Mario has put on the Metal Cap. The plumber is no longer here. This is not Mario. No trace of him is left in what remains. Our hero is gone.
Mario has put on the Metal Cap. It melds into what was once his body, instant transmutation converting a man into a force. In death, the soul escapes the trauma of life, its astral tether cut; this is not death. Nor is it life-in-death, a spirit rebound to its earthly remains at the bidding of a sorcerer or warlock. This is something far worse than either. Mario is gone. Something that is not him, something that was once him, stands in his stead.
Mario has put on the Metal Cap. Metal Mario is walking through a crowd. It is killing dozens as the terrifying clang of its twenty-ton footsteps rings out deafeningly, cracking the concrete beneath. This is not Mario. What is before us is neither living nor machine. Mario is gone.
Passively deadly, it tears human beings apart as it strides directly through them without acknowledgement. It is in the city center. Clouds of dust shroud its path. Screams of revulsion and terror mix with the sounds of impact: wet thuds, the dry shrieks and crashes of compromised buildings. It is invulnerable. It is an unstoppable force; no objects are immovable. It does not feel. It does not think. It acts without intent, without cognition. There is nothing behind those eyes. This is not Mario. This is something new.