A Fighter's Nudity

The various women seem as disoriented as you are. Some, like Princess Peach and Robin, run over to familiar faces such Daisy and Lucina, checking on their friends. Others, like Samus, Bayonetta, and Min-Min, charge their cannons, cock their guns, or otherwise drop into a fighting stance, ready to face whatever **** may have stolen them away.

You, on the other hand, don’t do much of anything. Why would you? Obviously this was a dream, albeit probably the most lucid dream you’d ever had. Never mind the grass under your feet and the wind biting at you as close to the edge of the cliff as you were, the chill far more intense than you could’ve managed trying to pinch yourself awake. Never mind the clarity of what was around you, in front of you, even on you as you look down to see the clothes you’d been wearing exactly before you woke up here: jeans, and a Vault-Tec t-shirt complete with a stain from the sauce of the burger you had as takeout for lunch. That’s not weirdly intricate and detailed for a dream, right? It had to be within the realm of possibility, because otherwise possibility was being thrown out the window by the horde of fictional women standing in front of you.

Speaking of, it seems you’ve finally been noticed, at least by a few of them. Familiar as they are to you, you’re the odd one out on multiple fronts, which might explain why Samus’s arm-cannon was being pointed your way, or why Princess Zelda was regarding you with such a concerned expression. You swallow hard, and try to break the silence.

“Um, h-hi,” you start, but further words die in your throat as a howling wind passes over the clifftop, forcing you a step back. At first, you think the wind must have thrown some of the fighters off balance as well, as some of them stumble, or grab their head, or stiffen and freeze in place. Only, as the gale continues, you can’t help but notice something strange. The wind pushes on you, your sleeves and pants legs fluttering, but the same isn’t happening to the women. Not one frilly princess skirt, not one knightly cape, barely even a strand of hair is getting pushed out of place while you struggle not to go flying off to the impossibly diverse landscape below.

As the wind blows you faintly hear a ripping sound. Dread fills your body and with eyes squinting against the gail you see the female Smash characters in front of you give varying reactions of surprise in shock. The feeling of wind against your bare legs lets you know before you glance down to confirm it. The wind has stripped your jeans right off you.

Some of the women step forward out of concern or confusion but the wind blocks their advance. In moments you hear another rip and find your t-shirt shredded from your body. The girls gasp and a few blush or lick their lips at the sight of you in just your boxers. Moving your arms from shielding your face from the wind, you grab onto your underwear in the **** hope of preserving your modesty.

Your hope is in vain. Your boxers fall to ribbons under your fingers from the power of the wind and you hastily cup your penis and balls with your hands. You try to take a step forward but the second one of your feet leave the ground, the wind launches you skyward, blasting you free of your shoes. As you hurtle into the sky, wind rushing past every inch of your exposed skin and feeling your socks fly off your feet, you spy the fighters below each blink away in a flash of pink light, before the cliff top is left empty and your vision fades to black.

——

You wake up some time later; happy to have woken up at all after being launched miles into the sky, but dismayed to find that instead of being in your pajamas in your own apartment, you find yourself still quite naked, and still somewhere quite odd, but somehow familiar...