Opening Clash
"BERSERKER BARRAGE!"
Ryu swore as sharpened adamantium ripped through his gi, shredding fabric everywhere. He jumped away, mostly shirtless. "Wolverine-san, listen to me! We don't have to fight!"
His pursuer halted, breathing hard and steaming from the impact of countless hadokens. "Yeah? Why's that, bub?"
"We’ve all been manipulated. Some evil force has been playing both sides, sowing conflict between us."
"Is that right," the grizzled man asked. He didn't retract his claws. He advanced grimly on Ryu.
It’d been sheer chaos ever since their two realities had been slammed together. Marvel and Capcom. Suddenly costumed superheroes were getting involved in street fights, street fighters were duking it out with cosmic-level threats. Inhumans, Robot Masters, Dark Stalkers. Galactus. It'd all gotten terribly muddled and confusing. But one thing had kept Wolverine's head above water.
He grinned savagely as he sprang at Ryu. "Tell ya what, bub. What if I don't wanna fight ya because I'm bein’ manipulated? What if I wanna fight ya because… I just wanna fight ya! BERSERKER BARRAGE!"
Ryu blanched as those claws made short work of his pants. He'd allowed the man to get too close in order to talk. In a flash the street fighter was entirely naked save for his headband. Miraculously, Wolverine's claws hadn't cut into his flesh though. He'd find out why soon enough.
His wrist was seized in a hairy-knuckled hand and yanked. Ryu found himself falling off-balance—then landed hard over Wolverine's outstretched knee.
The mutant X-Man grunted as he got a good look at Ryu's ass. Damn, now wasn’t that something. Tight, muscular, and almost entirely free of hair. He laid a gloved hand on one cheek, testing its firmness. Yeah. Not for the first time, he reflected the shared reality they were stuck in wasn’t entirely bad.
Ryu was still spluttering. "W-Wolverine-san, please listen! I tell you, we do not have to—"
SMACK!
A hard spank cut him off. Ryu jerked and gasped. Wolverine grinned. "Sorry, bub. I'm through listenin’ to guys like you. Cyke might hear ya out, but me? I'm takin’ ya to the woodshed first."
"Wolverine—Augh! Nngh! Owww! Stop!"
The hairy mutant brought his hand across those muscled buns over and over. Ryu grit his teeth as he tried to hold out, but Wolverine's palm was hard and unyielding, not to mention heavier than it looked due to his adamantium bones. Despite Ryu's prowess as a veteran Capcom fighter, he was soon twisting and squirming across the X-Man's knee like a boy half his age.
"N-nooo!" he cried, "Stop!"
But with Wolverine still gripping his wrists, he couldn't reach back to block the swats. And he definitely couldn’t fire off any more hadokens. Ryu could only twist and kick, wincing as his muscular bare bottom turned redder and redder across the mutant's hardened thigh.
"Nothin' doing, bub. First I'm gonna spank ya to submission. Then I'm takin’ ya to Cap. Then we're gonna do the same to all yer other street fightin’ pals—"
"Do not fret, my friend Ryu!" a mighty voice boomed out. "I, the great Zangief, the Red Cyclone, have arrived to your rescue!"
The two fighters looked up, and there indeed was the infamous Russian bear wrestler, smiling broadly and performing a side chest pose atop a wrecked car like it was a bodybuilding competition. The large, hairy patch on his chest was thicker than a shag carpet. As always, he wore nothing but red trunks and laced-up boots.
“Speak of the devil,” Wolverine muttered.
Zangief and Ryu had never exactly been allies, but the interdimensional conflict had made strange bedfellows of many former adversaries. Now the street fighters were mostly all on the same side, just as the Marvel superheroes were. Ryu looked hopeful at Zangief’s arrival.
Wolverine, however, looked completely unconcerned. He paused to lazily light a cigar, took a drag on it, then landed another harsh clap across Ryu's reddened butt.
"A-aah!"
The large wrestler bristled. "You insult the great Zangief by ignoring him!?"
"It ain't that, bub. But I brought my own backup."
"Huh? Who do you—?" Only belatedly did Zangief realize a large shadow had fallen over him. One that eclipsed even his burly form. Or that the low-pitched whistling noise signaled the arrival of the other side's behemoth.
"HULK SMASH!"
The ensuing boom nearly sent Zangief hurtling into the subway beneath the streets. When the smoke cleared it revealed both him and the Hulk in a crater, their hands clasped together. They grunted and strained against each other with all their might.
Despite his exertion, Zangief grinned broadly. "Ah, I have been wanting to—nngh—match muscle against you, Comrade Hulk, more than—aagh—any other hero!"
Hulk spat contemptuously. "Then hairy man stupider than he looks. No one stronger than Hulk! NO ONE!"
And it appeared he spoke the truth. As the two brutes pushed against each other, Hulk slowly forced Zangief back. The Russian's burly arms trembled against Hulk's massive green ones. Even in terms of sheer size, Hulk dwarfed the powerful wrestler. In his home dimension Hulk had leveled mountains and fought gods to a standstill. It seemed impossible for Zangief, a mere human, to overcome him.
At least, ordinarily.
But since the Marvel superheroes had entered their dimension, the street fighters had noticed a curious thing about themselves. Their own powers had increased exponentially, as if some unknown force sought to even the odds and give them a fighting chance.
All at once Zangief spun, freeing himself from the uneven contest. Before Hulk knew what was happening, Zangief was behind him, wrapping burly arms around his midsection.
"Huh? What's little man—"
"ULTRA FINAL ATOMIC BUSTEEEERRRRRRR!!"
Zangief threw himself backwards, bringing Hulk with him. A series of seismic crashes rang out as Zangief performed a flying power bomb, slamming Hulk repeatedly into the street. But that was nothing compared to the atomic suplex which followed. The ensuing slam left even his gamma-infused adversary stunned and dizzy. Zangief grinned as he went for his coup de grace. He threw Hulk high, then leaped up and caught him mid-air before locking him in place, holding him upside down by the waist. He spun at hurricane-level speed with Hulk's head crammed between his thighs. The massive green giant could only bellow as they corkscrewed back to earth and he took the full brunt of the impact head-first.
Again, the smoke had to clear from such a magnificent slam. When it did, it revealed a sight most in the Marvel universe would have thought impossible. A defeated and groaning Hulk was pinned over Zangief's knee, his green butt lifted in the air. Those trademark purple pants were hauled down, revealing his rump in its entirety. And what a rump it was! Fully rounded green cheeks, muscular beyond belief, flexed angrily as Zangief beamed over them with pride.
"Incredible, comrade! No other could take so many of my powerslams and still remain conscious! I am convinced more than ever now that we were made for each other!"
"Rrrgh... LET... HULK... GO! YOU CANNOT—OOW!" The giant bellowed in surprise as a tremendous slap rang out, hard enough to make even his upturned cheeks bounce. Another rang out after that, and then another as Zangief set himself to the task of punishing the supposedly invincible green-skinned hero. He slammed his palm repeatedly into those hard emerald buttocks. Hulk was soon squirming and twisting as Zangief delivered the strongest, most booming swats he could muster. The street fighter didn’t hold back at all. "Owww! OWWWWW!"
"Hah hah, you do not sound so confident as you did a moment ago, eh comrade? When was last time you got good spanking?"
"GRRRR! NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS! WHEN HULK GETS FREE, HULK WILL—AAAAHHH!" Each slam of Zangief's meaty palm had the green giant jerk and buck, practically humping the air in his pained frenzy. His green ass compressed under each blow, only to bounce back up again as if begging for more. The cheeks waggled back and forth, each booming swat only speeding their passage. And if the sight of him upended and bared would have been unbelievable to the average person, the sight of Hulk's muscular green globes actually turning red and bruised under the street fighter's swings was even moreso.
But happening it was. And not for the first time, Hulk had to come to terms with the fact that maybe he wasn’t the absolute strongest. At least not while his pants were down.
But while Hulk’s angry bellows rang out, two final opponents met. The last fighters from their respective teams, they were both were upholders of traditional values in their own way.
The blue eyes of Captain America bored deep into the bristling glare of Colonel William F. Guile.
In some ways it was almost like looking into a mirror. Both were well-known for their love of country, along with all it stood for. On that basis, it might’ve been natural to assume the two men were natural friends and allies. Or that, perhaps, Guile even harbored a bit of hero-worship for the honorable Captain America, as so many in his profession did. But it wasn’t so. Where Captain America loved America for what it aspired to be, Guile's love ran along decidedly more jingoistic lines. It was difficult to reconcile such opposing views.
So it wasn't the first time the two men had fought in the cross-dimensional conflict. Both favored a defensive, 'turtling’ style, with Cap using a literal shield while Guile fought with special moves he unleashed after charging them via blocking. In order for either to win, they'd need to draw the other out where he might be vulnerable.
After a moment, Guile turned from his opponent and spat.
"Title 4, United States Code," he said grimly. "Section 8, paragraph D."
Captain America's brows furrowed. "Excuse me?"
"The flag should never be used as wearing apparel, bedding, or drapery. It should never be—"
"—festooned, drawn back, nor up, in folds, but always allowed to fall free," Captain America finished for him. "The US Flag Code. You're referring to my uniform.” He glanced down at himself, burnished in the ol’ red, white, and blue. “You're not the first to point out the irony."
The Air Force officer raised his dukes. "It won't matter once I strip it off you."
Captain America gave him a light chuckle. "You wouldn't be the first to say that, either. But you should know, if my costume is in violation... so are those tattoos of yours."
Guile started. The American flag was emblazoned on both his muscular biceps. "I proudly wear the flag in its defense!" he shouted.
"Same for me and my costume. But since you care so much about the letter of the law, I'll happily abide by it if you do the same. What do you say, Colonel?" Captain America raised an eyebrow over his shield’s rim. "I'll strip buck-naked here and now if you agree to get those tattoos removed."
Guile's foot lashed out, rising vertically straight up in his special flash kick move. It was exactly what Cap had been hoping for. He dodged back just the barest breadth, enough for Guile's boot to tickle his nose as it sailed past him. That positioned him right where he needed as Guile's momentum took him upwards—then back down.
Guile realized his mistake the instant he made it. He cursed as Cap was able to snatch him up on the downward trip. His vulnerability after unleashing his special moves was one of his fighting style's biggest weaknesses. Captain America knelt and swiftly spread the colonel over an outstretched knee. Guile fumed and bucked in place.
"At ease, soldier. You've always been a tough opponent, but today you were a bit sloppy. If you take your punishment like a good boy though, maybe you'll learn something from it."
He wrenched down Guile's pants, revealing two muscular buttocks. Captain America almost had to smile at them, as he'd been half-expecting matching American flag tattoos to adorn those buns like the ones on his arms. But no, Guile's backside was fit and firm, but otherwise bare. An unmarked canvas to be worked on.
He raised his arm high and gave those cheeks their first good, hard smack.
"Nngh!" Guile jerked as a hand print formed on his taut right buttock. He began to squirm. "This isn't over between us!"
"I wouldn't expect it to be," Captain America answered, peppering those bristling globes with stinging slaps. "No, I fully expect you to come after me to return the favor, Colonel. And if you can beat me, I'll even let you. But you will have to beat me first."
More spanks piled on top of each other, building up the burn. Colonel Guile was a strong, stoic man. Captain America knew he didn't have to hold back punishing him. He continued bringing his hand down with crisp, hard swats, alternating between buttocks. Guile stubbornly clenched his jaw, striving to keep any signs of discomfort to a minimum.
It was a battle of wills. One that could only develop between men when one was bare-bottomed and the other had a good, firm right hand. But as those muscled cheeks turned red and hot, Cap could read the signs even if Guile refused to give them. He could tell the proud military man was in some serious pain, and it was only a matter of time until even Guile's pride broke under the sound spanking. He was like any other fighter in that regard. Or any other man, for that matter.
In the distance he heard the sounds of Wolverine's claws ring out, which meant he'd likely finished up punishing Ryu and had picked a fight with another opponent. And Hulk of all people was outright bawling under his own thunderous spanking at the hands of Zangief. Captain America shook his head. He'd have to finish punishing Guile quickly in order to help his teammates.
In spite of everything though, the overall war between the two sides was going well. Cap's insistence on punishing their opponents rather than engage in more serious combat had been the right call. It allowed both sides to lick their wounds after any given skirmish, rub their swollen cheeks, and consider what they'd learned of the opposition.
Soon enough they might actually beat some sense into the Capcom side. Then they could all begin working together rather than pointlessly fight. Maybe even figure out a way to separate their realities again and put everything back in its proper place—
A blast from below. Strong enough to send both him and the bare-bottomed Guile flying. And it wasn't the only one. The entire city block went up in concussive force blasts, taking every battling fighter by complete surprise.
* * * * *
A few minutes later all the fighters were lying together in an unconscious heap, winners and losers alike. Red cape swirling about him, M. Bison smiled down at his defeated prizes.
"These heroes make it too easy. First they expend all their energy battling each other, then they even arrange themselves perfectly to all be taken out in a single shot."
He gazed down at the fallen fighters—particularly at the many bare, manly bottoms on display. They were decidedly red and bruised. He quirked an eyebrow. "And this new emphasis on punishment between them is certainly... stimulating."
He gestured to his shadaloo agents, who got to work stripping down the heroes who still had their clothes on. Soon enough Zangief, Wolverine, and Captain America were just as naked as the others, the latter two retaining only their masks. M. Bison smiled as high-tech bondage manacles were prepared next. "But now, since they have all lost to me, it seems only appropriate they should now all be spanked by me so they know their place. Then all will bow to my power."
He was particularly interested in punishing the noble Captain America. Not only was Bison always interested in corrupting such paragons of virtue, but the man's sculpted ass looked truly delectable free of his costume.
But as he reached out to grasp the so-called leader of the Avengers, another beam shot out, this one nearly taking off his hand. He snatched it back with a hiss. "Who dares—"
"FOOL! You tread where none should dare. Doom claims dominion over these heroes. For DOOM is the only true power on this joined Earth!"
Another caped figure made itself known, this one in a flowing emerald cloak atop a nearby building. Underneath, metal armor shifted and clanked. Even the man's face was completely obscured behind a metal mask. M. Bison frowned at the interloper as he jumped down to the street and faced him.
"I see. So even I have a rival here. Very well, let us battle then… for the ultimate prize."
Doctor Doom nodded, and both tyrants assumed their traditional fighting stances. A countdown began, and the many piled-up heroes groaned in the background, reduced to set dressing for the new conflict—this time only to see which archvillain collected more of their bare, subdued bottoms.