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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 · Fantasie
Zu wenig Bewertungen
215 Chs

Everyone Makes a Mistake

The conundrum swells within me, a gastronomic orchestra playing conflicting tunes. My stomach feels like a dam nearing its limit at 90%, yet my tastebuds have barely sampled half of the culinary symphony spread before me. It's as though I've listened to a melody but not the chorus. What is a soul to do when the remaining 10% beckons, yet a buffet of unexplored dishes calls out like sirens?

 

Suddenly, my wristwatch vibrates with an incoming message. The name "Kelly" seamlessly floats onto my retinal display, all courtesy of Dea, my dedicated AI. Kelly's voice, as soothing as the rustle of wind through autumn leaves, whispers, "Where are you?"

 

"In the heart of your birthday extravaganza, I believe," I murmur back, my eyes drifting over a landscape of hors d'oeuvres, mains, and desserts.

 

"Send me your coordinates, handsome. I'll make my way to you," she replies, her words tinged with the intrigue that has always defined her.