Corrupted friends

The air in the Mushroom Kingdom didn’t smell like grass or stinky cheese anymore. It smelled like ozone, burnt plastic, and the static that hummed behind a television screen when the signal died. Mario’s boots skidded across the cold marble floors of the new castle, his breath coming in ragged, panicked hitches. Behind him, the sound of wet, glitching footsteps echoed—a rhythmic, distorted thumping that made his skin crawl.

"Mama mia, mama mia, mama mia," Mario whimpered, scrambling around a corner.

He looked back for a split second. A wave of obsidian sludge, flickering with neon pink and white squares, was eating the hallway. It wasn't just a liquid; it was a hungry void. And emerging from that void were his friends. Or, at least, the things that used to be his friends.

Meggy led the pack, her beanie tilted at an unnatural angle, her eyes replaced by hollow, glowing voids of static. She gripped her Splatshot, but instead of ink, the barrel dripped with that same soul-consuming darkness. Beside her, Tari’s robotic arm sparked violently, her face contorting in a silent, digital scream. Bob and Boopkins followed, their forms stretching and snapping like rubber bands being pulled too far.

"Guys, please! Mario was only joking about the extra pizza!" Mario yelled, his voice cracking. "We can talk about this! We can go to Spaghetti Tuesday!"

A distorted, multi-layered screech was his only answer. Meggy fired a shot of glitch-matter that obliterated a nearby vase, turning the porcelain into floating, pixelated cubes. Mario yelped and dove through a pair of heavy oak doors, slamming them shut and sliding a decorative spear through the handles.

He turned around, hoping for an exit, but his heart sank. He was in the trophy room—a dead end. The high windows were already coated in the black sludge, blocking out the sun. He was trapped.

The doors groaned. A fist—SMG4’s fist, covered in pulsating blue and black veins—punched through the wood.

"Mario..." a voice croaked. It sounded like SMG4, but played through a broken speaker underwater. "Join... the... content... Mario... we need... the footage..."

Mario backed away, tripping over a pedestal. His hand landed on something small and metallic. He looked down. It was a wireless microphone, left over from one of their many chaotic karaoke nights.

His mind raced. He wasn't a genius. He wasn't a fighter like Meggy or a tech-wizard like Tari. He was a man who liked snacks and occasionally saved the world by accident. But as the door began to shatter, he remembered a blue-haired kid in a backwards cap. He remembered the rhythm, the way the world seemed to bend to the beat when you held a mic.

"Boyfriend said... if the world gets weird, you gotta drop a beat," Mario whispered to himself. His hands trembled as he flicked the power switch on. The small green light flickered to life.

The doors exploded inward.

SMG4 stepped through first. His iconic blue and white hat was tattered, and half of his face was obscured by a mask of shifting black squares. He looked less like a meme-lord and more like a virus given flesh. Meggy and the others fanned out behind him, weapons raised, their movements jerky and frame-skipped.

Mario didn't run. He stood his ground, his knees shaking so hard they played a tattoo on the floorboards. He brought the mic to his lips.

"Beep," Mario said. It was soft, tentative.

SMG4 paused, his head tilting at a ninety-degree angle with a sickening *crack*. "What?"

"Bop! Beep-bop-skdoo!" Mario roared, finding a sudden, desperate surge of confidence.

He stomped his foot, creating a rhythm. He began to hum a melody—the familiar, bouncy tune of the Mushroom Kingdom, but infused with the frantic energy of a man fighting for his soul.

"Beee-bo-pa-da-peep!" Mario belted out, his voice echoing off the trophy cases.

A pulse of pure, golden light radiated from the microphone. It hit the encroaching darkness like a physical wave, forcing SMG4 to step back. The glitch-matter on the walls hissed, retracting a few inches.

SMG4 growled, a sound of grinding metal. He reached into the air and pulled out a corrupted version of his own microphone, his fingers twitching.

"You... think... music... saves... you?" SMG4’s voice glitched, repeating the word 'you' five times in a row. "The... algorithm... demands... silence!"

SMG4 let out a burst of distorted noise that sounded like a bass-boosted scream. It was heavy, oppressive, and filled with the sound of crashing servers. The dark energy surged forward, threatening to swallow Mario’s feet.

Mario didn't back down. He closed his eyes, thinking of the times they had spent together. He thought of the stupid memes, the near-death experiences, and the way SMG4 would always sigh before saving Mario from his own stupidity.

"Boop-bee-ba-dogh!" Mario countered. He shifted the melody, making it more soulful, more pleading. He wasn't just singing; he was trying to remind them who they were. "Beep-bop-a-lu-la, SMG4! Remember the memes! Remember the stupid Mario!"

He pointed his finger at SMG4, the rhythm picking up speed. The air between them sparkled with blue and red notes, clashing against the jagged black shards of SMG4’s response.

Meggy stepped forward, her Splatshot shaking. She let out a high-pitched, digital trill, joining the fray. Her 'vocals' were sharp and aggressive, trying to drown Mario out.

Mario pivoted, facing her. "Skee-bop-ba-do-da, Meggy! You're the best athlete! Don't let the glitch win! Beep-bo!"

The golden light flared brighter. For a second, the static in Meggy’s eyes flickered, revealing a glimpse of her orange irises. She stumbled, her weapon dropping an inch.

"It's working!" Mario thought, his heart soaring. "I just gotta keep the beat!"

But the darkness wasn't giving up. SMG4 let out a massive, distorted roar, and the entire room began to shake. The black sludge rose up, forming a giant, looming shadow of a computer cursor behind him.

"Error," SMG4 chanted, his voice becoming a choir of a thousand broken voices. "Error. Error. Delete. Mario."

The pressure was immense. Mario felt the air being sucked out of his lungs. The music was becoming harder to maintain. His throat burned, and the static was starting to creep up his legs, numbing his skin.

"No!" Mario yelled, tossing the microphone into his other hand and striking a pose. "Mario is... NOT... DELETED!"

He reached deep into his soul—past the hunger for spaghetti, past the laziness—and found the core of what made him the hero of the kingdom. He began to rap with a speed he didn't know he possessed. It wasn't just beeps and boops anymore; it was a symphony of every adventure they had ever had.

"Beep-bop-skidoo-be-ba-da-glitch-this!" Mario shouted.

The sound erupted from him like a supernova. A shockwave of pure, unadulterated "stupidity"—the chaotic, wonderful energy that SMG4’s channel was built on—blasted outward. It was the sound of a falling piano, the sound of a screaming goat, the sound of a perfectly timed 'Oof.'

The cursor shadow shattered into a million pixels.

SMG4 fell to his knees, clutching his head. The black sludge covering his face began to crack like old paint. "Mario...?"

"Yeah, it's me! The guy who keeps breaking your stuff!" Mario kept the rhythm going, his voice softening into a gentle, rhythmic hum. "Come back, Four. The castle is a mess and I don't know how to use the microwave without setting it on fire."

The others were reacting too. Tari had stopped sparking, her eyes widening as she looked at her hands. Bob and Boopkins were slumped on the floor, the glitch-matter retreating from their bodies like a receding tide.

SMG4 looked up. The mask was almost gone, revealing a face tired and terrified. "It... it hurts, Mario. The darkness... it's so loud."

"Then listen to Mario's song!" Mario stepped forward, offering a hand while still holding the mic to his mouth. "Beep-ba-pope. Just follow the beat, bro."

SMG4 reached out, his hand trembling. As soon as his fingers touched Mario’s, a spark of golden light traveled up his arm. The remaining glitch-matter let out a final, pathetic hiss and evaporated into thin air.

The room fell silent. The oppressive static was gone, replaced by the mundane sounds of the castle—the distant hum of the refrigerator and the wind whistling through the broken door.

SMG4 exhaled a long, shaky breath and collapsed forward, his head thumping against Mario’s chest. Mario caught him, dropping the microphone. It hit the floor with a dull thud, the green light finally fading out.

"Did... did we win?" Tari whispered, her voice small and shaky.

Mario looked around. Meggy was sitting on the floor, rubbing her temples, her eyes back to normal. Bob was checking his robes for holes, and Boopkins was crying quietly into his hands.

"I think so," Mario said, patting SMG4’s back with a gloved hand. "But Mario is never singing again. My throat feels like I swallowed a Bob-omb."

SMG4 pulled back, looking around at the ruined trophy room. He looked at Mario, a small, weak smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "That was... the most annoying, out-of-tune, and beautiful thing I've ever heard."

"Hey!" Mario protested, though he was smiling too. "I'll have you know Boyfriend gave me a five-star rating."

"I'm sure he did," SMG4 sighed, leaning on Mario as he stood up. He looked at the doorway, where the hallway was still scarred by the glitch, though the darkness itself was gone. "We have a lot of cleaning up to do. The castle... the kingdom... it's all a mess."

Meggy stood up, picking up her Splatshot and checking the tank. "We'll fix it. Together."

Mario nodded, his stomach letting out a loud, cavernous growl that echoed through the room. Everyone stopped and looked at him.

"What?" Mario asked, shrugging. "Saving the world through the power of hip-hop makes a man hungry. Who wants pizza?"

SMG4 laughed, a genuine sound that seemed to chase away the last lingering shadows of the room. "You know what, Mario? For once, I'm not even going to argue. Pizza is on me."

As the group slowly made their way out of the room, Mario lingered for a moment. He looked at the microphone lying on the floor. He picked it up, wiped a smudge of dust off the casing, and tucked it into his overalls.

He hoped he’d never have to use it like that again. But as he followed his friends down the hall, listening to their bickering and laughter return to their normal, chaotic levels, he knew one thing for sure.

The rhythm was still there. And as long as they had each other, the darkness didn't stand a chance against a well-timed beep.