Markandan Rivals

"I'm logging into Rivals. Hold on." Said Slovotsky.

The transition was seamless.

One second, Karl was still processing the unsettling, hyper-real sensation of his body in the white void—his fingers flexing, his chest rising and falling with breath that felt too real—and the next, the world exploded around him.

A title screen didn't just appear. It detonated into existence.

A sonic boom shook the air as glowing golden letters burst outward, ripping across a sky so crisp and blue it looked ripped from reality:

MARKANDA RIVALS

Before Karl could even take in the words, the world around him ignited into chaos.

Superheroes exploded past them at impossible speeds, leaving behind streaks of light and rippling shockwaves. Energy blasts seared through the air, cutting past his vision so close he swore he could feel the heat. Gunfire rattled and sparked as armored figures fired into unseen enemies beyond, their weapons blazing with relentless fury.

An explosion rocked the ground beneath them, sending a crumbling skyscraper toppling into the streets below. A massive spacecraft, its hull already ruptured and trailing smoke, screamed through the atmosphere, fire consuming its underbelly as it spiraled toward destruction.

The letters of the title pulsed once—twice—before shattering into shimmering embers that swept around them in a fiery whirlwind. Karl instinctively shielded his eyes, but he felt everything—the rush of heat, the sharp bite of debris-laden wind, the faint crackle of static dancing across his skin.

This is insane.

Superheroes, mutants, warriors—each ultra-real and tangible, every muscle flexing, every bead of sweat glistening under the relentless battlefield sun. Their expressions were fierce, their eyes locked onto an unseen enemy as they leaped, charged, and collided in titanic clashes all around them.

Then the world snapped into place.

After the chaos, the gunfire, the roaring explosions, and the whirlwind of energy—there was silence.

No motion. No sound. No warning.

Just stillness.

Karl’s brain short-circuited trying to adjust. A second ago, he had been in the middle of a battlefield that felt too real, his senses overwhelmed by fire and fury. Now, he was somewhere else entirely, and the abrupt shift was more jarring than the explosions had been.

They were standing in an open-air temple, massive in scale, bathed in golden sunlight that seemed to stretch infinitely in every direction. The space was impossibly vast, so much so that Karl felt a strange vertigo, as if he had just stepped into real open space for the first time. There were no walls boxing him in, no artificial sky panels like in past VR games—just endless, open air, stretching beyond the towering stone pillars that framed the heavens.

It was breathtaking. It was terrifying.

Like a gladiatorial colosseum and a palatial throne room fused into one, the temple exuded power and authority. Massive stone columns reached skyward, so high they seemed to merge with the clouds, and in the distance, a monstrous obsidian panther statue loomed over everything. Its eyes glowed with pulsing golden energy, like it was watching. Judging. An eerie, silent guardian presiding over whatever was about to happen.

And all around them—

Karl took a steadying breath, forcing himself to process what he was seeing.

Everywhere he looked, there were superheroes.

Completely naked.

And there were so many of them.

They weren’t just clustered in small groups or scattered randomly—they were organized, spaced out in perfect long rows stretching across the entire vast arena floor. The sheer scale of it hit Karl like a punch to the gut. There had to be at least a thousand bodies in here, from the ones just feet away to the tiny figures at the very edges of the colosseum-like expanse.

They weren’t static models or low-poly game assets—they looked real, like actual flesh-and-blood people standing frozen in time. Each of them had subtle idle animations—small shifts in posture, the faint rise and fall of their chests, the occasional tilt of the head or flex of a muscle.

And then, every few moments, one would move—but not randomly. A pose.

Karl saw it happen in waves, like a silent, choreographed performance rippling through the sea of nude, sculpted figures. One hero would suddenly shift—arms folding powerfully, hands settling on hips, flexing muscles—and then, somewhere further back, another would do the same.

And in this environment—an open, sunlit temple filled with nothing but skin—those iconic stances took on a whole new kind of distraction.

Karl swallowed hard. His brain was struggling to find something—anything—normal about this. But nothing about this was normal.

Stevie let out a shaky exhale beside him. “Holy shit… This is like…”

“Real life,” Karl finished, his voice quieter than he meant it to be.

Slovotsky let out a slow chuckle, a knowing smirk creeping onto his face. “Told you. This ain’t some low-rent VR crap. This is Markandan tech. Welcome to the future, losers.”

Karl blinked hard, his mouth opening slightly before snapping shut again.

A thousand thoughts fought for dominance in his head.

This was the character select screen?

Why the fuck were they all naked?

Stevie’s voice cut through the stunned silence, slightly breathless but dripping with amusement.

"Okay. What the actual fuck?"

Karl exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he took a cautious step forward, eyes still sweeping over the endless rows of nude, statuesque heroes standing like living trophies.

“This is the character select?” His voice came out rough, like he wasn’t sure he even believed his own words.

Stevie let out a short, breathy laugh. “Dude, why are they naked?”

Slovotsky’s grin was audible.

“Because it’s Markanda. What did you expect?”

Karl slowly turned toward him, narrowing his eyes. “I don’t know, man. Maybe costumes? Super suits? Capes?"

Stevie gestured wildly at the parade of nude, hyper-detailed heroes standing motionless around them. “Seriously, dude. This is some Eyes Wide Shut, dystopian, mutant sex-cult shit.”

Slovotsky snorted, folding his arms. “Bruh. It’s Markanda. Their whole vibe is ‘we’re too strong to need clothes.’”

Karl exhaled sharply, turning back toward the silent, frozen figures.

Yeah. That tracked.

Markanda was all about dominance, all about mutant supremacy—and apparently, that meant stripping their greatest warriors bare and putting them on display like gods.

And fuck—they looked like gods.

Karl tried to keep his eyes from wandering, but it was impossible. The level of detail was insane—every muscle, every pore, the way their bodies subtly moved and breathed, looking like they might suddenly step forward and speak.

Karl’s eyes landed on the superheroine closest to him.

A floating title appeared as he looked at her along with a blurb and a host of stats and skills.

SCARLET WITCH
Reality-Warping Sorceress. Chaos Incarnate. Bend the very fabric of existence to your whim, unraveling enemy attacks before they happen and reshaping the battlefield with a mere thought. Weave devastating hexes that twist probability, ensuring your foes’ every move ends in failure while your own power grows unchecked. Turn enemies into helpless puppets, their minds and bodies remade to serve your desires, their very reality rewritten to obey your will. There are no limits—only the chaos you choose to unleash.

Her pale, creamy skin practically glowed in the golden light, smooth and flawless, like she had been sculpted rather than born. Her very large- perfect-breasts swayed slightly as she shifted her weight, each movement hypnotic, deliberate, unapologetically sensual. And between her thighs, her soft, bare pussy was completely exposed.

His eyes flicked away to dance across various heroes, quickly reading their blurbs.

CYCLOPS
The Master of Optic Devastation. Dominate the battlefield with unstoppable beams of raw power. Unleash precision optic blasts to obliterate foes, ricochet beams off surfaces for tactical strikes, and control enemy movement with overwhelming ****. Lead with unmatched battlefield awareness, coordinating allies with strategic vision while cutting down any opposition in your path.

QUEEN MARVEL
Phoenix-Touched Goddess. Command telekinetic **** and mind-shattering passion. Crush enemies with raw telekinetic might, rip apart reality with psychic fire, and wield the limitless potential of the Phoenix ****. Bend the wills of lesser beings, enslaving minds with irresistible psychic ecstasy-turning former enemies into devoted, obedient allies who fight at your command and worship at your feet.

QUEEN STORM
Goddess of the Skies. Summon the fury of the heavens with devastating lightning strikes, raging hurricanes, and tactical wind manipulation. Control the battlefield with weather-altering abilities that punish enemies and uplift allies.

BEAST
The Brains & Brawn of Markanda. A cultured mind housed in the body of a true specimen. Use superhuman agility and raw strength to overpower enemies while outmaneuvering them with acrobatic prowess. Leverage tactical intelligence to anticipate attacks, manipulate the battlefield, and strike with devastating precision.

GAMBIT
Ace of Cards. Unleash explosive kinetic energy with deadly precision. Chain devastating card throws, melee staff strikes, and cunning battlefield maneuvers to control the fight with effortless style.

MAGMA
Volcanic Fury. Shape the earth and command molten destruction. Rain down fiery eruptions, summon magma geysers, and terraform the battlefield into an infernal deathtrap.

MAGIK
The Infernal Knight. Wield the Soulsword and tear through dimensions. Conjure portals for rapid repositioning, summon demonic reinforcements, and unleash dark sorcery to devastate foes.

BOOM BOOM
Living Detonation. Generate, shape, and time high-explosive energy bombs at will. Chain devastating timed explosions, create controlled traps, and turn any battlefield into a minefield of destruction.

Eyes passing over a plethora of some of the most gorgeous naked women he's ever laid eyes on, Karl’s cock pulsed.

And that’s when he noticed.

His avatar had an erection.

Karl snapped out of his daze, forcing himself to look away from the endless display of mutant perfection—and suddenly, his brain latched onto something else.

His own body.

His avatar.

Something was different.

He glanced down at himself—

And froze.

Holy shit.

His barbarian avatar had always been ripped straight out of Game of Thrones, but now?

He could feel it.

The fur-lined cape, the tight leather straps pulling against broad, thick pectorals, the weight of the sword at his hip.

Even his stubble felt tangible, like he could scratch his jaw and actually feel it.

Karl turned—and—

What the fuck?

Stevie looked different, too.

She still had the cyberpunk-Jinx look she always used—a slim, punkish build, blue-purple dyed hair, cropped jacket, tight shorts, thigh-high boots—but the details were insane.

Her lips looked fuller, her skin had a natural softness to it, the metallic sheen of the cybernetic lines running down her arms looked practically real.

And then—

Karl turned to Slovotsky.

Jesus Christ.

His avatar had always been a vending machine Transformer.

But now—there was like a billion more intricate details.

His chrome limbs were hyper-polished, his neon-lit beverage display stocked with drinks so crisp they looked physically present, and every time he moved, there was a subtle mechanical whir that hadn’t been there before.

Karl had seen this avatar a hundred times before.

But now?

Every button, every price tag, every tiny logo on the displayed cans was ridiculously crisp.

He turned to Slovotsky, eyes wide.

"How?!"

Slovotsky grinned, flexing his vending machine arms.

"Markandan tech, bro."

"Gotta be like a Quantum AI," Stevie continued, excitement creeping into her voice.

She turned her hand over, flexing her fingers, watching how the synthetic sheen of her cybernetic enhancements reflected the arena's golden light. "I mean, look at this! It's adapting. Filling in details that weren't even in my original character model."

Karl's gaze next landed on Psylocke.

PSYLOCKE
The Blade of the Mind. A lethal fusion of psychic power and honed combat mastery. Carve through enemies with psi-blades that cut both flesh and thought, leaving opponents dazed, disoriented, and defenseless. Strike with pinpoint precision, overwhelming foes with a flurry of acrobatic attacks that leave no room for escape. Weaken enemy willpower with subtle mental intrusions, making them hesitate, doubt, and even crave submission instead of resistance. The body may resist, but the mind will kneel.

She was just as ridiculously top-heavy as Scarlet Witch, Queen Marvel, and Queen Storm, despite her lithe, athletic frame. Her high, firm breasts defied gravity, sitting proudly on her toned, muscled body. Her long, sculpted legs were tensed slightly, as if she could spring into action at any second. Even frozen, she looked dangerous and untouchable—like a deadly seductress carved from flesh and steel.

And then a superheroine called White Queen. (So many queens...)

WHITE QUEEN
The Diamond Matriarch. Rule the battlefield with telepathic supremacy and unbreakable diamond form. Pierce enemy minds, rewriting their thoughts and desires with a whisper, turning foes into adoring thralls who fight for your pleasure. Shift into an invincible, shimmering diamond form, making you impervious to damage while crushing opponents with inhuman strength. Dominate in both body and mind-the world bends to your will.

A perfect hourglass of pure, unapologetic femininity. Her creamy skin was flawless, her large, round breasts sitting impossibly perky on her frame. There was a natural haughtiness to her, even in stillness—the slight upturn of her chin, the way her full hips naturally shifted to one side, her ice-blue eyes seeming to judge everything around her without a single word.

Karl exhaled sharply, forcing himself to regroup.

This was a game.

A very naked, very distracting game—but still a game.

He took a step forward, trying to focus on—

Oh, Christ. No.

Karl’s entire brain short-circuited as his gaze accidentally drifted over Wolverine.

The transition from breathtakingly sexy mutant women to Logan’s squat, hairy, Herculean physique was like slamming into a brick wall.

Thick slabs of fuzz-covered muscle.

Short, powerful limbs that looked like they could rip a man in half.

And then—

The package.

Jesus Christ.

It was huge, veiny, and unrealistically thick, hanging low and heavy over a dark, leathery sac that looked straight out of some prehistoric era.

Karl winced, his entire body tensing in an immediate internal command to look away.

Too late. Image burned in.

WOLVERINE
The Feral King. Rip through enemies with untamed might and unrivaled stamina. Unleash a relentless barrage of razor-sharp claw strikes, shrug off damage with accelerated healing, and track foes with heightened senses. No cage can hold him, no enemy can outrun him-he is the ultimate predator on the battlefield.

He kept walking.

He tried to move past the parade of naked superheroes without staring, without letting his gaze linger too long—but it was physically impossible.

He froze as he immediately recognized the next four women.

Avengers.

Captain Marvel. Spectrum. Spider-Woman. Wasp.

Or at least—they used to be.

Now, floating above their heads, their names had changed and their blurbs seemed to start with a submissive statement that the others had lacked:

Captain Concubine
The Cosmic Pleasure Warrior. Empowered beyond measure, devoted to the satisfaction of her mutant betters. Channel limitless energy to deliver devastating photon blasts, execute high-speed aerial assaults, and crush enemies with superhuman strength. Adapt and overcome with unstoppable cosmic resilience.

Lustrum
Living Light, Living Lust. Ready to serve, eager to obey. Shift between electromagnetic energy forms to phase through attacks, deliver blinding bursts of light, and strike with lightning-fast photonic attacks. Control the battlefield with pure, raw energy.

Spider-Womb

He coughed, doing a double-take. Spider-womb?

The Fertile Webspinner. Bound in silk and ready to breed, a true gift to the mutant race. Strike from the shadows with enhanced agility, bio-electric venom blasts, and unparalleled acrobatics. Cling to surfaces, evade enemy fire, and unleash rapid, close-range takedowns. Deploy potent pheromones to distract, disorient, and manipulate foes-turning enemies against each other in a haze of uncontrollable lust, making them fuck instead of fight while you take control of the battlefield.

Wasp
The Diminutive Delight. The ultimate shape-shifting plaything, able to change sizes and pleasure in ways no ordinary woman could. Shrink, grow, and outmaneuver enemies with rapid aerial assaults. Dart between opponents with pinpoint precision, deliver bio-sting energy blasts, and manipulate size for unmatched battlefield versatility.

Karl blinked. She got to keep her old superhero name?

Karl stared, his mind racing.

"Oh, that’s right," he muttered, his voice thick with disbelief. "Markanda took down an entire Avengers team a couple of years ago."

The memory surfaced instantly—a massive global event that had been as confusing as it was shocking. The Avengers had gone to confront Markanda—and then, within weeks, their mission had turned into full-on surrender.

And now—this.

Karl tore his eyes away from the blatantly eroticized Avengers, forcing himself to process. "No one finds this problematic?" he asked, even as his gaze betrayed him, flicking back to Captain Marvel’s beautiful big full tits.

Slovotsky snorted, completely unfazed. "Dude, playing as Cap Conq is legit. This game is so fucking good. They don’t nerf for ‘balance’ at all."

Karl blinked. "I—what?"

Slovotsky kept going, grinning wide. "Seriously, bro. Flying? Energy blasts? Fucking invincible? Buildings just fall apart like paper when you go through 'em. You ever wanted to just plow through a city block like a god? She lets you do that."

Karl scrubbed a hand over his face. "That’s not—"

Slovotsky cut him off. "Though honestly? Rogue-Slut is better. Same flying-brick package, but you get to steal powers. And her tits are fucking twice that size."

"I'm talking about playing as brainwashed superheroines." He turned to Stevie, hoping for some kind of sanity check.

She was frowning, arms folded over her Jinx-style cyberpunk jacket, her neon-lit nails tapping against her arm. "I mean…" she exhaled, her voice uncertain. "We don’t really know what happened. Right? They all admitted they had attacked Markanda because of false info from SHIELD."

Karl clenched his jaw. "Do you believe that?"

Stevie hesitated. "I mean… maybe? They seemed to jump into the Markandan lifestyle whole-heartedly. There's practically more footage of them as porn-stars than as heroes now."

Karl scowled. "That doesn’t sound like a red flag to you?"

Stevie shrugged. "I dunno. They’re heroes. Don’t you think they hated how mutants were treated? That’s what they said. Until the U.S. stops treating mutant citizens like shit, they stand with Markanda."

Karl exhaled, exasperated. "What? We all saw the crazy porn games they were **** to play."

(https://chyoa.com/chapter/Avenging-Wakanda.1584743)

Slovotsky snickered. "****? Yeah right, and who wouldn’t jump into that?"

Karl’s eye twitched. "Are you fucking serious?"

Slovotsky grinned, spreading his vending machine arms. "Dude, it’s Markandan culture. This is normal for them."

Karl rubbed his temples. "Markandan culture? Markanda is five years old. At most."

Slovotsky shrugged. "Whatever, man. Wakanda was like this too."

Karl stared at him. "No, the fuck it wasn’t."

Slovotsky grinned wider, unbothered. "Bro. A whole country full of needy black sluts and basic bitch cucks? Worshiping mutants was, like, right there in their religion. The king just changed the name ‘cause he felt like it."

Karl gritted his teeth, exhaling sharply as Slovotsky’s smug vending machine avatar whirred with mechanical satisfaction.

"That is not what Wakanda was."

Slovotsky snorted. “Oh, you’re the expert now?”

He crossed his chrome-plated arms, the glow from his neon-lit beverage display casting flickering reflections on the polished stone floor beneath them.

“Dude, no one knew anything about Wakanda before 2000. ‘Cause they kept it on the down low—Black Panther was out there, whisking mutants home all Underground Railroad-style.”

Karl’s brow furrowed. "That’s not—"

Slovotsky kept going, voice picking up that distinct tone of someone who thinks they know more than you do.

“They only had to come out in the open because the world was going crazy racist against mutants. The whole ‘mutant registration, Sentinel bullshit’—you think Markanda was gonna let that shit slide? Nah, they saw what was coming and said ‘fuck it, mask off.’"

Karl crossed his arms, trying to keep his cool. "And you know this… how?"

Slovotsky grinned, his vending-machine display flashing a Markandan flag for a brief second. "Cause history, bro. King Mark? Dude literally went to America to go to school with the X-Men. And guess what? They even joined up with Markanda, just like the Avengers."

Karl scoffed. "Yeah. After getting their minds rewritten."

Stevie, who had been quietly listening, snapped her fingers suddenly. "Oh, wait. Wasn’t there that outcry from all those students’ families? Saying their kids got, like, **** or something?"

Karl pointed at her. "Thank you."

Slovotsky rolled his glowing vending machine eyes. "Pfft. Nah. If you actually look it up, most of those folks are living in Markanda now. They’re literally the servants of those mutants’ families, just like, watching over them, making sure they’re good—just like they did when those mutants were going to school in America."

Stevie blinked. “Wait, you’re saying that all those families just… voluntarily became servants?”

"No! They already were servants. All those students are like from crazy rich Markandan families."

Karl shook his head “That’s insane.”

Slovotsky chuckled. “Nah, what’s insane is how many people bought into the lie. It was all a FoH psy-op.”

Karl blinked. "I—What?"

Slovotsky shrugged, completely unfazed. "That whole ‘students got ****’ thing? Total bullshit. Crisis actors, man. Or, like, AI. Totally a FoH false flag mish."

Karl’s brow furrowed. "A what?"

Slovotsky gave him a look, as if Karl was the idiot. "Friends of Humanity. You seriously don’t know what FoH is?"

Karl rubbed his temples. "I fucking know who the Friends of Humanity are, dude. They’re a hate group. That doesn’t mean every single thing they ever say is automatically false."

Slovotsky grinned wider. "That’s exactly what it means, my guy."

Karl turned to Stevie, hoping for some kind of support.

She just sighed, arms still folded over her Jinx-style cyberpunk jacket, looking annoyingly unconcerned.

Karl gestured toward Slovotsky, exasperated. "Stevie. You’re hearing this, right?"

She gave him a side-glance, then exhaled loudly, rubbing her forehead.

"Oh my god, Karl. Who cares?"

Karl blinked. "Excuse me?"

Stevie threw her hands up. "Dude. You’re having a political debate. In a video game. A game where we are literally about to play as REAL superheroes in the most next-level VR ever created."

Karl stared at her. "Stevie. They brainwashed the Avengers."

Stevie rolled her eyes, making a pfft noise. "We don’t know that."

Karl snapped a hand toward Captain Concubine. "DO WE NOT?!"

Stevie glanced at the statuesque, grinning naked blonde with a HUD blurb describing her as ‘devoted to the satisfaction of her mutant betters.’

She shrugged.

Karl gaped. "You’re kidding me."

Stevie gave him a smirk. "Karl. It’s a game. It’s literally indistinguishable from reality. I am looking at actual, living graphics. I can feel my boots, my jacket, the air in the fucking room."

She waved her arms wildly at the world around them. "Dude. This is Singularity-level VR. This is the holy fucking grail of gaming. And you’re sitting here worrying about some PR scandal?"

Karl ran his hands over his face. "Jesus, Stevie."

She grinned, unapologetic. "Babe. You’re looking at this all wrong."

Karl lowered his hands slowly. "Oh, really?"

Stevie tilted her head, her purple hair catching the light. "Yeah. You’re asking if we should play."

She smirked. "I’m asking how the fuck we haven’t played sooner."

Karl stared at her, floored.

Slovotsky laughed, clapping his vending-machine hands. "Hell yeah, Swanson. That’s the spirit."

Karl sighed deeply, exhaling through his nose.

Karl needed a breather.

Slovotsky’s smug vending-machine-ass attitude, the way he regurgitated Markandan propaganda like it was common knowledge, the casual way Stevie wasn’t really arguing against it—

It was all too much.

So he walked.

And immediately made things worse for himself.

Because as soon as he moved behind the line of nude superheroines, the game’s idle animations changed.

As soon as Karl stepped behind her, Black Widow dropped into a deep squat.

Her round, muscular ass spread slightly, her thick thighs parting, exposing the pink, glistening lips of her perfect pussy.

Her taut little asshole winked at him as she held the position, balanced effortlessly, thighs flexing like a trained assassin even while flaunting herself.

Karl’s cock throbbed violently.

Fucking hell.

Karl barely had time to recover before Storm rose into the air, her long, dark legs stretching outward, her hips tilting just enough to make her high, round ass the centerpiece of the view.

Her thighs tensed, her smooth, bare pussy lips just barely visible between them, teasing Karl with every slight movement.

White Queen stretched forward, bending at the waist—

And pushed her ass backward, presenting herself like she was offering it up.

Her huge, gravity-defying tits swung slightly from the motion, her pale skin smooth and flawless, her thick thighs parting just enough to expose the creamy lips of her cunt.

Psylocke raised her arms, locking her fingers behind her head, her toned back arching slightly, making the curve of her ass even more pronounced.

Her thighs spread apart slightly, her plump, pink pussy lips teasingly parted, as if inviting someone to fill the space between them.

Then he stepped behind that really odd superheroine, Squirrel Girl.

Who was still hot as fuck naked.

And she bent forward, stretching—

Her thick, pear-shaped ass jutting backward, jiggling slightly, framed perfectly by the massive, fluffy tail that curled up over her back.

Her plush, puffy pussy lips peeked between her wide, soft thighs, her tight little asshole exposed in the perfect way to drive Karl’s cock into full, unbearable overdrive.

And then—

The squirrel.

That tiny, beady-eyed little bastard sitting on her shoulder.

Karl froze.

It twitched its nose aggressively.

It was staring right at him.

---

Stevie had been lost in thought—not in some heavy, moralizing way like Karl, but just processing everything.

This was fucking wild.

Not just the game—the experience.

Everything looked too real, too perfect, and the fact that they were here, inside of it, walking among naked superheroes, some of whom were literal celebrities—it was like being in an exclusive, underground, no-holds-barred VIP experience that the rest of the world wasn’t even ready for yet.

She wasn’t political like Karl. She didn’t really give a shit about the whole Markanda debate. Countries fought, people spun it different ways, and everyone online was full of shit anyway.

What mattered was right in front of her.

A superhero meat market.

Stevie licked her lips, eyes flicking across a sea of muscular, naked gods standing proudly on display.

So. Much. Dick.

Big, swinging, mutant dick.

The kind of unfiltered, shameless nudity that you just did not get in games like this.

Like, this was real. Too real.

She had spent years crushing on superheroes. Some of them were practically celebrities, the kind of people that got debated on Twitter daily, and here they were, standing around naked as hell, waiting to be picked like high-end cuts of meat at a butcher shop.

Stevie finally caught up with Karl, who was standing frozen, staring ahead like he had just unlocked the mysteries of the universe—or, more likely, had encountered something so utterly brain-melting that his entire system blue-screened.

She noticed something.

His avatar was rock-hard.

“Ohhh-ho-ho,” she purred, stepping up beside him. “Looks like someone’s immersed.”

Karl twitched violently, looking guilty as hell. “I—what? No!”

Stevie arched a brow, smirking as she pointed dramatically at the clear, throbbing outline stretching his tight barbarian leathers.

“Babe. That’s a full-on erection."

Karl groaned, raking his hands down his face. “This isn’t supposed to happen.”

Stevie just grinned, throwing an arm around his shoulder and squeezing playfully.

“Dude, who cares? Look around! This is literally the hottest game ever made."

She swept her gaze over the rows of naked superheroes standing around them like some exclusive underground VIP showcase.

Karl muttered something about propaganda and mind control, but Stevie wasn’t listening anymore.

Because—

Oh, hello.

Her eyes locked onto someone new.

Tall. Powerful. A fucking historical figure.

Muscles still thick and chiseled despite his age, his silver hair falling perfectly into place, exuding that regal, don’t-fuck-with-me energy.

And a damn impressive dick just hanging there, soft but heavy, thick and swaying slightly in the Markandan breeze.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Stevie whispered, stepping past Karl. “Is that—”

Her eyes widened.

“That’s Magneto’s dick.”

Karl made a strangled noise. “Stevie!”

But she wasn’t listening.

Because—

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

That was literally Magneto.

The Master of Magnetism.

The mutant terrorist boogeyman from every history book.

The guy who made world leaders piss themselves.

And he was just standing there.

Completely naked.

Like an NPC in a lobby.

Silver fox snack vibes.

Her eyes flicked downward.

Yeah.

Not Wolverine huge or King Mark’s god-tier size, but damn.

Like, Karl’s whole dick size just soft.

Stevie bit her lip, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Okay, I have to.”

Karl’s head snapped toward her. “Have to what?”

But it was too late.

Stevie reached out—

And flicked Magneto’s flaccid dick with two fingers.

It wobbled dramatically, swinging side to side just like a real one.

Stevie let out a delighted shriek.

“OH MY GOD. IT MOVES.”

Karl looked horrified. “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!”

Slovotsky bent over laughing, his vending machine torso rattling violently.

Stevie was cackling, watching the way Magneto’s soft but weighty cock wobbled rhythmically, slowing only slightly before settling back into place.

“IT’S SO REAL!” she gasped between giggles.

Karl looked like he was experiencing psychic damage in real-time.

“YOU JUST FLICKED MAGNETO’S DICK.”

This was straight-up pornographic, but in a way that felt elite—like some exclusive pleasure palace for the world’s most powerful beings.

And she?

She was inside it.

Up close.

Personal.

Front row seats.

"Okay, can we talk about how fucking HOT this is?" Stevie gestured around, eyes practically devouring the lineup.

Karl made another helpless noise, still visibly trying to shove his boner back into nonexistence through sheer willpower.

"Stevie. This is insane."

"Yeah. Insanely HOT."

Karl shot her a wild look. "This isn’t just some pervy mod! This is like—deep-level psychological shit!"

Stevie shrugged, absolutely not as concerned as he was.

"Dude, we’re inside a game where we get to feel everything." She turned to him, eyes shining with excitement. "You’re telling me you don’t want to experience the hottest, most cutting-edge VR tech in existence?"

Karl opened his mouth. Closed it.

She grinned.

"Come on. You’re telling me you don’t wanna play?"

Karl exhaled sharply, still visibly rattled.

"I just… it feels like…" He struggled for words, finally landing on: "It feels like we’re in something we shouldn’t be."

Stevie rolled her eyes.

"Dude. That’s the point."

Stevie turned in a slow circle, taking in the sheer unapologetic, erotic display of the naked superheroes around them.

"This isn’t just some dumb game," she murmured, more to herself than to Karl. "This is like… an exclusive club. A dark, elite world that we’ve been given access to."

She sighed dramatically, throwing an arm around Karl’s broad, stiff shoulders.

"And we? We get to dive in and experience it."

Karl still looked uneasy.

Stevie nudged him playfully.

"Come on, bro. Just lean into it. You’ve already got a raging hard-on—might as well enjoy yourself."

Karl groaned, dragging his hands down his face.

"Stevie."

"Karl."

She grinned up at him, teasing.

"Do it for the science."

"... Fine."

"Come on, barbarian boy. Let’s pick our characters."