[ WP ] A character kills their narrator .

So I kind of had this in my head as a character kills their creator and... yea this came out: 
 
 “ MIYAMOTO ” Screamed Mario. 
 
 No response. 
 
 “ MIYAMOTO!!!!!! ”, silence, “ MIYAMOTO ”. Mario stood unwavering outside the gates of Hyrule Castle. 
 
 A tear rolled down Miyamoto ’ s cheek. He stood in the Grand hall leaning heavily against the Dias of the goddessses, his head hung heavily. Mario had stalked him from every corner of the Nintediverse and now there was no where left to run. 
 
 “ How has it come to this… ” 
 
 His words echoed through empty halls. The guards had long gone and the attendant servants had followed in their wake. When word of Mario ’ s approach arrived no one wanted to be a part of it, and how could he blame them? This was his doing. Even link had gone. He could not expect link to raise his sword against Mario, against one who he could call his brother. Before Link left he had come to Miyamoto. He said nothing, he just put his hand on Miyamoto ’ s shoulder as if in goodbye. Miyamoto barely heard the end of Epona ’ s song before Link was riding off into the sunset. 
 
 “ Ever the silent Hero ” thought Miyamoto. 
 
 Miyamoto ’ s physical body had long perished. His last great innovation for Nintendo was the creation of the mii-taphysical realm as part of the Wii-finity. It allowed one to copy their consciousness into their mii, to better experience the world Nintendo had to offer. Little did Miyamoto know that his creations were actually sentient all these years. They had grown, learned, evolved, loved… hated. 
 
 He couldn ’ t blame Mario. As he sat reflecting on his life he felt each and every one of the horrors inflicted on that poor soul. Peach always being taken from him. A never ending trial of torture, tundras, endless enemies and death after death after death. But the worse was the prostitution of his character. Forced into sporting leagues of every type, violent vehicular combat and even a MMA arena where he was forced to battle against those he loved. Mario had reason to be bitter indeed. 
 
 Miyamoto looked up from his reverie. The great iron doors bulged inward. The wooden barriers started to smoke and the metal grew white hot as molten clumps dropped away. Miyamoto stood to face the door, there was no more running. A fireball shot through a molten crevasse and embedded itself into Miyamoto ’ s shoulder. He feel to the ground, his arm a ruin of smoke and ash. 
 
 Through the smoke stepped Mario. He walked calmly and unflinching to Miyamoto, his hunt was finally over. He raised a white gloved palm towards Miyamoto. 
 
 Clutching his shoulder Miyamoto staggered to his feet. Through tear filled eyes he looked into Mario ’ s face, pleading. 
 
 “ Mario… I ” 
 
 *Bloink* 
 
 The fireball left a clean hole in Miyamoto ’ s chest. A final tear fell from his eye, it hit the ground as he did. Mario looked down at his peaceful creator. The heat had cauterized the wound, there would be no bloody mess to mark Miyamoto ’ s passing. 
 
 “ God-a-damnit! Why-a do I still-a feel-a this way-a! Why don ’ t-a I feel whole-a! ” 
 
 Mario shot another fireball into Miyamoto ’ s face. 
 
 “ 30-a years! 30-a years! Being a puppet-a! ” 
 
 The tears vaporized as they hit the super-heated ground. Mario drove fireball after fireball into Miyamoto until there was nothing. His chest heaved from the effort. 
 
 He sat back unto the floor and laid next to the scorched marble that was Miyamoto. He slept, and for the first time, Mario dreamed. 
 

