Mark and his clone huddled together, the griffin circling above like a feathered harbinger of doom. Its amber eyes gleamed with predatory hunger, and the air vibrated with the ominous beat of its leathery wings.

"Great," Mark muttered, his voice laced with a healthy dose of sarcasm. "Just what I need, a pre-alpha griffin with a serious case of the Mondays." He glanced at his clone, who mirrored his grimace perfectly. "You know, CloneTrooper64 always felt like such a wasted username in Realm of Respawn. Why limit yourself to one glorious clone when you could have an entire army?"

A beat of silence followed, punctuated only by the griffin's angry screeches. Then, to Mark's utter astonishment, a blinding flash erupted from his body. It engulfed him and his clone, leaving behind a momentary afterimage. When the light faded, Mark blinked, jaw slack, as not one, but four additional Marks materialized around him.

Five Mark CloneTrooper64s stood amidst the rolling hills, all blinking in identical confusion. It was a sight to behold – a quintet of bewildered gamers clad in the same worn t-shirt and jeans, each one sporting a look that could only be described as "oh sh*t."

One of the clones scratched his head, muttering, "Did we just…multiply?"

Another chimed in, tripping over his own feet. "Woah, this is heady stuff, man. Like, really heady."

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The original Mark, still grappling with the surreal sight before him, finally found his voice. "Okay, clones," he began, trying to sound authoritative despite the absurdity of the situation. "Looks like I accidentally figured out how to make more of us. We seem to share memories and…" He threw a playful punch at one of the clones, who yelped in surprise. "…ow. Yeah, definitely sharing physical sensations too."

The clones, ever the comedians, started exploring their newfound unity. Two of them attempted a synchronized dance routine, which ended with one of them faceplanting into the grass. Another started shadowboxing, throwing wild punches at the confused griffin circling overhead.

Mark chuckled despite himself. It was like having his own personal squad of goofy gamer buddies, except with the added bonus of shared knowledge and, potentially, shared pain. A sudden chill ran down his spine as a chilling notification flashed across their shared vision:

**Warning:** Creating excessive clones may lead to system instability and unforeseen consequences. Use with caution.

The playful mood evaporated instantly. Unforeseen consequences? What did that even mean? Was there a limit to how many clones he could create? Was this ability a blessing or a curse?

Ignoring the nagging doubts gnawing at his mind, Mark knew it was time to deal with the griffin before it decided to make them all lunch. "Alright, clones," he said, his voice firm. "Let's show this oversized chicken who messed with the wrong gamers!"

A chorus of whoops and a few misplaced high-fives later, the five Marks charged towards the griffin, a chaotic yet determined army ready to test the limits of their newfound power. The battle was about to begin, and Mark, for better or worse, was leading the charge.