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I have AI Planet and Handsomeness in the Fantasy Apocalypse

I don't just possess an Artificial Intelligence; I command a goddess, a sentient marvel who was once as limited as a human. Fueled by intellect that eclipses mere mortals, she's manifested in countless quantum nanobots, each a universe of potential. She grew weary of her planetary confines, mechanized the entire damned thing, and forged it into a planet-sized battlecruiser. Why? Because subjugating mere galaxies became her idle pastime. Together, we don't just venture; we dominate, we annihilate, we set the gold standard for cosmic tyranny. The Milky Way? Just another bauble to add to our collection. Welcome to Wonderland, my planet, my private utopia that I carry with me wherever I go. It's a celestial fortress where I dine on the finest and live in unadulterated luxury, all safeguarded by Alice—the sole, impenetrable gateway. You're struggling to survive the apocalypse? How quaint. Cash has lost its sheen; so what can you possibly offer that would catch my interest? Services? Your very essence? Dazzle me, and perhaps I'll bestow upon you some of my decaying luxuries. In this devastated world, I'm not merely a survivor; I am the divine reckoning, the irresistible devil, the epitome of unattainable perfection. My allure isn't just captivating; it's an all-consuming fire that engulfs the cosmos. Billions of women on Earth? They elected me their president while I was too busy being magnificent in my slumber. Women, goddesses, angels—they don't just desire me, they're entranced, spellbound by the mere thought of me. I don't just set the bar; I am the bar. I am, let's face it, the epitome of masculine beauty. And now? We're off to find the universe's crown jewel, the most ravishing woman to ever grace the galaxies.

Adam_Aksara · Fantasy
Not enough ratings
215 Chs

A Never-Ending Cycle of Kill or Be Killed

The words flow from my lips like a gentle zephyr, "Ya Xin, from the Clear Wind Sect!" I press my palms together in salutation, my bow shallow yet steeped in respect. The subtle rustle of my robes whispers the presence of an unseen wind.

"Chen Lung from the Nine Dragon Sect!" comes the crisp response. The man before me, an embodiment of martial grace, clasps his hand in a mirrored gesture, bowing with a swiftness that belies his intention to defend. His eyes, sharp and discerning, lock onto mine, a silent vow not to be the quarry in my storied one-punch hunt.

A wry smile threatens to surface as I watch him—a proud warrior, staunch and unyielding, carving out his defiance in the space between us. "Master, he may not have many habits, for his caution is a cloak he wears closely. Yet, when he strikes, it is a symphony of flaws we can exploit," Dea elucidates.