ZANZIBAR strode to his bedroom not knowing quite what he was going to do but acknowledging he needed to do something.

A snap of his fingers - the lights switched on, and he crossed to the wardrobe. A soft click sounded as he turned the small key, denoting the closet now unlocked. Zanzibar pulled open the double doors. Light bounced off the mirror attached to the inside of the wardrobe door, and he turned to face his reflection. 

He looked ridiculously lost in the tuxedo, the trouser legs ruched, tiered in folds upon his shoes, and the sleeves reached over the tips of his fingers. He'd lost about three inches in height! 

With a groan, he turned sideways; the picture was no less disheartening. Apart from a full bosom straining against his shirt buttons, his clothing was going to require some severe adjusting to accommodate his new petite form.

He started to undress then halted, staring at the mirrored image. Strangely, it almost felt improper to expose his body - to himself. 

Herself! 

Whatever.

Shaking his head, believing such ruminations ludicrous, he removed his jacket and draped it on a small chair to his right.  He then resumed unfastening buttons, his belt, and zipper. 

His pants dropped to the floor in an unfamiliar whoosh, pooling around his feet. He stepped out of them, kicking the discarded slacks aside. His shirt hung open, offering a peek at the pert breasts under his vest. He shrugged off the shirt and threw it on top of the crumpled pants. A moment's hesitancy passed before he dragged the vest over his head and added it to the growing mound of clothing.

There he - she - stood, in shorts, staring in stupified silence at the female body in the mirror. 

He recalled the words the Sorceress screamed at Dynamo as she released the calamitous bolt of magic - "Another man! And such a manly specimen as well. We shall see about that..." Zanzibar had dived in front of Dynamo, saving his colleague from the blast at least. But at considerable cost to himself. It all happened so quickly he'd had no time to form a magical shield before the bolt hit.  Alas, he was too late to dodge the strike. 

As Zanzibar continued to stare at his newly acquired curves, he sighed. "Could have been worse..." he murmured. "I could have been transformed into a rug!" He visualised some fez-wearing, golden-fringed magical flying carpet sporting his human face! Absentminded, he plucked at one of his nipples, its reaction instant and surprising.  He blushed. "Then again..."

He closed the wardrobe then turned to the tallboy off to the left. He pulled out a pair of pyjamas from the top drawer, put them on quickly, then slipped on his smoking jacket. Smoothing his hair back, he sat down in front of the dresser and once more met his reflection.

Studying his face, he noted there was a likeness to his former masculine self. Colouring was the same, hair-length, texture. There were subtle differences though, such as defined eyebrows, pronounced lips, a beauty spot just below his left eye. 

He ran his fingers over his cheeks and chin; no five o'clock shadow neither.  Conceivably, he could be considered a relative of Zanzibar - perhaps a sister or niece? And it wasn't as if anyone could contest it - no-one knew anything personal about him after all.

Then another thought struck him. Maybe this curse was temporary! For all he knew, he could be back to normal in a few hours or days, so there was no need to be hasty, was there? If he sought out the others who had been affected, then... 

He yawned.

Suddenly he felt overwhelmingly tired. He decided to call it a night. With luck, tomorrow his masculinity would return, and all this worry would be nullified.

Sleep beckoned - a haven where all cruel realities were banished, worries spirited away,  and a sense of comfort and reassurance reigned. Zanzibar fell asleep with his delicate, beautifully manicured fingers crossed for good luck.

*****

*Everywhere black and grey plumes rose, billowing, roiling, encapsulating bodies which were spinning, hurtling through the air in all directions. Some hapless individuals slammed against buildings, vehicles, sidewalks, their forms battered, costumes torn, skin bloodied.

Forever alert, Zanzibar tried his best to thwart the relentless assaults which poured forth from the cloud city above New York. He launched counter-spells to deflect the never-ending barrage of bolts, spikes and flashes of thaumaturgy from the enemies. The attackers fired continuously at the brave souls who defended against the sudden attack.

As well as his defensive spells, the magician aided his colleague, Yarko, in opening portals from which yet more champions emerged. They advanced valiantly, a myriad of colours, symbols, abilities, all diving into battle; together, unified, patriotic.

But the psychotic Sorceress was incredibly powerful. She was highly intelligent, possessing a fierce, unrivalled military strategy, leading her minions almost effortlessly in a battle of cataclysmal proportions.

When Dynamo and Birdman worked as one with Zanzibar, they almost had her beat. That was when she spoke. Oh, she did like to brag. And there, amid her pending glory, she inadvertently brought about her downfall.  Or, at least, her banishment. As she boasted of her massed energy, she gave Zanzibar a Eureka moment! "...this time I have gained power that none of this realm may overcome!" she'd uttered.*

All would have been perfect had her rage not been augmented by her scatological egotism. And if only Zanzibar had known divination, he may have foreseen his fate before the blast hit him.

He spun around, suspended in mid-air.

Everyone he knew was gone! No-one was there, not even Her Vileness, the Sorceress of Zoom, herself. 

Where had everyone disappeared to?

The dense clouds were all which remained, swirling, choking, rising at a frightening pace; vapourised fingers reaching, trying to grab him. He shrieked. Shrieked?

Then it dawned;  he was no longer in New York. His eyes scanned the carnage in the seas below. Six battleships were ablaze, vast black clouds swallowed them whole, and the air screamed with Imperial Japanese torpedo planes and dive bombers plummeting towards a harbor. Pearl Harbor.

Chaos!

It was almost a mirror-image of the Sorceress' attack on NYC; the bombing was equally as catastrophic.

"Hey!"

Zanzibar looked up, straight into the face of a child – it was Davy, the Wishmaster.

"I wished her away, and all her magic won't work for her anymore!" the boy said, gleeful.

Rising from the scene below, came another cloud – Nimbus! The vapour smiled at the magician. "Lookin' good!" it said, hovering in front of Zanzibar, a bizarre look of appreciation on its 'face'.

The magician finally took notice of himself.

Herself!

"What?!" Zanzibar blinked, disbelieving.

Next, he witnessed all his colleagues and fellow science heroes throttle towards the burning ships, the flames hungry, gorging, devouring them all.

"Noooooo!" He clasped his breasts, vaguely aware of their rounded softness. His eyes teared up, the smoke and horror of the scene below, causing tears to flow. He was sobbing. Profusely.

*****

Zanzibar bolted upright; pyjamas clamped to his skin. His eyes darted around the darkened room, nervous, unsettled. Breathlessly, he uttered an incantation, and his bedside lamp burst into life, illuminating the room. It also highlighted his beautiful reflection in the dresser mirror.

Burying his head in his hands, the magician omitted a sound somewhere between an anguished cry and a frustrated grunt. He now knew sleep would not come easy.

*****

* Flashback to Sorceress of Zoom courtesy of @JasonGreenfield from his 'Time Immemorial' collection: Chapter 22.5c War Clouds (1941 alt)