The Sacrifice of the Clones & the Fate of the Chronos Engine: PART VI

The room shook with the pounding of the Chronos Engine, resonating in Elara's bones and shaking her very center. The power churned, wild and unbridled, a maelstrom of time, light, and unleashed strength. And Elara, there, between the hands of her own duplicates—

Nutmeg and Whiskers, the clone's bodies scattered around the room, her heart beating in rhythm with the engine's, each stroke a stroke of destiny.

But something was brewing, a perilous awareness creeping into her mind: the clones were not merely copies of her's. They were her friends, as she had crafted them with the power of the Stardust Crystal. But at this moment, as their arms encircled hers, the distinction between friend and creation faded. And Elara was aware of all of it weighing on her—all those lives that she'd crafted, all those reflections of herself.

Her hands clinched tighter around Nutmeg and Whiskers, the presence of her duplicates—lakhs of them—all around her. It was not space enough now for only the original of Whiskers and Nutmeg any longer. No. It was an ocean of her clones, of themselves, duplicated a thousand times, all of them representations of the same wild strength that had been inherited by her from the Stardust Crystal.

Standing there, holding hands, the room whirled, the thousands of Nutmeg and Whiskers blending into a blurring whirl of movement, their eyes—her eyes—burning with the same fire. For an instant, Elara could barely distinguish. It was as if she stood at the eye of the storm—every use of her name, every pulse, vibrated in waves.

But the tempest did not subside. Her actual friends—the actual Nutmeg and Whiskers—were the core of all of this, the guardians of this boundless sea of clones. They were the ones she cherished, the ones with whom she had spent all this while. They were the ones who had been her thick and thin companions, and they were the ones to guide her out of this insanity.

"You’re the only ones," Elara whispered, her voice strained with the weight of what she was doing. "You’re the only ones who can help me make sense of this."

A voice, one of the numerous clones standing around her, was the first to speak. "Elara, we get it. The engine, the power—everything is more than we ever thought. But we have to concentrate. Time is broken and we can't get lost in this infinite ocean of ourselves.

The other clones, spoke in unison, their voices merging into a harmonious chorus. "We are all you, Elara. But it is us that remain grounded. We’re your foundation in this chaos. We’re your support, your friends."

Their voices were distinct, but the echoes of the clones surrounding her began to fray at the edges of Elara's resolve. The sight of so many of herself, reflected as her friends, was too much to bear. It was too much. But as long as the real Nutmeg and Whiskers were present with her, she could keep going.

Elara's mind was a maelstrom as she faced the next obstacle.

The puzzle, the one that would uncover everything, remained in front of her. Yet even with lakhs of her copies under her control, the actual solution was in the connection that she shared with the originals. She had to keep them close or lose herself.

"Concentrate," the voice whispered once more, yet louder again, as if the engine were a human speaking to her. The clones will be enough to keep you busy, Elara, but you must get through this. Your friends Whiskers and Nutmeg—are your heart. Rescue them and in them, you will rescue it all."

Elara sensed the tug of the engine, its dark and relentless appetite for more. The hours crawled by, the tempest howling elsewhere. As her duplicates—there were so many, as many as there were grains on a beach—clasped hands, the energy flowed outward, waves of light and shadow meeting in ripples that consumed the room. But the duplicates were draining their power too fast, their bodies flickering, vanishing, dissolving under the impossible pressure.

Nutmeg's own words, though, cut through the turmoil. "Elara, we can't stop now. The puzzle—it's so close to being solved, but it's more than the engine. We have to repair all of it, balance the flow of time."

Whiskers, ever the solid anchor, nodded. "Don't lose your path through all of this. We've always been here. And we will always be here. We're not of the chaos—we are the solution."

Elara's heart overflowed with love for them. They were her friends, the true Nutmeg and Whiskers—nothing on this earth could take their place in providing her with support. And so, with a last spurt, she rallied, releasing the all-consuming tangle of thoughts.

The clones—the lakhs of them—started to degenerate, their energy too strong to be held on to for very long. They died, one by one, their lives burning out like stars smitten with too much glory. But when they died, Elara's concentration became more intense. She heard the whispering voice again, louder now, more intense with purpose. The light in her eyes started to waver, then went out.

Her body writhed, the raw power of the Chronos Engine tearing her apart from the inside out. With a last, strangling gasp, she vanished in light, her body turning to energy in a flash. But the chain did not snap. Another clone, a few feet distant, advanced, their hand still grasped with the others.

They absorbed the strain, took the raw power and began to shake. Their own shape started to twist, the power warping them as it passed through them. Their own breath was stuck in their throat, but they clung on. And then, just as with the first, they broke apart in a flash of light, destroyed by the energy, their body unspooling into the air. The second clone followed the same fate. And the third. Both of them, images of Elara, grasped tight, holding onto the chain, absorbing the shattering force as it charged towards the middle where Elara waited. Their bodies shook and shattered under the burden, their forms dissolving apart like glass bursting with pressure. The price of their gift was evident—their own lives were being unraveled, each of them disintegrating into the light that was intended for Elara herself. And yet, they persisted.

Elara's chest heaved with effort, her breaths ragged. She could feel the power hammering into her, but she couldn't escape. Not yet. With every sacrifice of every clone, she felt herself ripped from her own identity. Why? Why were they doing this for me? She choked on her words, and a lump rose in her chest that could rip her in two.

She had to do something. She had to stop this before they all killed themselves. The chain of copies extended far and wide, beyond the walls of the tower. There were too many of them, all of them, each and every one of them a copy of herself—a shadow of her soul—and all of them dying to guard her, to rescue her from the wrath of the engine.

The final clone, the one in the corner most distant, was the last. The energy was nearly too much now, a wave that ripped through the line of clasped hands. The clones were blazing, their bodies holding together precariously as the raw power stormed through them. Each of their lives was being snuffed out, one by one, like a candle flickering in the storm.

Elara's eyes filled with tears as the last of the clones—the final reflection of herself—stepped forward, planting its feet into the heavy weight of the energy. Their hand was still connected with the others, but their body was shattering even before it retracted. As the clone gazed at her once more, there was an expression filled with comprehension, of resignation.

The riddle is solved. But there's still one task, Elara. The heart of the engine requires a sacrifice. And that will be yours.

The weight of the words landed on her chest, but before she could speak, something altered in the room. The puzzle—the one her friends had worked so hard at—had unlocked its final secret. The Chronos Engine growled louder, gears spinning at a more frantic pace, and a blast of light surrounded the room. Everything was changing, reforming.

And then the engine strained against unbearable pressure.

Elara collapsed, her body wracked by the same energy she'd released. The ground shook beneath her. And in that instant, as she landed on the ground, panting for breath, she realized one thing:

The universe had been changed. The timeline was no longer set. And her life—her line—was now the fulcrum to be reset. she began to feel like dying

Nutmeg and Whiskers—her actual friends—would be the ones to complete the puzzle. They were the ones to take up where she had left off. Because in the end, despite the fact that there had been millions of reflections of hers, there was only one truth that counted:

Her friends would always be the ones to rescue her. And maybe, just maybe, they would rescue the world too.