Chapter Text
Melody was living the time of her life at Super Smash Con, dressed as her all-time favorite character—Luigi. She'd always felt an inexplicable, profound connection to the green-hatted plumber. Like him, she was tall, perhaps a little gangly in her youth, inherently shy, and often overlooked in a crowd. She knew that feeling, the quiet presence that went unnoticed, a shadow beside brighter lights. The only major difference between them? She was a girl. Her short, choppy brown hair framed her face, a style born not from preference but necessity—one of her bullies from the orphanage, a girl with cruel intentions and even crueler shears, had savagely lopped off a large chunk of her long locks, forcing her to chop them off completely just to even it out. Still, ever dedicated to her costume, she wore a fake nose and a meticulously shaped mustache, expertly glued on with an adhesive that only a special, highly concentrated remover could dissolve. That tiny bottle of remover never left her pocket—a convention rule for commitment, after all.
Melody didn't just look like Luigi; she was like Luigi. Kind to a fault, often extending forgiveness where none was due—too forgiving, perhaps, for her own good. She always tried to see the best in people, even when they didn't deserve it, even when they consistently showed her the worst of themselves. She was also acutely timid, her soft voice often drowned out in the cacophony and boisterous clamor of convention halls and bustling public spaces.
Life in the orphanage had been bleakly lonely. She had no siblings, no close friends, just a revolving door of indifferent adults and a constant gauntlet of bullies who took joy in tearing her down, finding perverse pleasure in her quiet nature. School wasn't much better, a continuation of the same isolated existence. She didn't have a big brother like Luigi had Mario—no one to fiercely protect her, no one to truly watch her back. But through it all, through every slight and every moment of despair, she kept smiling anyway, a small, resilient curve of her lips that was more defiance than genuine joy.
While aimlessly Browse a vendor booth, her attention caught by a display of meticulously crafted figurines, she spotted a limited-edition Bowser figurine. It was intricately detailed, capturing the Koopa King's menacing grandeur with surprising accuracy. Her hand instinctively reached for it, drawn by an invisible pull, just as chaos erupted.
The sharp, distinct crack of gunshots ripped through the joyous, noisy hum of the convention hall. The sudden, terrifying sound, utterly out of place in the celebratory atmosphere, was immediately followed by another, then another, scattering terror through the dense crowd.
Panic flooded the sprawling room like a tidal wave, a monstrous, crushing force. People screamed, shrill and primal, their voices rising in a cacophony of fear. They shoved each other violently, a desperate, surging human current churning towards the distant exits. Melody tried to follow, to move with the panicked throng, but the sheer force of the crowd, a wall of unthinking bodies, kept pushing her back, trapping her. Her heart pounded against her ribs like a terrified bird, each beat a frantic, painful thud. There was no way out through the suffocating press of bodies. Her breath hitched, ragged and shallow. So she did the only thing she could—she desperately looked for an alternative place to hide, a dark corner, any crack in the wall, anything to escape the terrifying crush.
That's when she spotted it.
Tucked away almost casually behind a sprawling display of plush toys, barely visible amidst the discarded convention flyers and stray glitter, was a large, vibrant green pipe—just like the ones in the games she adored. A prop, obviously, she thought, a piece of whimsical set dressing. But unlike the other flimsy cardboard cutouts, this one looked sturdy, solid, and surprisingly authentic. It looked big enough to actually crawl into. Without hesitation, driven by an instinct she couldn't explain, she bolted toward it, shoving past a panicked cosplayer. She ducked inside the cool, surprisingly smooth opening, curling up tightly and hugging her knees to her chest, trying to make herself as small as possible. Her breath came in short, terrified gasps, echoing faintly in the confined space.
Then... the wind changed.
A sudden, strong current of air began to whip around her inside the pipe, growing stronger by the second, creating an impossible, deafening roar. It was being sucked into the pipe, creating a powerful vacuum that pulled at her clothes and hair. That didn't make sense. It was fake. Just a decoration. She leaned forward, squinting into the oppressive darkness of the pipe's interior, trying to understand the impossible phenomenon, and just as she was about to back out, convinced it was some strange, localized ventilation malfunction—
Whoosh.
With a final, powerful, all-consuming gust of wind, the pipe sucked her in. There was no time to scream, no time to even react. The darkness enveloped her completely, and she felt herself falling, tumbling head over heels into an unknown void.
Melody screamed, a sound swallowed by the rush of impossible wind, as she spiraled wildly through a kaleidoscopic tunnel. It was a dizzying vortex of swirling pink and soft white clouds, churning like cotton candy in a cosmic blender. The air whipped past her, cold and exhilarating, yet terrifyingly disorienting. She tumbled head over heels, gravity seemingly forgotten, watching the vibrant hues blur and shift around her as if she were plummeting through a living, breathing nebula. The impossible was happening; her entire reality was dissolving into a cascade of color and motion.
Then, piercing through the rushing wind and the dizzying silence of her fall, a familiar voice, undeniably warm and strong, reverberated through the tunnel, calling out with urgent clarity: "LUIGI!"
A gasp tore from Melody's throat, a sharp, choked sound of disbelief. "Mario?!" she choked out, her voice barely a whisper against the roaring current, a name whispered more as a question than a declaration.
Sure enough, there he was, materialized as if by magic within the swirling vortex. His iconic red cap, the bushy brown mustache, the familiar blue overalls—he was exactly as she knew him from countless games, vibrant and real. He was lunging forward, his hand outstretched towards her, his face etched with a desperate urgency, his eyes wide and familiar.
"Take my hand, sis!" he shouted, his voice ringing out, clear and powerful even over the rushing wind, infused with an immediate, undeniable bond.
"Sis?!" she shouted back, utterly overwhelmed by the sudden, bewildering confusion of her new reality and the profound fear of her situation. This man, a character from a game, was calling her 'sis'?
"It's gonna be okay!" Mario promised, his voice carrying the reassuring warmth she had always imagined, his outstretched hand reaching closer, "Nothing can hurt us as long as we're together!"
Before she could even begin to process his words, before she could respond, before her outstretched fingers could even brush his, an unseen, powerful current within the swirling tunnel yanked her violently away. She felt a sudden, brutal jerk, ripping her through the impossibly fast-moving air, propelling her further into the chaotic depths of the tunnel.
"MARIOOO!" she screamed, her voice raw with a desperate, heartbroken cry, a plea to the fading image of her sudden, impossible brother.
"LUIGIII!" was the last thing she heard, Mario's voice echoing in her ears, filled with the same frantic desperation, before the swirling pink and white clouds swallowed her whole, and she vanished, plummeting into the gaping, waiting maw of another pipe, its darkness promising yet another unknown.
**********
She woke up abruptly, gasping for breath, the taste of stale, metallic air thick and cloying in her mouth, like rust and decay. Disorientation was her first sensation, a dizzying, nauseating spin in her head that threatened to drag her back into unconsciousness. She was lying on cold, damp earth, the chill seeping into her very bones, surrounded by an oppressive, inky darkness that seemed to actively swallow all light, pressing in on her from all sides. The air itself was a heavy, suffocating blanket, laden with the chilling scent of damp soil, profound decay, and something acrid, almost sulfuric, that burned in her nostrils. She could hear the rhythmic drip-drip-drip of unseen moisture falling from somewhere above, and the faint, unsettling rustle of unseen things moving in the impenetrable gloom, brushing against hidden undergrowth. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic, trapped bird.
Her hand immediately flew to her upper lip, a nervous, almost unconscious gesture, a desperate need for a familiar anchor in this alien nightmare. The fake mustache, miraculously, was still there, clinging stubbornly to her skin, a ridiculous, flimsy piece of costuming in this horrifying reality. Her fingers brushed against it, a small, tangible, almost painful link to the brightly lit, sane world she’d left behind. She checked her pocket, a surge of raw anxiety twisting her stomach—relief, sharp and instantaneous, flooded her as her fingers closed around the small, reassuringly solid bottle. The glue remover was intact, a tiny, precious piece of her old life that might, just might, allow her to shed this absurd disguise and return to being just Melody.
Then, with a sickening, gut-wrenching lurch in her stomach, the truth slammed into her. She was here. She was actually here.
The Darklands.
She recognized it instantly—not from casual Browse of games or fleeting glances at movie trailers, but from the visceral terror that tightened her chest. The jagged, obsidian rocks that clawed at the bruised, perpetually twilight sky. The ominous, sickly green glow emanating from unseen fissures in the ground, hinting at rivers of molten lava beneath, a vile illumination that pulsed with malevolence. This wasn't a game rendered in pixels; this was raw, breathing, palpable evil. It was even worse in person, a nightmarish landscape that pressed in on her, a palpable sense of dread and despair hanging heavy in the oppressive atmosphere. It was a twisted, brutal, soul-crushing version of the in-game world she knew, and every fiber of her being screamed to escape. Melody shuddered, a full-body tremor that was more profound existential horror than simple fear or disorientation.
She clutched the small flashlight she’d had in her bag, its plastic casing slick with condensation, and clicked it on. A weak, flickering beam of light, pitifully thin, sliced through the suffocating gloom, battling against the overwhelming darkness. "This is just a dream... just a dream," she whispered, the desperate words thin and fragile, a frantic mantra against the growing terror, barely audible in the vast, unnerving silence. The flashlight, mirroring her own internal trembling, shook erratically in her hands, casting distorted, dancing shadows that mocked her fragile hope. "A very vivid one..." Her voice cracked, on the verge of breaking completely.
Suddenly, with a frantic flutter and a leathery whoosh of unseen wings, a swarm of dark, indistinct shapes erupted from the gnarled, skeletal branches of a nearby, ancient tree. They were bats, their cries piercing and sharp, tearing through the quiet, unsettling her with their sudden, swarming presence.
"OH MY GOD!" Melody screamed, a raw, involuntary sound of pure terror, her voice cracking with the strain.
Her flashlight flickered once, twice, a dying pulse of hope, then with a soft, ominous click, died completely, plunging her back into an absolute, suffocating darkness that felt even more profound and isolating than before. A cold, suffocating terror clamped around her throat, choking off her breath.
"No, no, no—come on!" she smacked the dead flashlight desperately against her palm, a futile, desperate plea to the unresponsive device, tears stinging her eyes. Just then—through the oppressive blackness, a faint, malevolent glow. Two piercing, pinprick red eyes, utterly devoid of life, stared back at her directly ahead.
An undead Koopa. Its shell was a fractured, rotten husk, its limbs skeletal, barely held together by decaying strips of green flesh that clung to bone, and it moved with a horrifying, jerky, shambling gait, dragging one leg behind it. Its eyes, those terrifying red pinpricks, glowed with an unholy, hungry light, fixed with chilling certainty on her. The stench of grave dirt and decay wafted off it, nauseating and immediate.
"AAH!" she shrieked, a high, piercing scream born of pure, primal, unadulterated fear, the sound echoing briefly in the chilling forest. She stumbled backward, tripping over unseen roots and rocks, her legs tangling, almost falling.
Miraculously, as if responding to her sheer terror, the flashlight flickered back on with a sudden, jarring burst of light, just in time to illuminate the grotesque, rotting face of the Koopa inches away from her, its decaying jaws agape in a silent, predatory snarl. With a renewed, desperate surge of adrenaline, fueled by pure instinct, she spun and ran, blindly crashing through unseen brush and dodging the low-hanging, thorny branches that whipped at her face and clothes, leaving stinging welts. The thorny undergrowth seemed to grasp at her, trying to hold her back, to deliver her to the horror pursuing her. Then, just as she ducked under a particularly low, sturdy branch, she felt it snag on something behind her. A sickening crunch echoed through the night, followed by a wet thud. She risked a glance back, her heart lodged in her throat—and miraculously—the low branch, now broken from its trunk, had swung back with incredible, improbable force, taking the undead Koopa squarely in its already decaying face, knocking it out cold with a sickening, splattering crack of bone and shell.
She skidded to a halt a few yards away, gasping, hands on her knees, her lungs burning, raw from the cold, acrid air. Her heart raced like a frantic hummingbird's wings, threatening to burst from her chest. Then, a breathless, almost hysterical chuckle escaped her lips, a mixture of profound terror and an absurd, disbelieving relief. She pushed a damp, stringy strand of hair from her face, her eyes wide and slightly wild. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but... you just got a-Luigi'd!" The sheer, desperate ridiculousness of the situation, coupled with her improbable, narrow escape, struck her with a wave of manic, almost delirious relief. She was alive. She was terrified. And she was truly, utterly, hopelessly, Luigi.
No time to celebrate, though. The distinct sound of more shuffling, more guttural, distant groans, and the unmistakable clatter of bones, was growing louder, closer. She bolted again, adrenaline still coursing through her veins, a cold, hard knot of fear replacing the fleeting hysteria. She leaped across precariously balanced lava stones that glowed ominously in the gloom, their radiating heat scorching her bare ankles, the air shimmering above them like a cruel mirage. It felt exactly like navigating a perilous boss level, one she hadn't prepared for. Reaching the other side of a fiery chasm, her legs burning, she spotted a heavy, metal door set into the unforgiving rock face. She reached it, fumbled with the cold handle, and slammed the door behind her with a resounding, echoing clang that vibrated through her very bones. She leaned against it, panting, her chest heaving, lungs aching, listening desperately for any sounds from outside, straining to hear over her own ragged breaths.
"Safe. For now." she whispered, the words a fragile, desperate mantra of survival against the vast, encompassing dread. Her voice was raspy, barely audible, a profound exhaustion settling over her.
But she'd forgotten one terrifying, fundamental thing about the Darklands. As she caught her breath, trying to slow the frantic pounding in her chest, a chorus of faint, eerie giggles and high-pitched, unintelligible whispers drifted through the thick metal door, closer than she'd like. The sounds were playful, yet utterly sinister, prickling the hairs on the back of her neck. It was a sound she knew all too well from the games. It couldn't be.
"SHY GUYS?!" The question was a strangled gasp, a punch to the gut, the last vestige of her fragile sense of security shattering. The dread returned, cold and absolute, settling deep in her bones. There was no escape. Not truly.
************
[Later...]
Dragged by masked Shy Guys, whose silent, gliding movements felt more like a predatory glide than a walk, their crimson robes a splash of stark, unsettling color against the gloomy stone, "Luigi" was thrown to the ground in front of Bowser’s throne. The impact was a jarring, breath-stealing slam that sent a fresh wave of pain radiating through her already aching body. Dust, heavy and ancient, plumed around her, momentarily obscuring the grotesque faces carved into the pillars that flanked the throne. It settled on her tattered overalls, clinging to the grimy fabric like a second skin.
“We found him in the Darklands,” said one wearing a black mask, their voice a flat, hollow echo that seemed to steal the very air from the room. The air in the throne room hung heavy and still, thick with the metallic tang of Bowser's raw power and the cloying, stagnant scent of old magic. Every breath felt like drawing in dust and despair.
“Hmph. Leave him to me,” Bowser growled, his voice a deep, resonant rumble that didn't just fill the vast chamber but vibrated through the very floor beneath Luigi’s cheek. It was a sound of primal authority, a predator's undisputed claim.
Kamek, with a flick of his wrist, loosened her binds, the ropes dissolving with a faint, almost sickly sweet scent of ozone and the subtle crackle of residual magic. The sudden release left her wrists feeling strangely weightless, then abruptly raw and chafed from the friction, a stinging reminder of her capture. Bowser stepped forward, his massive, spiked shell gleaming dully in the low light, his heavy footsteps echoing like hammer blows against the stone. He eyed her curiously, a predatory glint, ancient and cold, burning in his sharp, reptilian eyes. It was a gaze that didn't just see her, but weighed her, assessed her potential for torment, sending an icy tendril of dread coiling around her heart.
“What’s your name?”
She hesitated, every muscle in her body tense, coiled tight like a spring. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic, desperate drumbeat that filled her ears, drowning out the oppressive silence of the room. It was the sound of a trapped thing, beating against its cage. Her real name, the one whispered by her mother, didn’t seem to fit anymore. Not here, not in this monstrous place where fear was a tangible presence, a cold hand on her throat. She wasn’t that scared orphan girl anymore. She couldn't be.
“…Luigi,” she said quietly, the name feeling small, fragile, and utterly inadequate against the towering menace before her. It was a borrowed name, a desperate shield, and it trembled on her tongue.
She was Mario’s sister now. She had to be. Mario had called her “sis” earlier. That meant something. It was a desperate thread of connection, a lifeline thrown into a churning abyss of despair. She clung to it with white-knuckled desperation, a silent vow to protect that bond, to be worthy of it.
Bowser loomed closer, his immense bulk casting a suffocating shadow over her, making the air around her feel heavy, difficult to breathe. The faint, earthy smell of his scales reached her, a scent both animalistic and oddly ancient. His voice was a low, smug purr that slithered into her mind. “Not sure if you know who I am, but I’m about to marry a princess… and rule the world.”
He gently touched her chin, his rough, clawed finger surprisingly light yet unnervingly intimate, a sickening caress that made her skin crawl. It felt like a spider scuttling over her flesh. She swallowed hard, the act a painful rasp in her throat, a knot of pure, unadulterated terror tightening within her, making it impossible to draw a full breath.
“There’s one problem, Luigi,” he continued, adjusting his hat with a theatrical flourish, a gesture of casual arrogance that inflamed a spark of impotent rage within her, even as the cold grip of fear tightened. “There’s a human with a mustache like yours traveling with my fiancée.”
He twirled his fake mustache, the synthetic hairs rustling softly, a grotesque, almost childish parody that mocked not just her brother, but the very idea of humanity. It made her stomach churn.
“Do you know him?”
“know? No!” she yelped, the denial bursting from her, raw and desperate, laced with a wild, untamed fear that made her voice crack. It was a scream born of instinct, a desperate attempt to sever a connection she knew was already damning.
“ah, tough one I see…” He tugged the fake hair painfully. “maybe this will help”
“OW! You think I know every human with a mustache and a letter with his first name on it? Because I dont—OW!!” The sharp, searing pain from the tug on her upper lip was a vicious physical reminder of her helplessness, a reflection of the deeper, twisting agony in her gut. Her voice was thin, reedy, on the verge of a full sob, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, blurring the monstrous face above her.
Another yank. She whimpered, a small, wounded sound, like a cornered animal. “Do you know him!?”
“Yes! Yes, ok yes I know him!” she cried, the words tearing from her, a desperate, broken confession ripped out by the sheer, overwhelming force of terror and a frantic need for the torment to cease. She tasted the bitter tang of surrender on her tongue. “He’s my brother Mario, and he’s the best in the world!” A desperate surge of defiant love, fierce and pure, momentarily pushed back the tidal wave of fear, even as the grim realization of her admission, the fatal blow she had just delivered, crashed over her.
With a snarl, Bowser ripped off half her mustache and threw it to the floor. The sound of the tearing adhesive was a sickening rip, followed by a sharp, burning agony that flared across her upper lip, a searing, raw wound left exposed. She cried out, a small, choked gasp of pain, and then the bitter, metallic taste of fresh blood flooded her mouth as she hit the cold, unforgiving stone, the impact jarring her teeth.
“Get him out of my sight! Let’s see how tough Mario is when he watches me kill his brother!” His final words, dripping with a malevolent glee, echoed in the vast, silent chamber, each syllable a hammer blow to her soul, solidifying the icy grip of absolute despair around her heart. The world seemed to shrink, collapsing in on itself, leaving only the chilling promise of unspeakable horror.
[SpongeBob narrator voice] A few moments later…
Her cage hit the ground with a sickening, metallic thud that reverberated through the bars, rattling her skull with a jarring impact. The sound echoed the painful lurch in her stomach, and a fresh wave of nausea washed over her.
“OW…” The word was a weak, involuntary gasp, a raw sound ripped from her throat as a sharp pain bloomed behind her eyes.
She glanced down, her vision swimming for a moment before focusing through the haze of discomfort.
“Great. Lava. Of course…” The words were laced with a bitter, exhausted sarcasm, a thin shield against the growing terror. The sight of the bubbling, fiery expanse beneath her made her breath catch, and a desperate, hopeless laugh almost escaped her lips.
The heat crept up fast, not just a warmth, but a suffocating, oppressive wave that pressed in from all sides. It felt like an invisible hand, pushing against her, stealing the very air from her lungs. The air shimmered, distorting the view of the churning orange and black abyss below, making the imminent threat feel even more surreal and horrifying. A faint, acrid smell, like burning rock and sulfur, began to prickle in her nostrils.
This was going to be a hellish waiting game. And in the simmering heat, suspended above a molten inferno, every agonizing second felt like an eternity.