Mario's father

The morning at SMG4’s castle began with the kind of auditory assault that usually signaled the end of sanity for anyone within a five-mile radius. Mario was not just being loud; he was being transcendentally obnoxious. He was currently vibrating in place near the foyer, letting out a series of high-pitched, rapid-fire "Wahoo!" sounds that shattered several stained-glass windows and caused Fishy Boopkins to hide inside his own spike-covered chin.

In the main lounge, Meggy was trying to calibrate her Splattershot, but her hand kept twitching with every shriek. Tari was curled into a ball on the sofa, her robotic arm sparking as it tried to process the sheer decibel level. Bob was simply screaming back at Mario to assert dominance, though it wasn't working.

Finally, the double doors to the computer room swung open with a violent bang. SMG4 stepped out, his eyes bloodshot and his blue hat slightly askew. He looked like a man who hadn't slept in three days and had just been told the internet was being deleted.

"Mario! For the love of all that is holy and memetic, shut up!" SMG4 roared, stomping over to the red-clad plumber. "What is wrong with you? Why are you acting like you just found a mountain of infinite spaghetti?"

Mario stopped vibrating long enough to strike a heroic pose, his mustache twitching with pride. "Oh, boy! Oh, boy! SMG4, you don't-a understand! Today is the day! The big day! The day of the Papa!"

SMG4 blinked, his anger momentarily replaced by confusion. "The day of the... what? Mario, you’re speaking in even more gibberish than usual. Use your words."

Mario began flailing his arms wildly, gesturing toward the door. "Papa is coming! The big, strong, mustache-man! He’s coming to visit his favorite little Mario! We’re gonna go get ice cream, and then maybe go conquer a planet or two! It’s-a gonna be great!"

The room went silent. Meggy looked up from her weapon, her brow furrowed. "Mario, what are you talking about? You don't have a dad. I mean, we've known you for years. We thought you were just... spawned from a pipe or something."

"Yeah, honestly, I figured you were just a glitch in the universe that God gave up on," Bob added, leaning against a pillar.

Mario shook his head so hard his hat flew off and landed on a nearby Toad. "No, no, no! Mario has a Papa! He’s very important! He has a cape and everything!"

SMG4 rolled his eyes, turning to the rest of the crew. "He’s probably just hallucinating again. Remember when he thought the mailbox was his long-lost brother? Luigi, tell him he’s crazy."

He turned to look for the younger Mario brother, but Luigi wasn't standing with the rest of them. Luigi was currently backed into a corner, his face a shade of pale green that matched his shirt. His knees were knocking together with enough force to create a rhythmic thumping sound, and his eyes were wide with genuine, unadulterated terror.

"Luigi?" Tari asked softly, walking over to him. "Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Or... a really big spider."

Luigi’s jaw worked up and down, but no sound came out for several seconds. Finally, he managed to squeak, "He’s... he’s actually coming? I thought... I thought the witness protection program covered this galaxy!"

"Luigi, what are you talking about?" SMG4 demanded, his suspicion rising. "Who is coming?"

Before Luigi could answer, the very air in the castle seemed to grow heavy. A low hum vibrated through the floorboards, and the pressure in the room spiked. It felt as if the castle itself was being squeezed by a giant hand.

Suddenly, the massive front doors of the castle didn't just open—they disintegrated.

A shockwave of red and white energy blasted inward, sending the nearby furniture flying. Through the settling dust and debris, a silhouette emerged. He was a mountain of a man, built with muscles that seemed carved from granite. He wore a sleek, white-and-gray suit emblazoned with a sigil that radiated authority, and draped over his broad shoulders was a heavy, blood-red cape that billowed behind him despite the lack of wind. His hair was black, swept back perfectly, and his mustache was a work of art—thick, groomed, and intimidating.

Meggy reached for her gun. SMG4 fell backward over a chair. Tari let out a small whimper.

They recognized him. Everyone who spent even a fraction of their time on the intergalactic web or watching the news knew that face. It was the face of the man who had brought thousands of worlds to their knees.

"Grand Regent... Thragg," SMG4 whispered, his voice trembling. "The leader of the Viltrumite Empire. The strongest being in the universe."

The man stepped into the light, his boots clicking rhythmically on the stone floor. His eyes were cold, scanning the room with the clinical detachment of a predator looking at ants. He ignored the weapons being pointed at him and the terrified gasps of the crew.

"Papa!" Mario screamed, breaking the tension like a sledgehammer through glass.

The Italian plumber sprinted forward, his arms outstretched. To the horror of everyone watching, Mario leaped into the air and attempted to tackle the most dangerous man in existence into a hug.

Thragg didn't move. He didn't even flinch. Mario collided with his chest and slid down his torso like wet noodles sliding down a wall, eventually landing on his feet and hugging Thragg’s massive leg.

"You're here! You're here! Did you bring Mario a souvenir? Did you kill a dragon? Can we go to McDonald's?" Mario babbled, looking up at the warlord with stars in his eyes.

Thragg looked down at the red-clad man clinging to his boot. For a long, agonizing moment, the room held its breath, expecting Thragg to simply incinerate Mario where he stood. Instead, the Grand Regent let out a short, sharp sigh. He reached down and placed a massive hand on top of Mario’s head, patting it with the awkwardness of a man who wasn't used to showing affection to something so... small.

"Hello, Mario," Thragg said. His voice was like grinding tectonic plates—deep, resonant, and utterly commanding.

He looked over at the corner of the room. "And Luigi. Stand up straight. You are a son of Viltrum, not a garden slug. Stop trembling."

Luigi let out a pathetic whimper and tried to stand, but his legs gave out, and he slid further down the wall. "H-hi, Dad. Long time no see. Please don't colonize the kitchen."

SMG4 finally found his voice, though it was several octaves higher than normal. "Wait, wait, wait. Stop the music. Mario? Luigi? You’re... you’re the sons of the Grand Regent of the Viltrumite Empire? The guy who destroys planets for breakfast?"

Thragg turned his gaze toward SMG4. The weight of his stare was enough to make the meme-lord feel like his soul was being scanned for weaknesses.

"My lineage is vast," Thragg stated coldly. "In my efforts to ensure the strength of my empire, I have sired many offspring across the cosmos. Most are... disappointments. They lack the fortitude, the drive, and the sheer physical perfection required to lead."

He looked back down at Mario, who was currently trying to eat a loose thread on Thragg’s cape.

"And then there is Mario," Thragg continued, his tone unreadable. "A biological anomaly. He possesses the durability of a Viltrumite, yet his mental state is... unique. I have monitored his progress on this backwater rock. He has defeated gods, survived the vacuum of space, and endured trauma that would shatter the mind of a seasoned general. All while maintaining an obsession with flour-based circular cuisine."

"It’s-a called pizza, Papa! Get it right or I’m telling Mom!" Mario shouted, poking Thragg in the stomach.

The crew gasped. Mario had just poked the man who could crack a moon in half.

Thragg’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't strike. Instead, he began to walk slowly through the lounge, inspecting the others. He stopped in front of Meggy, who held her ground despite her hands shaking on her Splattershot.

"A soldier," Thragg noted, looking at her orange hair and gear. "Small. Fragile. But I see the spark of combat in your eyes. You have trained him?"

"I... I’ve helped him," Meggy said, her voice remarkably steady. "But mostly I just try to make sure he doesn't accidentally blow up the castle."

Thragg moved to Tari, who hid behind her bangs. "A cyborg. Integration of technology into a weak frame. Efficient, but prone to failure."

He stopped in front of Bob. Bob, being Bob, didn't know when to be quiet.

"Yo, Big T! Nice cape, man! You think you could hook me up with some of those Viltrumite babes? I bet they’d love a sexy trash bag like me. We could start a franchise! Bob’s Intergalactic Conquest and Tacos!"

Thragg stared at Bob for a long, silent minute. The tension in the room reached a breaking point. Then, Thragg turned back to Mario.

"Your companions are... colorful," Thragg said. "I had expected you to be surrounded by warriors of higher caliber. Instead, I find a glitch-obsessed man-child, a nervous wreck, and a hooded creature that smells of rot."

"Hey! I’ll have you know I showered last month!" Bob yelled.

"They’re my best friends, Papa!" Mario said, hopping up and down. "They help Mario find the memes and the spaghetti! And sometimes we die, but then we come back! It’s-a fun!"

Thragg walked to the center of the room, his red cape sweeping the floor. He looked around at the humble castle, the messy furniture, and the terrified faces of the people who had become Mario’s family.

"I came here to see if the rumors were true," Thragg said, his voice echoing. "To see if the son who chose to live as a fool had finally succumbed to the weakness of this planet. I expected to find you broken or soft."

He looked at Mario, who was now picking his nose with an expression of pure bliss.

"Instead," Thragg continued, "I find that you have conquered this world in your own... disturbing way. You are the center of this chaos. You lead these people, not through fear or strength, but through a sheer, stubborn refusal to acknowledge reality. In a way, it is a form of power I have never mastered."

SMG4 stepped forward, still cautious. "So... you’re not here to, you know, kill us all and turn Earth into a mining colony?"

Thragg looked at SMG4 as if he were a particularly uninteresting insect. "Not today. Mario has expressed... 'excitement' for my arrival. I shall stay for a short duration to observe your customs. Mario mentioned a feast."

"Spaghetti party!" Mario cheered, grabbing Thragg’s hand and trying to pull him toward the kitchen. It was like a toddler trying to pull a skyscraper, but surprisingly, Thragg allowed himself to be moved.

"Very well," Thragg said. "Lead the way, Mario. But if the 'spaghetti' is not to my liking, I shall incinerate the one who prepared it."

"Luigi made it!" Mario shouted.

"Mamaf-f-f-fucker!" Luigi wailed from the corner.

As the two moved toward the kitchen—the hulking, genocidal warlord and the fat, cheerful plumber—the rest of the crew stood in the wreckage of their foyer, stunned into silence.

"So," Tari said quietly after a moment. "Does this mean Mario is technically a prince?"

"It means we’re all one bad meatball away from total planetary annihilation," SMG4 groaned, rubbing his temples. "Meggy, go help Luigi in the kitchen. Make sure he doesn't put too much salt in. Bob, stop trying to steal Thragg’s cape. I don't want to have to find a new castle because he threw this one into the sun."

"You can't tell me what to do! This cape is worth at least fifty gold coins!" Bob shouted, already creeping toward the kitchen with a pair of scissors.

SMG4 sighed, looking at the hole where his front doors used to be. He had dealt with eldritch horrors, rogue AI, and sentient drawings, but a father-son visit from the Viltrumite Empire was a new level of stress.

In the kitchen, the sound of Mario’s laughter mingled with the deep, rumbling tones of Thragg asking why the noodles weren't "screaming in agony."

It was going to be a very long afternoon.