THE INSANE SMILES DX: A SUPER MARIO TALE REIMAGINED

Chapter 1: United in Laughter

Within the deepest depths of the multiverse's myths and legends lie the briefest mentions of a cursed place, whispered in hushed tones to paling criminals and creatures of black darkness. It is a forsaken land where sinners crawl like slugs upon the rocks, locked within the bowels of the earth to atone for crimes for which they could never be forgiven. It is the land of Game Overs, where the dead and gone are left to fade, forgotten.

The Underwhere. A place more frightening than the name would ever suggest.

The stories were true. The Underwhere was a truly massive array of dank, dark caves cluttered with stalagmites and stalactites, which jutted from the floor and ceiling and collected a shimmering film of florescent water. The liquid dripped from the ceiling, the splashes on the stone floor a constant source of background noise that one never stopped hearing even when one managed to sleep. A haze of purple and cyan hung in the air and blurred the outlines of the rock structures and ornate, white stone pillars that held up the ceiling. It lingered on one's tongue, carrying with it disturbing sensations—decaying flesh and dusty bone, touched with a sort of anaesthesia.

"I … have …"

A voice spoke through the darkness. It was weak, tired, and confused. The Shaydes, man-sized worms swathed in shadow, slithered past, eyeing the boy that spoke.

"I … have …"

He was a small creature, humanoid and green-skinned with only a small tuft of black hair that curled about on his forehead. Clad in black clothes and a tattered red cloak which he held close to his form, the boy shivered against a dread that pushed against his chest. His heart was pounding still, as it had been almost constantly for what must have been weeks.

Swallowing hard, he pulled himself to his feet and climbed over the side of the fountain. It was white like the pillars and made from the same stone. An endless stream of strange, orange liquid gushed from its top and collected in a pool within the base, shimmering like the haze in the air and the water that dripped steadily from the stalactites above. Lowering himself into the liquid, he felt its soothing chill through his cloak and black leather clothes. It felt nice.

But that was it.

A low hiss came from the boy's mouth, which rose into a high-pitched shriek as he kicked liquid into the air with his boot. "Lies!" he shouted, his shrill voice reverberating through the fog. "All lies! Lies covered in the bitterness of deceit!" He drove his clenched fists into the liquid, splashing it weakly. It ran between his fingers. "Elixir of stupidity! Your powers lie dormant like snakes who hiss secrets! Enough with the hissing! Fawful desires no hissing! You must give Fawful life! Life!"

The orange water lay unmoved but by the ripples of the stream gushing from the fountain. "Work!" the Beanish boy named Fawful screamed, throwing his entire body into the liquid.

He rose, dripping with water and visibly shaking. His large, circular glasses were covered in the liquid, and he couldn't see. "Why …?" he whispered, the water on his lips making his voice bubble. "It is not working …"

"I already told you," spoke another voice, harsh and sinister. "The fountain only works on people who are alive."

Fawful shrieked again and lashed his hand out, but the Shayde drew back. It giggled at him, a burbling sound through its shadowy mouth. The Bean climbed out of the fountain, trying to quell the sickness settling in his throat and stomach. "I have—" he started, and then tripped over his own words. He didn't even know what he had. "I have f … fffff …" He drew away from the Shayde that was eyeing him with too much pleasure. "Lies …" he spat at his tormentor. "Your lies disgust Fawful like cold chowder! Alive, you are saying? If not alive, then what am I? Do Fawful's eyes deceive him? Is the green of his skin an illusion of evil?"

The Shayde cocked its head. "Beats me. All I know is … that fountain's elixir soothes the souls of the living and heals all wounds. But for someone who's dead …" It giggled again. "It doesn't do a thing!"

Driven by fear and denial, Fawful turned and ran. "You're out of luck, buddy!" the grotesque worm hollered from the distance. "Your game's over! You're all out of lives, and there ain't nothin' you can do about it!"

* * *

Fawful didn't know how many months ago that confrontation had been. He had visited the fountain as soon as he'd heard of it through the grapevine, and not once had it ever healed him. Not once had he ever received any indication of that which he longed for with all of his heart.

Not once had it ever treated him like a living being.

He looked at his hands, green still, but far paler than they had ever been. He knew their colour had faded in his time hiding from the sun, but in this moment they appeared to have the taut skin of a corpse.

Was he really dead?

He remembered his last moments on the Mushroom World with the utmost clarity. He was lying on the ground, a limbless, wretched creature grinning into the faces of his two most hated foes. All around him was the disgusting stench of organs … the inside of Bowser's body. He bellowed in rage, his body bloating, energy pushing against him from inside, before he exploded in a blast of energy.

He couldn't remember anything after that. One moment he was in Bowser's body, and the next he came to in the Underwhere. At most, the only thing he could remember from between those moments was …

Now that he was here, he couldn't even describe how that had felt.

The glowing pink waters of the River Twygz were spread out before him as he sat on its bank, watching the river flow softly. Too softly. The boy looked at himself in the water's reflection, grinning broadly. His gigantic white teeth seemed to shine even in the cavern.

"I have …" he whispered, letting the words hang in the air as his feeling settled in his heart. He sighed.

"… depression."

Fawful hung his head, and slowly, his grin faded. "Too long," he said to himself. "Too long in caverns of darkness. Too long in Underwhere." He breathed deeply and shuddered as the fog curled in his nose and mouth. "Too long for Fawful."

He grabbed a stone with his pale fingers, turning it around in his hand. Then he spat out a noise of dejection and threw the stone out into the lake, watching it skip along the surface of the water once, twice, thrice … It disappeared into the haze.

"The point …" he muttered, throwing another stone. "It is eluding me … like a sneaky mouse with tasty cheese which is belonging to me." Another stone, thrown out into the lake. "The point of living. Once, I lived for her. Then, I lived for Fawful. To conquer Mushroom Kingdom. To conquer the world." Fawful gripped his next stone tightly in his shaking palm. "Why? Why, when at every turn, they would appear? The mustaches … red and green, with their hammers and boots, those men who I hate …" He crushed the brittle rock.

Fawful roared and beat his head, climbing to his feet and grabbing another rock, throwing it into the river. "I have hate!" he screamed, hurling another stone with each exclamation. "I have loathing! I! Have! FURY!"

The final rock was snatched out of the air by a skeletal Underhand that burst from the depths of the Twygz. It pulled its prize ominously into the darkness within, leaving Fawful staring at the now-calm surface.

He lowered his head and looked at his reflection once more. It wasn't grinning. The water looked so warm, so inviting. He couldn't see the bottom.

"Why …?" he whispered, his voice so quiet even he could barely hear it. It broke as he spoke, the pitiful sound of a crying child. "There is being no answer." All the fight had left his body, and his arms hung weakly at his sides. It was hard to speak with his voice so weighed with defeat. "There is nothing left for Fawful. Only to disappear with no troubles …"

He suppressed a shiver of fear that travelled up his spine, and closed his eyes. Then, he slowly tipped himself forward, until he dropped away from the banks and down towards the water.

In an instant something gripped him by the back of his cloak, and the golden chain that held it together pressed painfully against his throat. He managed to give a single choked gasp before the water below his face burst and an Underhand exploded from the river, gripping his face tightly.

Fawful was paralyzed with terror. The Underhand's fingers were dry and lifeless, and so, so cold. It tugged against his saviour with a hungry strength, pulling his throat harder against his cloak's chain. The boy's skin had blanched to a hue that was almost completely white, and his heart pounded against his ribs. He tried to scream, but all he could managed was a faint gasp.

After one last painful tug of the cloak, Fawful was pulled from the Underhand's grasp and thrown against the stone floor of the cavern. Shaking, he tore the chain off his cloak and breathed heavily, coughing and sputtering and rubbing the skin of his neck. He touched his hands to his face; tears streaked down his cheeks. He sniffled and shuddered, wiping his cheeks with the back of his palm.

He shook his head wildly and then looked towards the one that had saved him. His heart skipped a beat and his cheeks flushed with blood. "You!" he spat furiously.

"Me." It was the Shayde from before, head cocked at him, grinning with a smug satisfaction. "I knew you wouldn't be able to keep yourself from doing something extremely stupid. I could see it in your dumb, ugly face!"

Fawful's eyes bulged. "'Ugly'? How dare you!" He stomped towards the Shayde, clenching his fists. "Your body is covered in slime like a pig squatting in filthy mud! I wrinkle my nose at you, fink-rat of shadows! Do not speak of an ugliness which you are yourself being!"

"Jeez." The dark creature sneered at him. "Try to be a little politer. I saved your life, remember?"

"And what if I was not wanting to be saved?" Fawful barked back.

"You're an idiot. Did you think those Underhands were going to give you a massage? No." He slithered up closer, his smile stretching from end to end. "They like to collect … pieces." Fawful shivered.

The Beanish boy paced around the cavern for a few moments, the Shayde's eyes following his path. Finally, he sighed. "I have embarrassment. You are right. Fawful must have gratefulness to the one who is you, for you had the saving of Fawful's face!" He ran his fingertips along the sides of his head where the Underhand had held him; the skin was still cold. He began to walk away, gesturing for the Shayde to follow. "Come. I will show you the gratitude of Fawful."

He stepped through the caverns, making sure to follow a specific and careful path. As he walked, his grin began to slowly rematerialize on his face. Just a few more steps …

A loud snap! came from behind him, followed by the sound of the Shayde yelling in alarm. He turned around to find the thing hanging in the air, suspended by a rope.

Fawful laughed at him heartily. "I have chortles!" he declared, pointing at the Shayde. "You are thinking that Fawful has greatfulness? You are thinking wrong!"

"You little freak!" the wormlike creature shouted at him. "Without me you'd be dead! Dead! This …" It struggled against its bonds. "This is ridiculous! Where did you even get this rope?"

"'Dead' …?" Fawful repeated, walking slowly up to it. "I have apologies. Fawful was under the impression that he already had deadness. After all … you are the one who is telling him!"

"Look …" The Shayde was growing frantic. "So I like to mess with people. So what? This place is boring! I've been here for … for …"

Its voice trailed off as Fawful reached behind a stalagmite and revealed an extremely formidable stick.

"Oh. Oh crud." The Bean giggled through his grin. "You uh … aren't gonna tell me where you got that either, huh?"

Fawful took his first swing.

* * *

Fawful had thought, in that moment, that he would deeply enjoy repeatedly beating that Shayde with his stick.

And he was right.

But the Bean still sighed, resting his head against the rocky cave wall. Cathartic or not, assaulting the souls of the deceased would do nothing for him in the end. He was still stuck in the Underwhere, alone and dead. Forever.

Fawful made a low cooing noise, wracked with anxious weight. "I have gloom …" he muttered to himself. "What is to be done …?"

The sounds of slime and faint steam make him snap to attention and he leapt to his feet, grabbing his stick; from the shadows emerged the Shayde, its face misshapen and pathetic. "Oh you little runt," it hissed at him, its entire body practically bubbling with anger. "I save your life, and you beat me 'till I'm numb."

"Pah!" Fawful spat at it, inching back and holding his stick in front of him as a weapon. "Your wayward soul is hurting? I have doubt! More lies which Fawful is not liking!"

The shadowy worm cracked its head at him, advancing slowly. A dark liquid appeared to leak from the malformed lesions on its head and body, dissipating into mist that mingled with the colourful fog around them. "Oh, little runt, you should wish you were right …"

"Bad! Away now!" Fawful swung the stick; as it parted the Underwhere's mist, he could see the Shayde recoil back, eyeing it threateningly.

The two settled into a standoff, glaring at each other. The Shayde eyed Fawful's primitive weapon with genuine concern. It took a deep breath, then sighed. "All right. Look." It relaxed and shook its body, spraying flecks of smoke as it did. "Let's stop this now. It's not gonna get us anywhere." The Bean lowered his weapon slightly, but still looked at it warily, neck bristling. "We're both dead. I know you don't like it, but that's how it is. And if we don't cut it out right now, then it's gonna be one long eternity. The last thing I want is to have you kick my butt with that forever."

After a few moments, Fawful could see the Shayde looked almost regretful. The boy let his arms drop to his sides, the stick gripped in one palm, and his acquaintance's stress visibly left its body. "Thanks, that's great. Really." The Shayde slithered up closer to him, face apologetic. "I know I was kind of a jerk, making fun of you because you died and all … but it's real hard being a Shayde!"

"Oh, yes, I have certainty of that," Fawful huffed. "Lazy blobs of shadow, settling like old cream! Your pain brings tears to my eyes!"

"You don't know what it's like. When you die …" The Shayde shivered. "Sure, you're fine for a couple hours. You arrive here in your body, safe and sound. But once that time runs out, it all goes down the tube." It lowered its gaze to the floor now, and its voice hung with sadness. "Your body deteriorates before your eyes, with nothing you can do about it. Then you start to lose your memories. Before long, even your personality starts to decay." It inched its way up before Fawful, its eyes shimmering with emotion. "I'm gone. Everything I ever had … everything I used to be … it's all lost, forever. Don't you have any idea what that's like …?"

With the Shayde so close, Fawful felt himself tensing. The lack of space was making him feel threatened. He shook it off with a little groan. "Your story is full of sad," he said, grimacing. "Enough!"

"I know, I know. I'm sorry okay?" The creature sighed. "I won't bother you again. But in return, you have to promise to leave me alone. Got it?"

"No."

"Got it?"

"Ugh!" Fawful flung his arms limply. "Very well."

"Shake on it."

"What."

With that, the Shayde opened its mouth and extended a long, curling tongue, dripping with a saliva more viscous and rancid than Fawful could have ever predicted; the boy gagged and exclaimed audibly. In spite of his many protests, the worm would not relent; its tongue remained extended, dripping, slobbering. When he could take it no longer, Fawful swallowed, coughed, and thanked whatever manner of god existed that he was wearing gloves.

As he curled his fingers around the squelching tongue, something clicked in his mind that had been bothering him greatly.

Hours?

With the briefest giggle, the Shayde lashed forward and closed its mouth around his wrist.

Fawful convulsed as a pain and feeling of sheer, primal dread reached beyond his body and into a facet of himself he wasn't even aware existed. His vision pulsed and his head felt like it was sucked through a straw; he swayed and whimpered at the lightness in his brain.

N … no! His shaking body seemed to send ripples through the Shayde's form; it writhed and quaked, giggling like a psychopath through the hand in its mouth. Its shadows moved, bulged and twisted, changed shape before Fawful's eyes as he felt more of himself fading away.

With a desperate cry Fawful swung himself around, hurling the Shayde off of his arm and sending it rolling along the ground. He staggered away, hands on his head, trying to shake away the vertigo.

The Shayde was laughing hysterically where it lay on the ground, rolling in veritable ecstasy. "Yes …" it hissed. "Yes, I can feel it!" Fawful's stick lay discarded on the ground; the boy snatched it up and held it in front of him, but his shoulders were quaking so hard that the weapon vibrated in turn.

"B-b-begone!" Fawful screamed at him, appalled at his chattering teeth. "You … y …!"

His voice trailed off into horrified silence as he beheld what had once been the Shayde, now changed. The figure was humanoid, with two arms and legs and the vaguest beginnings of a human head forming on its shoulders. Still formed from shadowy death, the black substance dripped off its body and onto the floor in hissing globules.

It turned and looked at him, and its face was something out of a nightmare. Two gaping holes stared out from its face, wild and insane and deep like the pits of Hell. Curved into a mad smile, its mouth was a jagged and threatening crescent.

It laughed maniacally at him, slowly getting to its feet. "More … more …!" it bellowed at him, staggering forward on unsteady feet. "Your life energy is my golden panacea! It cries out to me! Like a … like a …" It fell forward on its knees, not taking its eyes off the boy. "Like a drug." All Fawful could do with his mouth was squeak unintelligibly as sweat trickled down the sides of his head and his hands went clammy around his pathetic little weapon. "My body has already begun to form. My memories … I can feel them on the edge of my awareness, beckoning me. Already, I am returning." The shadow's voice seemed far more male now than the androgynous tone of the Shayde. "And it's all thanks to you, Fawful. Because when you crossed into this realm, you straddled the border between life and death. When you would perish, another force took the fall. A dark, forbidden force … isn't that right?" It tilted its head as the image of the Dark Star passed through the Bean's mind, and he finally understood.

He knew why the Shayde had pursued him for so long.

The shadow stood, stepping towards him again. "But before I steal everything from you and escape this wretched prison, I have … a question for you." It took a breath, its chest heaving. "Who are the ones you spoke of by the Twygz?"

"Wh … what?"

"The brothers. The brothers of red and green. The mustached men. I heard you speak of them, oh so softly to yourself." Fawful couldn't form the words. "They … mean something to me. They're important to me, somehow." It looked at its hands, panting, dark fluid dripping from its mouth. "Tell me!" it screamed at the boy. "Tell me who they are!"

With those words the shadow lifted itself into the air and flew at Fawful, batting the stick from his hands and sending them both rolling onto the ground. It wrapped its limbs around his body, dug its fingers into his belly. Fawful staggered and groaned as his life force began to be drained from him again. Through blurred vision he could see his green skin paling to a ghostly white, and then begin to darken and become as shadow.

He was going to die.

"I remember!" the shadow shrieked, cackling. "I can see their faces! I see them!" It dug its fingers into the Bean's skin, its form solidifying as Fawful's was beginning to weaken. "But their names, what are their names? You know them! I know you know them! Why?"

"They … I … h-hate …"

"Tell me, Fawful! Tell me the names of the ones who fill you with such hatred!"

"M … Ma … rrrr …"

"Tell me now!"

"MARIO!" Fawful screamed, the word seeming to reverberate throughout the world. "MARIO AND LUIGI!"

The shadow froze. The pain stopped. In the span of a single moment they came to rest, as if suddenly suspended motionless in midair after flying at the speed of a bullet. The world spun and shifted before Fawful's eyes.

"Mario … Luigi …" the shadow whispered, lost in a trance. Its eyes were wide, its mouth agape. "The … Heroes …" Slowly, it tilted its head and looked Fawful directly in the eyes. It gazed at him like an old friend. "You … you know the Heroes …?" The boy nodded; he felt like he was submerged in water. He could barely think. "You … would fight the Heroes …?" He nodded again. "What … would you give …? What would you give … to destroy them utterly …?"

Somehow, the reality of the situation blossomed into full view in Fawful's mind. His terror left him. What was left behind was an excitement and ferocity that overshadowed all things. He slowly parted his lips to answer.

"Anything."

The tension between them hung in the air like a pendulum, blade sharp and quiet.

Then the shadow smiled.

Slowly, it removed one hand from Fawful's belly and touched together the tips of its forefinger and thumb.

"You have given me enough," it said. "It is time."

It snapped its fingers, and the world around them plunged into a swirling kaleidoscope of colour.

* * *

Fawful's eyes snapped open as he took his first gasp of air.

The sky was dark, but the air was open and warm. Clouds hung overhead, and a slow, foreboding wind blew through the fields. The ambient hum and drips of the Underwhere were gone, replaced by a silence almost oppressive in comparison.

But Fawful did not notice these things. He was alive.

He rose to his feet, unsteady and still shaking slightly. He stood in a crater the radius of a couple dozen feet, blackened and dead. The dirt was scorched, and the grass and flowers were drained of all vibrancy—dried, cracked, and colourless. Fawful had stolen the life from everything around him and come crawling back into the land of the living.

He stepped out of the crater, feeling like a demon. His mouth had spread into a toothy grin that took up the whole width of his face. "Yes …" he whispered, before rising to a triumphant shout. "Yes! It is done! I have death no longer!" The boy leapt into the air, feeling his cloak billow behind him, miraculously restored along with the rest of his clothes and glasses. "The time of grief is over!" Craning his body forward and clenching his fingers, the Bean cackled with mania. "Now is the time when I rise again! The time when I deliver sorrow to the houses of all the world!" His body wracked with laughter, Fawful spread both his arms wide and gazed up into the sky. "Now is the time of Fawful!"

His next bout of laughter faltered and faded as the low chuckle of another being caught his attention. Turning to the crater he had left he found that another person lay there, hidden before by the darkness of the dawn. Taller than Fawful and clad in the purple and yellow attire of a jester, this person giggled to himself as he stared upward into the sky.

"At last …" he breathed. "I am free. Ha ha ha … ah ha ha ha ha!"

Fawful leapt back as the young man shot into the air, splaying his limbs against the sky. The Bean gazed up at the figure, his eyes wide behind his glasses, his grin unfaltering. "You!" he declared, pointing a finger up at him. "You are the one! The one who is saving Fawful!"

The jester turned his gaze downward to look at him, and then slowly descended to touch his curl-toed shoes on the grass. As Fawful surveyed his new friend he found he could not see his face—it was hidden behind a mask, divided into black and white evenly on either side. Two eyes, one golden and one gray, and a red mouth were all carved into the mask's surface, each one crescent-shaped. The eyes blinked as though part of his real face.

"Mmm …" The jester hummed to himself, his gaze scrutinizing Fawful from top to bottom. "Yes … I do believe I am the one. Or are both our memories already addled so? Ah ha ha~"

"You are already knowing the name of Fawful," Fawful said. He did a little skip, unable to contain the energy in his newfound living body. He pointed at the young man before him. "Now all that is left is the name of you!"

Without missing a beat, the jester doffed his floppy hat and bowed deeply. "But of course, my dear, vertically-challenged friend! I was so very rude." He tilted his head to look his cohort in the eyes. "I am a man of many names! The Master of Dimensions! The Pleaser of Crowds!" Then he stood upright and extended a hand. "I am Dimentio. A humble magician, with dreams of the stage."

"And I am Fawful!" The Bean clasped Dimentio's hand; the latter's grip was surprisingly powerful. "Inventor and mechanic who makes fink-rat faces weep like babies who are crying!"

"I am so very enchanted to meet your acquaintance."

They let go and turned to face the horizon. In the distance, the sun had begun to rise. It glowed like fire, threatening and powerful.

"Now that the pleasantries are out of the way," Dimentio said, "I believe we have a duo of bothersome men to rain our revenge on."

Fawful looked at him. "Mario and Luigi," he said.

"Yesss …" The jester clasped his hands together. "With our combined forces, the bristles on their lips will sag, like the drooping ears of a sun-baked hound! The world will bow towards our might!"

Together they laughed, two distinct sounds carrying a single threat:

Now, no one was safe.

Putting his hand on Fawful's shoulder, Dimentio transported them once more, into the ether of the worlds.