So This Is What Discord Ment.
The first glimpse of light piercing through the dense canopy of leaves above was like a promise, a silent whisper of hope to Clark's weary eyes. His journey had been a relentless battle against the Everfree Forest's capricious whims. Thorns had shredded his clothes, turning them into mere rags that barely clung to his bruised body, while the forest's creatures had left their mark with every snarl and scratch.
For six long days, he had pushed on, driven by an unyielding need to find the legendary mirror pool. The whispers of its whereabouts had haunted his dreams, leading him through a labyrinth of twisted roots and shadowy glens. His skin, once fair, was now a canvas of grime and pain, each bruise a testament to his unwavering resolve. The smell of damp earth and decaying foliage had become his constant companion, as had the gnawing ache of hunger that clawed at his insides.
Clark had faced the Everfree's monstrous inhabitants with a fierce determination. He had walked through a nest of some kind, and giant bugs with their armored shells had become his most daunting adversaries. Time and again, he had thrust his makeshift spears into their carapaces, the wood splintering against their impenetrable exoskeletons. With every failed attempt, his frustration grew, his muscles screamed for rest, and the shadows grew longer. Yet, with a grim smile, he had crafted new spears, each one stronger than the last, fueled by his hatred for the creatures that had stolen his peace.
He didn't dare to think what lay deeper within the Everfree's embrace. The creatures that had already tested his mettle were nightmares come to life, so what horrors awaited him further in? He knew that the forest's depths were a place where even the bravest of hearts trembled and the strongest of limbs grew weak. The whispers of those who had ventured in and never returned danced around him like a sinister lullaby, hinting at the perils that lurked beyond the reach of the fading sunlight.
On the seventh day, the forest's deceptive maze finally revealed its hidden treasure. Clark stumbled upon the entrance to a vast cave system, the gaping mouth of a creature that had swallowed the light itself. The air grew colder, the dampness clinging to him like an unwelcome embrace. His breaths grew shallow and ragged, not from exhaustion, but from the anticipation of what lay ahead. He knew that the mirror pool was within reach, but the journey was far from over.
The cavern was a monstrous maw, its walls stretching upwards into darkness, disappearing into the abyss. The floor was slick with moisture, and the distant echo of dripping water taunted him with the promise of his destination. He stepped cautiously into the abyss, his makeshift torch casting flickering shadows across the ancient stones. The smell of dampness was overwhelming.
The path grew steeper, the air colder. He could feel the weight of the earth pressing down on him, the ancient whispers of the cave's secrets resonating in his very bones. And then, as he rounded a bend, the cavern opened up to reveal the mirror pool. Its still, crystalline surface reflected the flickering torchlight, casting an eerie glow that danced on the cavern's walls. The sight was almost too much to bear - a bastion of beauty in the heart of the beast that was the Everfree. But the price of beauty, he knew, was often paid in blood and sweat. And so, with a deep, fortifying breath, he descended the last few steps, ready to face whatever awaited him at the pool's edge.
His legs gave out the moment he reached the pool's shore. Six days of adrenaline and fear had taken their toll, and now, with his destination within arm's reach, his body finally rebelled. He collapsed, the torch rolling away to cast the cavern into darkness. His stomach growled in protest at the meager meals of raw fish and roasted bug, and his mouth watered at the thought of proper food. The fish had been a gamble - a risk he'd taken after a day of thirst and hunger had driven him to the river. The taste had been metallic and alien, and the knowledge that it might have harbored parasites had made every bite a battle against his gag reflex. The bug had been more tolerable, but the effort of starting a fire with a bow drill had almost exhausted him entirely.
The water of the mirror pool looked inviting, a serene oasis in the otherwise oppressive gloom. But he knew better than to be fooled by appearances. He had heard tales of such pools, of the magic they were rumored to contain. He approached with caution, his hand reaching for the water's surface. The pool's reflection grew clearer, and he caught a glimpse of his own weary visage staring back at him. The reflection was not just a simple mirroring, though - it was as if he was peering into his very soul.
That day he rested, every thought in his head swirling with the pangs of starvation. His dreams were filled with feasts of roasted meats and warm bread, with goblets of ale clinking together in cheer. His stomach had become a ravenous beast, clawing at the confines of his ribs. He lay by the mirror pool, his eyes closed, willing his body to find reprieve from the constant hunger. The forest outside the cavern had become a taunting mirage of food that remained just out of reach.
As he drifted in and out of consciousness. His thoughts turned greedy, his hunger not just for food, but for knowledge and power. He imagined the look on the faces of the people of earth when he returned, not only with the tales of his survival, but with the secrets of the Everfree and Equestria.
He woke up the next day, the mirror pool still shimmered, beckoning him closer. He sat up, his muscles protesting with every movement. He knew what he had to do. With trembling hands, he reached out to the water's edge, whispering the rime to the pool.
Clark took a deep breath and dipped himself into the mirror pool. The water was colder than the chill of the cave, but it washed away the grime of his journey. He felt the tingle of ancient magic coiling around his body, seeping into his very essence. As he emerged, the clone looked at him.
He did this twenty more times and the clones grew solid before his eyes, each one a perfect replica of his weary form, yet with a fierce determination in their eyes that mirrored his own. They looked at him, waiting for instruction, a silent army born from his own will and desperation.
Each clone knew their purpose, ingrained within them at the moment of creation. They were extensions of Clark's being, fiercely loyal to the prime version of themselves. They had no names yet, no thoughts that wernt his own, only the singular drive to serve and protect. They had been born from his pain and would live for his cause because he would do the same.
"Attention!" Clark shouted, his voice echoing through the cavern. The clones formed up and snapped to attention, each one standing tall and proud, their eyes locked onto their creator. He felt a strange power surge through him, a sense of control over these new-born entities. It was intoxicating.
He began to name them, starting with the first one that had emerged. "You," he said, pointing to the nearest clone, "are One. Your purpose is to lead a scouting party and report back on any threats we may encounter. Two, you will lead a team to gather food. Three, you will help the rest fortify our camp." He continued down the line, naming them in order, each name a command, a role to be fulfilled. "Four through Six, you will form a defensive perimeter around the pool. Seven through Ten, you will explore the upper levels of the cavern for resources."
The clones nodded in understanding, their movements synchronized. Clark couldn't help but feel a twinge of pride at their obedience. "The rest of you," he said, gesturing to the remaining ten, "will venture into the Everfree Forest and bring back anything of value. Weapons, supplies, anything that can aid us in our quest for survival and knowledge."
“And you rat fuck meat heads will have jack shit, not even a name until you distinguish yourselves!” Clark barked at the last batch of clones, his voice bouncing off the cavern walls. He had never felt so alive, so powerful. The clones looked at him expectantly, hungry for direction.
“Now break formation and head out!” Clark ordered, and his clones obeyed without hesitation. They dispersed into the gloomy Everfree Forest, their torches casting an eerie glow in the foggy air. The sound of their footsteps grew distant as they embarked on their assigned missions.
Twenty more are born from the mirror pool, each one a reflection of Clark's desperation and hope. He names them twenty through forty, assigning them the grim task of venturing into the Everfree Forest to die uncovering its edible plants and investigating the chaos magnet that was Ponyville. They march out, a line of faces that slowly vanish into the dense foliage, leaving only the echo of their footsteps.
Clark watches them go, his mind racing with the weight of his creation. He sighs and slumps against the cavern wall, the cold stone pressing into his back. The silence that follows is a stark contrast to the cacophony of the forest outside. The flickering torchlight casts jumpy shadows across his new companions, a reminder that his fate is now intertwined with theirs. He shouldn't have made it this far. The Everfree had claimed so many before him, swallowed them whole without a trace. But here he was, not just surviving, but thriving. Or so he hoped.
He couldn't shake the feeling that he had cheated death. The trip had been a series of narrow escapes and painful lessons. The thirst, the hunger, the fear - it had all been so intense that he had begun to doubt his own sanity. Yet here he sat, surrounded by the fruits of his desperation. He shouldn't have survived the trek, not with his lack of experience and preparation. But survive he had, and now he had to deal with the consequences of his reckless lack of becoming a corpse.
“Would Discord have made this easier?” Clark mused aloud, his voice bouncing off the cavern walls. The deity's chaotic nature wouldn’t have allowed his organs to remain neatly in place unless it served to create greater turmoil in the grand tapestry of the world. But here he was, his insides still where they were meant to be, not rearranged by the grotesque whims of some Everfree predator. It was a grim comfort to think that his survival had been a stroke of divine intervention rather than luck. He had always been more of a believer in self-determination than fate.
He stood, brushing the dust from his pants. He was not going to be some pawn in a cosmic chess game.
He waited, his nails digging into his palms as he fought the urge to pace. Every second counted, every calorie preserved was vital. The silence was a heavy blanket that smothered the echoes of his thoughts, leaving only the distant sound of dripping water to keep him company. Finally, two of his clones returned, their faces a mirror of his own confusion and frustration.
"Ponyville," he barked, his voice echoing off the cavern walls. "Where is it?"
The clones looked at each other before One spoke up, his voice echoing in the vast space. "We couldn't find it, . Only the mountain where Canterlot is said to stand."
Clark's jaw tightened. "What do you mean you couldn't find it? It's a small village for fuck's sake!"
Two took a step forward, his expression solemn. "The land has changed. The city is not where it should be. Only the mountain remains, with signs of heavy construction on its side."
The room spun around him as the implications of their words settled in his gut. Just how far did Discord send him back in time and for what purpose, the thought was maddening. All his plans now lay in ruins, buried under the weight of centuries he had not anticipated.
Author's Note
Honestly this one was a chore, tell me what parts don’t belong or need rewriting. I wrote this part in a fit of madness and rage.
Boiling Acorns.
In the shadowy depths of the Everfree, where the air hung thick with mystery and the whispers of ancient secrets, a figure moved with purpose. The figure was not one, but twenty, each a mirror image of the other—Clark's clones, brought to life by the murky waters of the Mirror Pool. They emerged into the fading light of day, their eyes blinking in unison as they took in the untouched landscape that surrounded them. Their creator, a being of ambition and power, had imbued them with a singular goal. To serve and help him ascend to godhood.
The clones worked tirelessly, setting up camp just outside the cave's mouth. The clatter of stones and the crackling of firewood filled the air as they crafted tools with a precision that spoke of their shared knowledge. Each stroke of their makeshift stone hammers echoed off the cave walls, a rhythm that grew more complex as they honed their skills. They gathered fibers from the plants that dared to grow so close to the chaotic heart of the forest, weaving them into rope and twine. Their movements were fluid, as if they had done this a hundred times before, which in a sense, they had—through the memories and instructions of their progenitor.
The scent of woodsmoke mingled with the earthy aroma of the forest as they built their first fires. Each flame a beacon of their existence in the wild expanse. The clones worked in harmony, their collective strength a silent testament to their shared will. They ventured into the woods, their eyes scanning the horizon for the perfect trees to fell. The sound of their laughter, a strange echo of their creator's, bounced off the trees as they competed in contests of endurance and skill. The stone axes m bringing down mighty oaks with a thunderous crash.
The clones returned to the camp with their prizes—sturdy branches and difrent kinds of stones to be sharpened into spears, axes, and edible plants that would sustain them in the days to come. They spoke little, their communication more a series of nods and gestures that conveyed their intentions clearly.
With a frenzied excitement, they set to work crafting the tools that would be the foundation of their new civilization. The rhythmic chipping of flint on stone filled the air as they shaped sharp edges onto their wooden handles. Sparks flew as they ground the stones against each other, each spark a reminder of the fiery will that burned within them all. They had seen this done before, in the memories shared by their collective consciousness, and now it was their turn to bring those memories to life. The clatter of stone on stone grew into a symphony of creation as they worked tirelessly into the night, guided by the silvery moon that peered through the canopy above.
The clones moved with a unity of purpose that seemed almost supernatural. They knew what needed to be done and how to do it, each step learned from the experiences of their brethren. The smell of freshly cut sap filled the camp as they harvested tree branches, stripping the bark with their teeth and sharpening the ends with their newfound tools. The forest whispered its secrets to them as they wove the plant fibers into strong cords, the fibers bending to their will.
Days passed, and the clones grew stronger. However, their mission was not without peril. The forest was a treacherous maze, filled with plants that could either heal or harm in equal measure. Of the original twenty sent to scout, only eight returned unscathed. The others had succumbed to the whims of the Everfree, their bodies twisted and broken by the very plants they sought to understand. Some had ingested berries that had turned their insides to liquid fire, while others had brushed against leaves that had left them with agonizing burns that would never truly heal. Their suffering was a grim reminder of the delicate balance between order and chaos that they all strived to master.
The survivors brought back tales of their fallen comrades and the lessons learned from their mistakes. They spoke in hushed tones around the fires that burned deep into the night, sharing the knowledge that would keep the rest of the Collective safe. The air grew thick with the smell of brewing herbs as they experimented with the plants they had gathered, seeking to understand their properties and uses, creating potions and salves. Others watched with a determination that bordered on insanity, knowing that their very existence could hinge on the success or failure of these early experiments.
Clark, ever the pragmatic leader, stood in the center of the camp, his voice cutting through the evening chatter like a knife. He was a constant presence, his gaze sharp and focused, his words a command that resonated within the very core of each clone. "Defensive perimeters!" he bellowed. "We must be ready for any threat by the end of the third day!" The clones sprang into action, their fear of failure stronger than any enemy they could face. They worked through the night, setting traps and constructing wooden palisades around the camp. The sound of hammering and digging grew more frantic as the hours ticked by, each blow a declaration of their determination to survive.
The previous day, the clones who had been tasked with gathering clay from the nearby river returned, their bodies smeared with the rich, earthy substance. They had discovered a deposit of fine clay, ideal for the creation of bowls and pots. Working together, they formed the clay into the necessary shapes, their hands moving in perfect synchronicity. The water from the river was used to smooth the surfaces before they were laid out to dry in the sun. The sight of the clay objects was a testament to their unity and resourcefulness—each one a piece of themselves, a part of their shared destiny.
As the clay dried, the scent of boiling acorns and roots filled the camp. The survivors had found a way to render the once-poisonous fare safe to eat. They had learned to leach the tannins from the acorns and had discovered a method to soften the tubers by boiling them in water filled with crushed mint leaves. The mint not only made the tubers palatable but also imbued the water with a calming effect, which was much needed after the long days of hard labor. The clones took turns watching over the simmering pots, their eyes never leaving the bubbling water, ensuring that nothing would go awry.
When the clay was dry enough, they built a communal firepit and placed the pots within. The heat transformed the clay into sturdy vessels, and the clones gathered around to watch the process with a mix of awe and hunger. The crackling of the fire and the smell of cooking food grew stronger, filling the air with the promise of sustenance and safety. Once the pots were hardened, they were filled with the precious food, which had been gathered, tested, and prepared with such care. The clones ate in silence, their eyes reflecting the dancing flames, each bite a celebration of their collective triumph over the Everfree's relentless challenges.
With their hunger satiated and their spirits somewhat lifted, they turned their attention to the looming task of fortification. They had heard the whispers of the forest, the distant growls and snaps that suggested they were not alone in the Everfree. It was a land where the monsters lurked in every shadow, waiting for the scent of weakness to guide them to their next meal. The spears they had sharpened had to be transformed into something more than mere hunting tools—they had to become the teeth of their fortress.
Working through the night under the guidance of the moon and the stars, the clones lashed the spears together into spike barricades, each one a silent sentinel that would stand between them and the horrors of the forest. The air was thick with tension as they worked, the only sounds the rustle of leaves and the occasional crack of a twig under a stalking predator. They knew that the Everfree did not sleep and that any moment could bring the fury of its creatures upon them. The barricades grew taller and stronger, a testament to their unity and ingenuity.
As dawn approached, the clones stepped back to survey their handiwork. The spikes gleamed in the pre-dawn light, a stark reminder of the dangers that lay just beyond the perimeter. Each one knew that this was only the beginning—the forest would not give up its secrets easily, and the price of their survival would be etched in sweat and blood. But they also knew that together, as one under Clark’s will, they could face anything the Everfree threw at them. They had conquered the basics of survival and had laid the groundwork for what would become a bastion of order in a realm of chaos.
The survivors of the scouting mission gathered around the fire, their faces etched with exhaustion but their eyes alight with excitement. They spoke in unison, their voices a blend of wonder and urgency as they recounted the flora and fauna they had encountered. Clark listened intently, his gaze moving from one to the next, his mind cataloging every detail. The plants they described were a treasure trove of potential—some deadly, others filled with the promise of life.
They spoke of something they called Moonblossom, whose petals could mend flesh and soothe weary spirits and the Glimmerleaf, whose leaves held the secret to fleeting speed and heightened reflexes. And the grubs that wriggled in the earth, their fat bodies packed with nourishment for those brave enough to dare the taste.
Clark listened with rapt attention, his eyes narrowed in concentration. The information they brought was invaluable, a map of power scattered across the forest floor, just waiting to be claimed. He knew the risks they had taken, the price some had paid for this knowledge. Their sacrifice would not be in vain.
As the sun rose over the treetops, casting a warm glow over the camp, the clones that had survived the scouting mission approached him, their heads bowed in respect. They spoke of the edible berries and tubers they had found, and the poisonous crimson thorns that lurked in the underbrush. The beetles and ants that could be harvested for food, and the mushrooms that promised a swift death to the unknowing traveler. Each detail was meticulously cataloged in the collective mind of the clones, ready to be shared with the others when the time was right.
Clark's eyes snapped open to the dim light of the mirror pool filtering through the wooden slats of the shack. He sat up on the makeshift bed, his body stiff from the unyielding support of the straw and leaf mattress. He swung his legs over the side and planted his feet firmly on the earthen floor.
The shack, nestled into the side of a cave, was simple but served its purpose. The mirror pool, a source of his creation and the lifeblood of his colony, lay in the heart of the chamber. It reflected the flickering light from the torches that lined the walls, casting an eerie glow on the faces of the clones as they slept in their designated shacks. Clark had made sure the pool was a central feature, a constant reminder of their shared existence and purpose.
As he stepped out of the shack and made his way to the surface, the cool morning air greeted him with a mix of scents, the earthy tang of the forest floor, the faint aroma of cooking from the nearby mess hall, and the sharp odor of alchemy from the laboratories. The sounds of the waking camp grew louder as he approached the central clearing. He could hear the clatter of tools and the murmur of early-rising clones starting their daily routines. He felt a peculiar blend of pride and amusement at the sight of his creations, each one a piece of himself.
He decided to start his rounds with Clone 1, the leader of the scouting and militia. As he approached the scouting station, he was addressed by his militia commander and was briefed on their latest mission.
“sir we made another discovery last night,” Clone 1 reported with a stoic nod, his eyes gleaming with excitement beneath the brim of his helmet.
Clark nodded for him to continue, his curiosity piqued. The scouting team had been tasked with exploring the dense forest beyond the fortress’s perimeter, and their findings often brought plethora of info about the fortress to his daily briefings.
“We stumbled into a ring of mushrooms, unlike any we’ve seen before. when we did they started glowing, pulsing with an otherworldly light. The area was swarmed with breezies, but not the usual kind. These were monstrous, almost shadow-like and their eyes were filled with malevolence.”
The other clones looked at each other nervously, recalling the tales of the Everfree’s darker inhabitants. “We lost Clones 3 and 5 to a fey trap within the ring. It was as if the mushrooms came alive, wrapping them in spores and, poof, they were gone along with the breezies!” The recounting clone paused, allowing the absurdity of their fate to sink in.
Clark couldn’t help but frown slightly, appreciating the grim fate that sometimes arose from their encounters with the forest’s more whimsical horrors.
He clapped his hands together, drawing their attention back to the matter at hand. “Good work, Clone 1. Remember, knowledge is power, and even in their madness, these encounters serve our purpose. Take note of the mushroom species and report back to the alchemy team. We may find a use for them in our endeavors. And as for the breezies, ensure the perimeter patrols are aware of their presence and fey traps. We do not want to lose any more of our kin to their twisted games.”
The scouting team's demeanor was stiff as Clone 1 relayed the next discovery, his expression a mask of concern. "Sir, we encountered another peculiarity within the forest. One of the clones, during our exploration, stepped on what we believe to be a Poison Joke. He has since been reduced to a state resembling a slime, unable to communicate beyond basic sounds and gestures. His mind seems to have been wiped clean of any memories or knowledge."
He looks disturbed and continues "We have also lost three more to the alchemy team," Clone 1 says, and Clark's brows furrow at the choice of words. "Explain." He says, his tone sharp.
Clone 1's expression grew serious as he recounted the incident with the alchemy team. "They inhaled fumes from their experiments," he said, his voice low and concerned. "It... changed them, Prime. They began speaking of 'test subjects' and 'new data' with a fervor that was disturbingly unlike themselves. I suspect the clay alchemy equipment has introduced impurities into their mixtures."
He sighs exaustively, his gaze scanning over the clones. "I will personally inspect the alchemy labs and determine if the experimentation is in line with our goals or if it has strayed into dangerous territory, and I will determine if they need to be exiled before inspecting the rest of the workshops," Clark declared, his voice a mix of authority and weariness. Exile was a serious matter in their society, a fate reserved for those who failed to contribute to the collective knowledge or became a liability to their shared purpose.
The clones nodded in understanding, and a wave of tension swept through the group. The concept of exile was not taken lightly, it was a reminder of the high stakes of their existence. Each clone knew that their role was vital, and to be cast out was akin to death. The very idea was enough to keep them in check, ensuring they pushed themselves to their limits for the sake of the fortress.
Clark marched off towards the alchemy workshop, his steps echoing through the camp with purpose. The alchemy labs had been set up in a clearing nearest to the fortress walls. It was a calculated decision, keeping the volatile experiments away from the living quarters to prevent disaster. The sight that awaited him was anything but serene.
The camp had grown significantly in the two weeks since he had last visited the surface. The walls, once a mere skeleton of timber and earth, now stood tall, almost complete. They were lined with sharp spikes, gleaming in the early light—a deterrent to any creature that might dare to approach. The perimeter had been fortified further with additional spikes, creating a formidable barricade that stretched beyond the wall’s edge, hinting at the determination of the clones to protect their sanctuary. The sight was a testament to their tireless work and unyielding loyalty to their shared ambition.
In the center of the camp, the huts stood in neat rows, half-buried into the ground for insulation against the harsh Everfree climate. They had constructed them using a combination of the forest's resources and their own ingenuity, blending in with the natural surroundings while still serving their functional purpose. The clones bustled around, carrying out their duties with an almost robotic efficiency, each movement precise, each task essential to the collective's survival.
He smiled as he saw the farms, their neat rows of earth. The sight brought a brief moment of pride, reminding him of the collective’s shared purpose and their dedication to self-sufficiency. However, this warmth was quickly overshadowed as he aproached the alchemy hut. Twice as large as the other structures, it loomed ominously, belching out thick, noxious fumes. The screams that emanated from within were a stark contrast to the serene scene around him. He hesitated, his heart racing as the sound grew louder, but his curiosity and concern for his kin won out.
Clark took a deep breath and stepped closer to the hut, his eyes watering from the acrid fumes. He was about to knock when the door burst open with a loud crack, and a figure engulfed in green flames stumbled out, its manic laughter and screams echoing through the clearing. The clone's body was alight with an unnatural fire, and instead of rolling to extinguish the flames, it continued to run erratically until it finally collapsed into a heap of fire and charred flesh. The sight was both mesmerizing and horrifying, leaving him speechless for a moment.
A figure emerged from the billowing smoke, a clone with wild eyes and a crazed grin. He was covered in soot and reeked of the alchemical fires that had consumed his comrades. “We’ve done it, Father!” he exclaimed, his voice a mix of excitement and madness. “We’ve discovered the secret to alchemical fire!”
He dared not enter the hut. The spectacle before him was too disturbing. The alchemical fires that once danced within the confines of the laboratory now raged in the open, a testament to the chaos that had taken root within. The very fabric of their disciplined society seemed to quiver before the madness that had consumed his brethren. Clark took a step back, his gaze fixed on the clone before him.
"What planet are we on?" he asked, his voice calm despite the horror that unfolded before him. It was a simple question, a litmus test of the clone's sanity amidst the madness that had engulfed the alchemy team.
His copy looked at him, confusion briefly flickering in his eyes before they glazed over with a feverish glint. "We are on Equestria, Prime Architect," he replied, his voice unsteady.
They were actually on Equis, or that's what he called it at least for now, and the clone should have known that.
"And what is six multiplied by six?" Clark pressed, his tone unwavering.
The clone paused, his grin faltering for a moment before he answered with a cackle, "Thirty-six, of course, Father!"
Finally, Clark asked the question that would truly test the clone's mental acuity. "If you were stranded on a deserted island, what would you do?"
The clone cocked his head, his expression contorting into a twisted grin. "Why, I'd create life, of course! For what is knowledge if not to be used in the grandest of experiments?"
Clark's stone-like visage cracked slightly. He nodded, his lips a thin line as he began to concoct a challenge that would serve the dual purpose to test the clones mind and body, and to protect the fortress from him. "Very well," he said, his tone measured. "There is a rare alchemical reagent that I need you to collect the ingredients for, and make for me." He gestured for the madman to follow, his mind racing to think of something that would be both dangerous and improbable enough to test this clone's viability. "It is said to exist where the natural surroundings are most vital and the shadows deepest. Finding it will not only contribute to our collective knowledge but also serve as a testament to your devotion to the cause."
The clones smile faltered slightly, and he replied, "But that would take away from my work here, wouldn't it, Father?" The clone looked at him with a hopeful spark in his eyes, desperate to prove his worth.
"No, it will not," Clark assured him, his own smile never wavering. "Your fellow alchemists will continue your research with you. This task is of the utmost importance to our collective." He paused, allowing the weight of his words to sink in. "Your sacrifice for knowledge and our greater purpose will be remembered and honored."
As we approached the fortress gate, I watched the clone's expression shift from manic excitement to a frenzied determination. His eyes searched the horizon, already lost in the quest I had set for him. "I need primordial soup," I said, my voice carrying the weight of a divine command. "This reagent is crucial to my experiments. Only the purest specimens will suffice. You must brave the forests and swamps of the world to find the materials."
The clone nodded fervently, his hands fidgeting in anticipation. "For Science!" he exclaimed, his eyes lighting up with a fierce glow. The phrase echoed through the air, a testament to the collective's unyielding commitment to knowledge. "I will not return until I have it Father!"
Clark watched as the alchemist gathered his fellow team members, their eyes alight with the same madness. They were like moths to a flame, eager to embrace the dangerous quest laid before them. As they took to the forest, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness. These beings were his creation, extensions of his will and purpose, and what happened to them could just as well have happened to himself. Yet, they had succumbed to the chaos they sought to master.
Turning away from the departing team, he strode towards the crafting area. The crafters were a more stoic bunch, their focus unyielding as they toiled over molten sand and smoldering fires. The sight of their unyielding determination was a comforting reminder of order amidst the chaos. The clacking of stone meeting stone, the crackling of the flames, and the occasional yelling punctuated the air with the rhythm of creation.
Upon his arrival, the crafters paused, their faces a mirror of his own, each wearing his own expression of calm scrutiny. "Greetings, Prime Architect," they intoned in unison, their voices a chorus of obedience.
"Progress?" he inquired, his gaze sweeping over the half-finished weapons and tools that littered the workspace.
The clone looked to the side, where a row of black, half-melted, twisted shapes lay scattered. "We are refining the process of making glass," it replied, the barest hint of uncertainty in its tone.
"And the iron?" Clark asked again.
The clone with the hammer looked down at the floor, a rare sign of defeat. "We have had less success with the iron, Prime Architect," it admitted. "The sand refuses to cooperate, even under extreme temperatures, it may be weeks before we can refine the sand into the metal we need."
Clark's eyes narrowed. "Your efforts are appreciated, but not good enough." He turned to Clone 26, the Crafting Leader. "Double your efforts."
The Crafting Leader nodded, his gaze unflinching. "As you command, Father, but perhaps we might benefit from consulting the Alchemy Tea-"
Clark's hand shot up, cutting off the suggestion with a swift, decisive gesture. "Yes, the Alchemy Team," he said, his voice dripping with barely disguised frustration. "They're currently... on sabbatical. Let's just say their 'creative' process didn't quite align with our strict health and safety regulations." He couldn't help but grimace at the thought of the charred remains of the unfortunate soul who had stumbled out of the alchemy hut. "The fact is, we need glass, the clay introduces too many impurities into the mixtures, and it cause them to go mad from the fumes."
The crafters nodded solemnly, understanding the gravity of the situation. The Prime Architect's gaze softened slightly as he regarded them. "Your dedication is not unnoticed," he said, his voice a gentle caress. "But we must strive for perfection. Our very existence is dependent on the power of order and precision. Without that, we are no better than the savage monsters we seek to ascend above."
The lead craftsman, Clone 26, looked up, his eyes gleaming with understanding. "We will find a way," he assured, the hammer in his hand raising slightly as if to punctuate his words. "We will not fail you."
With a nod of approval, Clark moved on to the growers and collectors. The team, led by Clone 11, had been tasked with finding and cultivating edible plants in the harsh Everfree environment. As he approached, he noticed their hut was surrounded by a lush, thriving garden of transplanted flora, a nice contrast to the rest of the camp. The smell of mint and earth filled the air, a comforting balm to the chaos of the alchemy incident still smoldering in his mind.
"Greetings, Food Gathering Leader," Clark said, his tone warm. "What bounties has the Everfree granted us today?"
Clone 11 looked up from her work, his face a canvas of bruises and burns from various experimental encounters. "We've had... a few setbacks," he admitted, gesturing to the surrounding foliage. "But we've found some promising specimens."
Clark followed his gaze to a row of peculiar plants, each with a grisly backstory. The first was a bush with berries that looked like they'd been plucked from the depths of a dollmaker's nightmare—White Baneberries. "Ah, yes," he said with a twisted smile, "the 'Doll's Eyes'. Such a delightful name for a plant that induces respiratory failure."
The clone nodded solemnly. "Clone 22 ingested one by mistake," he said, "his pupils dilated, and he claimed to see his own death playing out before him, like a macabre puppet show. Quite a spectacle, really, until he, well... stopped breathing."
They moved on to the next specimen, a plant that looked suspiciously like wild celery gone to a funeral. "The Hemlock Water Dropwart," she introduced. "It's rather convincing, isn't it? Clone 23 took a bite, mistaking it for a snack. He spent hours on the floor, his body writhing like a marionette with its strings cut. The look of sheer terror on his face was something to behold before he finally... passed away."
Clark chuckled darkly. "And what of the Mythical Nightshade's Kiss?" He'd always had a soft spot for the whimsical, yet deadly, plants of legend.
The clone's expression grew more somber. "We encountered it by accident," she began, "while searching for a new water source. Clone 24 couldn't resist the allure of its blossoms. The hallucinations were quite... entertaining. He saw a world where trees sang opera and rivers ran with mint jelly. But he died from asphyxiation because he couldn't stop laughing."
They walked to the last plant, a crimson-sapped vine with a peculiar gleam. "As for the Bloodwart," she said, "it's a bit of an overachiever. Clone 25 died by accidently getting its sap onto his skin. His blood boiled through his skin and orifices faster than a kettle on a witch's stove."
Clark nodded, his eyes widening as he stepped away. "But you've found some edible plants, yes?"
Clone 11 perked up, leading him to a patch of ground where a few plants grew amidst the carnivorous ones. "These are Sunlight Orchids," he said, plucking a delicate, golden-hued petal. "Their essence provides warmth and vitality, especially in the Everfree's coldest nights."
"Ah," he mused, taking the petal and popping it into his mouth. The warmth spread through him like a gentle embrace, banishing the chill of the forest's perpetual twilight. "Moonberries," he said, spotting a cluster of blue berries glowing softly under a canopy of leaves.
"Yes," he confirmed, plucking one with care. "We've had great success with these. They only ripen under the full moon, but they boost our night vision and give us dreams of clarity."
"Fascinating," he murmured, watching him eat one.
They moved on to the dandelions, their yellow heads nodding in the breeze. "These are a staple," Clone 11 said, "the leaves, flowers, and roots all edible and quite nutritious."
He nodded, chewing thoughtfully on a leaf. It had a pleasant, bitter taste. "And these?" he asked, pointing to a clump of spiky leaves.
"Stinging nettles," he replied, his eyes twinkling. "A bit of a nuisance to harvest, but worth it for the soup they make. Just remember to wear gloves."
He stepped back, eyeing them warily. "I'll keep that in mind."
Finally, they approached a small bush laden with succulent-looking leaves. "Purslane," Clone 11 said, "a delightful addition to our salads. And over here, we have chickweed." He held up a sprig of star-shaped leaves. "Perfect for when we need a bit more flavor and nutrients."
Clark took a leaf and chewed it. The taste was surprisingly fresh and clean, a stark contrast to the heavy meals of the fortress. "Excellent," he said, nodding. "Your efforts are not in vain."
The Food Gathering Leader beamed with pride. "And we've even found some wild chives," he added, pointing to a small patch of greenery. "They're quite potent, but add a nice touch to our stews."
Leaving the garden behind, Clark returned to the scouting team's area, eager to check on the progress of the hunters. The scouting leader, Clone 1, greeted him with a crisp salute. "Master,"
Clark ask, “What new edibles have your team discovered?”
Clone 1 replied, "We've stumbled upon a veritable smorgasbord, sir. Berries of every color and flavor, some with a bit of a kick, like the Everfree's own brand of soda pop."
"Ah, and what about our furry friends?" Clark inquired, referring to the game that the hunters often brought back.
"Clone 5's got the hang of it," Clone 1 said, gesturing to the makeshift shelter where Clone 5 was busy at work. "He's been practicing his trapping skills with the local wildlife. Caught himself a fine young giant ground sloth just yesterday. It was quite the struggle, but he managed to subdue it with nothing but a rope and some cleverly placed spears."
Clark approached the shelter, intrigued. There, in the shade, sat Clone 5, a figure that looked more like a swamp creature than a member of the Collective. He was covered from head to toe in dark mud and a cloak made of moss and leaves, with branches sticking out at odd angles, as if they had grown from his very bones. His hands were stained with earth, and a poor Australian accent colored his speech. "G'day, Master," he drawled, a twinkle in his eye.
"Ah, the great outdoors," Clark said, surveying the scene. "How do you find the local cuisine?"
Clone 5 grinned, showing his teeth. "Bloody brilliant, if you can get the hang of it. The giant bugs, they're like nature's own little crunchy snacks. You've got to catch 'em when they're not expectin' it, though, or they'll give you a nip that'll make you wish you were a statue."
The clone held up a specimen, a bug the size of a dinner plate with iridescent wings. "This here's a Rainbow Beetle. Pretty, isn't it?" He paused for a moment, then added, "But it's got a sting that'll make you feel like you've been slapped by a unicorn with a vendetta."
Clone 1 nodded in agreement. "And the giant squirrels. They're not the small cuddly creatures you see in the pony lands. These ones five foot long, have teeth like swords and can climb faster than a cat in a room full of rocking chairs."
"But fear not," Clone 5 said, "we've got the hang of it."
"And what of the Everfree's more exotic fare?" Clark asked, raising an eyebrow at a creature that looked like a cross between a tarantula and a pinecone.
Clone 5's eyes lit up. "Ah, the Everfree Spider. They're clever buggers, spin webs like you wouldn't believe. But we've got a few tricks of our own. We've learned to mimic their mating call. They come to us now, thinking they're in for a romp, and we give 'em a surprise dinner instead. The webs are a right nuisance, but they make for a fine rope."
“But the rabbits," Clone 1 said with a shiver, "are the real nightmare fuel. They're not just fast, they're... eerie. The way they move, it's like they're not even bound by gravity. And their teeth," he shuddered, "sharp enough to cut through steel."
Clone 5 chimed in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "We've seen 'em take down a full-grown timberwolf, nothing left but a pile of splinters. We're working on a plan to thin their numbers. Maybe lure 'em into a trap with some of that mint the farming team's been growing. They can't resist the smell of it."
"Good thinking," Clark said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Kill as many of the rabbits as you can. They might be ancestors of that abomination of Fluttershy's, and we can't have that kind of genetic lineage running wild." The clones chuckled darkly, understanding the reference to the future pegasus who would one day share the forest with them. "Now, onto more pressing matters," he continued, "I need to know the status of the parchment supply."
Clone 5, his Australian accent thickening with excitement, spoke up. "Ah, the parchment, right you are, Master. It's been a bit of a pickle, but we've got it sorted. You see, we've been using the skins of some of the smaller creatures we've caught, stretching them out and drying them in the sun. It's a bit rough around the edges, but it does the trick for our scrolls and records."
"But," Clone 1 added, his tone serious, "we can't produce it fast enough to meet the demands of our ever-expanding knowledge base. And the inks, well, they're another story. We've got to keep experimenting with different berries and plants to get the right consistency and color."
"Very good," Clark said, nodding in approval. "Keep up the good work, and let me know if you see the alchemy team return if they ever do."
Clone 5 looked up from his work, his expression a mix of confusion and concern. "The alchemy team, you say?"
"Yes," Clark replied, his voice carrying a hint of impatience. "They've gone mad and I kicked them out, and have given them a task to complete to prove themselves.”
The two clones exchanged a look that spoke volumes of their skepticism regarding the alchemy team's return. "As you wish, Prime Architect," Clone 1 responded, his tone respectful but laced with doubt. "If they do stumble back through the forest, we'll be sure to send word."
Clark nodded, his mind already racing with new ideas. "Speaking of the Everfree's offerings, I've had a stroke of genius," he announced, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "I want live Everfree Spiders. We need to replace our clothes, and their webs will serve as the finest fabric for garments fit for a king and his loyal subjects."
The clones stared at him for a moment, then Clone 5 spoke up, his accent thick with incredulity. "You want us to wrangle live Everfree Spiders, boss?"
"Indeed," Clark said with a smile. "But not just for their webs. Their venoms properties might be useful."
Clone 1 nodded solemnly, already strategizing. "We'll start setting traps immediately, Prime."
The clones agreed and went on with their work, their determination unwavering. Clone 5 began detailing the intricacies of the traps they would need to construct, while Clone 2 sketched out a map of the forest, marking potential spider lairs. The air was filled with the rustling of parchment and the scratch of quills as they outlined their plan.
Meanwhile, Clark strolled along the fortress wall, and thought about his plan. He had given the clones their duties, but he knew that survival was just the beginning. His eyes scanned the horizon, contemplating the future.
"Survive," he murmured to himself, "thrive, ascend, manipulate, and ultimately, troll." His lips curled into a smile as he savored the words. The clones would earned their names through merit, and eventually it would be time for them to earn their place in the grand tapestry of Equestria.
The first step was to ensure the fortress remained self-sufficient. The clones had made significant strides in farming and hunting, but they needed more. They required materials that could only be found through alchemy and the study of the Everfree's mysteries. "The Philosopher's Stone," he whispered, "that will be our key to immortality."
The third step was to harness the power of alchemy to its fullest extent. He had seen glimpses of its potential, but they had only just begun to scratch the surface. "With the Philosopher's Stone, I will transcend the mortal coil," he thought, his eyes glinting with ambition.
The fourth step was more personal. He knew that to achieve true power, he had to become one with the forces he sought to manipulate. Magic was the next logical step, and he was eager to see how alchemy could bend it to his will. "I shall become a creature of legend," he murmured, his eyes glazing over with the thought of magical power.
As for the fifth step, profit was a concept that didn't hold much sway over him. But the idea of watching the faces of the princesses when they realized the depth of his power... that was a thought that brought him great pleasure.
The sixth step, however, was the pièce de résistance. "Troll the princesses," he said aloud, letting out a deep chuckle. The clones had been so focused on their tasks that they hadn't even considered the chaos they could unleash upon the unsuspecting ponies of Equestria. He couldn't wait to see the look on their faces when they realized they were mere pawns in his grand design.
He thought on one last thing, he needed to create his own mirror pool. If he could replicate the very essence of the Everfree's mirror pool, the source of his clones, he would hold the key to unlimited power.
The clones looked up from their work as he passed by, their eyes wide at the mention of such a monumental task that was bloody mad science.
"We shall require more subjects," Clark mused, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Our numbers have thinned due to various... incidents, and our progress slows without a steady flow of new minds to contribute to our collective knowledge."
“I need to do somthing mad, something brilliant," Clark exclaimed to the air, his eyes alight with an eerie glow. "I will create the Science Team!"
