Forty Pounds

"A normal, healthy pregnancy involves gaining about a pound a week." Raven said as Lois sat down at a table. Without any human hand, cabinets and refrigerator doors flew open, and the contents began to levitate out, arranging themselves on the table, plates setting themselves up before the pregnant reporter, dagwoodian sandwiches piled on plates, cold lasagna, fried chicken wings, a jar of pickles, bowls of potato chips, sour cream, a pitcher of milk...and that was just what was within reach.

"We have perhaps eight hours before dawn. You will need to consume at least five pounds per hour." The Titan's eyes fixed on the reporter's own. "Begin."

Lois swallowed hard. Her stomach rumbled.

"This...this is insane..." her fingers trembled as she reached for the nearest sandwich. She could smell roast beef, mustard, barbecue sauce, sauerkraut. It should have been disgusting, but suddenly she realized she was famished. "...I only weigh 110!"

The reporter took her first bite.

"Not for long," Raven murmured. The grey-skinned young woman raised her hands and intoned solemnly: "Metrion. Azarath. Zinthos!"

Lois, halfway through her sandwich, chewing rapidly, hardly notice.

Blaze raised an eyebrow. "What spell was that?"

"Technically a curse, though usually reserved for expectant mothers, to encourage appetite," Raven said. "Her regenerative abilities will handle stomach distension, and optimize caloric intake...she won't even get any stretch marks...but for now she will no longer feel 'full.' Not until the curse is removed."

"So what do we do?" Blaze huddled within the depths of Raven's spare cloak. "Just watch her stuff herself?"

"No. We help," With a flick of her fingers, the freezer and oven opened, frozen pizzas flying forth, shedding their wrapping as they maneuvered themselves inside the gaping stove. "And we must prepare for the birth."

Lois, barely cognizant of anything beyond the ravenous hunger that was consuming her, finished the sandwich and reached for the pitcher of milk. She placed the spout to her lips and drank, raising the pitcher as it got lighter and lighter, the cold, thick fluid pouring down her throat, filling in the gaps. As she drained the last drops, the reporter set it on the table heavily.

Amazingly, despite consuming what would normally have been a large meal for her, Lois didn't feel full. Blaze pushed the jar of pickles towards her, and the pregnant reporter seized on them greedily.

"Can she really do it?" The demon whispered, watching in awe as the petite reporter chowed down with gusto.

"She will," Raven said, a second pair of red eyes flickering onto her brow for a moment. "I guarantee it."