After After

The babies were asleep. Lois Lane helped her wife out of her swamp-encrusted clothes. Followed her into the shower to scrub her back. The reporter was astute enough not to ask questions right away, though she could tell that Blaze was stunned, processing something fierce. The naked woman simply soaped up the loofah and patted down the trim red body, paying special attention to the girthy cock and balls hanging down between her legs.

Lois had healed from the pregnancy. There was a little paunch to her stomach, white lightning lines of stretch marks from the twins, and her breasts were still swollen, the nipples dark and bigger than before. She was still about ten pounds heavier than when they had first met, that long-ago night out, but it had gone mostly to the reporter's hips and ass, giving a bit of meat and cushion there that hadn't been there before. Something for Blaze to grab onto.

The reporter got down on her knees, letting the hot water fill the shower as her tongue ran around the glans of her wife's cock, getting it nice and hard.

"Waller isn't having multiples," Blaze said, her shoulders leaning against the wall, staring into the middle distance. "Sonogram shows a single fetus."

"Must be a big baby," Lois purred. She stood up, placing one leg against the bath chair, and **** the hard cock downward until the scarlet head pressed against her pussy lips.

She hadn't told Blaze yet, but Lois had decided to try for a girl this time.

"It is," Blaze said, and barely grunted as Lois eased her slick cunt onto the shaft. "She's pregnant with a minotaur."