Mario's revenge au

The sun shone through the stained-glass windows of the Mushroom Kingdom castle, casting vibrant patterns of light across the foyer. Inside, the air was thick with the usual chaotic energy of the SMG4 crew. Meggy was lecturing Tari about combat stances, Bob and Fishy Boopkins were arguing over a discarded bag of trash, and SMG4 was hunched over his laptop, his eyes bloodshot from another marathon editing session.

In the center of it all sat Mario.

He was currently attempting to balance a plate of spaghetti on his nose while humming a distorted version of his own theme song. To any outsider, it was just Mario being Mario—the lovable, idiotic glutton who served as the group's punching bag and comic relief. But beneath the red cap, behind the wide, vacant eyes, something was festering.

It had been a long week. He’d been kicked into a lake by Saiko for breathing too loudly, used as live bait by SMG4 for a "challenge" video, and lectured by Meggy for three hours straight about his lack of discipline. He was tired. He was so incredibly tired of being the butt of every joke.

"Mario, for the love of God, stop that humming!" SMG4 snapped without looking up from his screen. "I’m trying to render this scene, and your brain-dead noises are making me lose my mind."

Mario stopped humming. The plate slid off his nose, shattering on the floor. Sauce splattered across the polished marble.

"Oops," Mario said softly. His voice sounded hollow, even to himself.

"Are you serious?" Meggy marched over, her boots clicking sharply. "Mario, we just cleaned this area! Can you go five minutes without being a complete disaster? You’re like a toddler in a middle-aged man’s body."

"I'm-a sorry, Meggy," Mario muttered, reaching down to pick up the shards.

"Don't bother," Saiko chimed in from the couch, sharpening her giant hammer. "You'll probably just find a way to stab yourself and make more work for us. Just go sit in a corner and be quiet."

"Yeah, Mario," Bob added, waving a metallic hand dismissively. "Your presence is lowering my swag levels. It’s embarrassing to be seen with a loser who can't even eat noodles right."

Mario froze. He stayed in a crouched position, his gloved hands hovering over the broken porcelain. He felt a strange heat beginning to radiate from his chest. It wasn't the warmth of fire flowers or the sting of a slap; it was a slow, bubbling pressure, like a boiler reaching its limit.

"I just wanted to have some fun," Mario whispered.

"Well, your 'fun' is annoying," SMG4 groaned, finally slamming his laptop shut. "Everyone is stressed, and you’re just making it worse. Seriously, Mario? Just shut up. Shut up and stay quiet for once in your life. Does that brain of yours even understand the concept of silence?"

The room went still. Usually, this was the part where Mario would make a funny face, cry in a high-pitched voice, or run away flailing his arms.

But Mario didn't move.

His head remained bowed, the shadow of his cap obscuring his eyes. Slowly, he stood up. His fists were clenched so tightly that the white fabric of his gloves began to strain. A low, guttural sound started in the back of his throat—not a sob, but a growl.

"Mario?" Tari asked nervously, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. "Are you okay?"

Mario turned his head. His face was a deep, steaming shade of crimson. His eyes were narrowed into slits, glowing with a primal, unbridled fury that none of them had ever seen before. The "dumb" look was gone, replaced by a terrifying, cold clarity.

"Shut up?" Mario’s voice was low, vibrating with rage. "You want me to shut up?"

"Whoa, chill out, fat-ass," Bob scoffed, though he took a step back.

"NO! YOU CHILL OUT!" Mario screamed. The sheer volume of it shook the chandeliers. "I AM SICK OF IT! I AM SICK OF EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU!"

He stepped toward SMG4, who recoiled in his chair.

"I have been blown up, shot, kicked, insulted, and treated like a piece of literal garbage for years!" Mario roared, a string of profanities following that would have made a sailor blush. "You think I'm just a joke? You think I'm just some puppet for your stupid videos? Without me, you’d all be nothing! You’d be boring, miserable nobodies!"

"Mario, calm down!" Meggy shouted, stepping forward to grab his arm. "You're overreacting!"

Mario didn't hesitate. He swung his arm with a strength that defied his pudgy frame, backhanding Meggy across the room. She hit the wall with a sickening thud and slumped to the floor, dazed.

The silence that followed was absolute, broken only by Mario’s heavy, ragged breathing.

"You want me to be quiet?" Mario hissed, his gaze landing on Saiko. "I'll make you quiet. I'll make all of you so quiet you'll forget how to speak."

Saiko didn't wait. She lunged with her hammer, swinging it in a wide arc. Mario didn't dodge; he caught the head of the hammer with one hand. The impact cracked the floor beneath his feet, but he didn't flinch. With a roar of effort, he wrenched the weapon out of her hands and tossed it aside like a toy.

Before she could react, he plunged a fist into her stomach. Saiko gasped, the air leaving her lungs in a sharp wheeze, before Mario grabbed her by the hair and slammed her face-first into the ground.

"Mario, stop!" Tari screamed, tears streaming down her face.

Mario turned his predatory gaze toward her. He didn't say a word. He simply blurred across the room. Tari tried to activate her gaming gauntlet, but Mario was faster. He grabbed her arm, twisted it until the metal groaned, and shoved her into Boopkins and Bob, sending all three sprawling into the debris of the broken plate.

SMG4 tried to run for the exit, but Mario snatched a heavy decorative vase from a pedestal and hurled it with pinpoint accuracy. It shattered against the back of SMG4’s head, sending the meme-maker crashing into the castle doors.

For the next ten minutes, the foyer became a theater of calculated brutality. This wasn't the slapstick violence the crew was used to; this was personal. Mario moved with a terrifying efficiency, using his years of platforming experience to outmaneuver them at every turn.

He caught Bob’s blades between his palms and snapped them like dry twigs. He ignored the kicks and punches thrown by a recovering Meggy, absorbing the hits just long enough to grab her by the throat and pin her against the wall until her eyes rolled back. He didn't use fireballs. He didn't use power-ups. He used his bare hands, teaching them exactly what happened when the "joke" finally snapped.

One by one, the voices stopped. The insults died away, replaced by groans of pain and the sound of heavy breathing.

Mario stood in the center of the wreckage, his chest heaving. His knuckles were bruised, and his iconic red shirt was torn, but the fire in his eyes had settled into a cold, glowing ember. He looked around at his "friends"—the people who had spent years belittling him—now scattered across the floor in various states of unconsciousness and agony.

He walked over to the center of the room, where the bodies had been piled or dragged during the struggle. With a grunt of exertion, he began to pull them together, stacking them like cordwood. He dragged the limp form of SMG4 to the top, followed by Bob and the others.

When he was finished, he had created a macabre throne of his companions.

Mario climbed to the top of the pile and sat down. He felt the soft, rhythmic twitching of Bob’s leg beneath him and heard the shallow, pained whistling of Boopkins’ breath.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a single, crumpled mushroom. He didn't eat it. He just held it, staring at it for a long moment before tossing it away into the shadows.

A heavy sigh escaped his lips. It was the sound of a man who had finally found the peace he had been denied for a decade.

"Is it quiet enough for you now, SMG4?" Mario whispered into the empty air.

The castle was silent. No memes were playing. No lectures were being given. No insults were being hurled. There was only the sound of the wind whistling through the open windows and the steady, rhythmic thumping of Mario’s own heart.

He leaned back, resting his elbows on Saiko’s unconscious shoulders, and closed his eyes. For the first time in a long time, Mario didn't have to be the funny guy. He didn't have to be the hero. He didn't have to be anything at all.

He just sat there, king of the hill, enjoying the beautiful, bloody silence.