Blue Boxer barely had time to react before the Mad Magician snapped his fingers again, this time with an extra flourish that sent a swirl of glittering violet energy curling through the air like a ribbon.
“Abracazoom—let’s make you bloom... into something snug and terribly doomed!” the Magician intoned, clearly pleased with himself.
“No—wait! Don’t you—!”
Too late. The spell surged forward, wrapping around Blue Boxer like a boa constrictor made of light. He tried to move, to punch, to dodge—anything—but his limbs were already tingling, the energy crawling up his legs and arms like warm fizzing soda. His gloves vanished in a puff of smoke. His boots melted into the rooftop with a squelch.
“Ghhhn—no! You—can’t—spell me—like—this!” Boxer growled, gritting his teeth, struggling against the encroaching magic. “This is humiliating!”
“Oh, I know,” the Mad Magician purred, waving his fingers as the magic rippled higher. “That’s why it’s so much fun.”
The transformation rushed over him like a tide. His arms shrank, torso compressed, and his whole body twisted, spun, and collapsed in on itself with a cartoonish pop!
With a final sparkle and a puff of blue smoke, the Blue Boxer was gone.
In his place on the rooftop lay a perfectly folded pair of blue boxer briefs with black trim—sturdy, stretchy, and still faintly steaming from residual magic. A little flickering glow pulsed faintly along the waistband, as if to say yep, still alive in here.
The Mad Magician grinned wide and picked up the boxer briefs with exaggerated reverence.
“Now this... is fashion,” he said with a theatrical sniff. “Mmm. Smells like ego and aftershave. Delicious.”
From the waistband came a mental scream.
"MAGICIAN! YOU TURNED ME INTO UNDERWEAR?! YOU PSYCHOPATH!"
“Ohhh, I can hear you just fine, Ethan,” the villain cooed, holding the boxers up to the moonlight and running his pudgy fingers along the crotch. “But don’t worry. You’re not just any pair of underwear. You’re MY underwear. Isn’t that intimate?”
"This is a violation of at least six superhero codes and probably some laundry ones too—!"
The Mad Magician chuckled as he began unfastening his own trousers.
"WAIT. WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! STOP. NO. I SWEAR IF YOU PUT ME ON—"
Magician shamelessly stripped, revealing his fat, hairy body.
With a snap and a shimmy, the Mad Magician stepped into his new “wardrobe upgrade” and pulled the boxer briefs up snug. Very snug.
"GHHH—OH COME ON! I CAN FEEL EVERYTHING!!"
“Of course you can,” the Magician sighed contentedly. “You’re enchanted cotton now, my dear. Breathable, stretchable, and very much… trapped.” Magician palmed his sweaty crotch. His fat member swelled and stiffened, poking hard at Blue Boxer's fabric.
"This can't be happening!" Boxer's thoughts screamed, but only his enemy could hear him though the magic of the incantation.
“Better get used to it, Bluey,” he chuckled, adjusting the waistband. “You’ll be hugging my hips for the foreseeable future. Your backside will be pressed against my ample rump. My hardon will be tenting you at every opportunity. And that's not all.” The Mad Magician unleashed a loud, ghastly fart that thundered right through the hero.
"Oh no. Oh no no no. What did you eat tonight? What is that smell—OH SWEET MERCY."
The Magician patted his stomach, grinning wickedly.
“Big bean burrito,” he whispered. “Extra guac. Grit City’s finest.”
"THIS IS MY WORST NIGHTMARE."
“Correction,” the Magician replied, lounging dramatically on the rooftop ledge. “This is your new reality.”
He gave his waistband a proud snap.
“Now, Boxer, let’s go home. I’ve got plans for you—and a laundry cycle in about four days.”
"FOUR. DAYS?!"
The Mad Magician cackled and disappeared in a puff of smoke along with his new favorite pair of underpants.