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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 · ファンタジー
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215 Chs

When an Angel Contemplates Going Home

"I can feel it, deep in the marrow of my bones, that they're good cops. It's like a gut instinct, a harmonious melody that resonates with me," I say, pausing to inhale the room's charged atmosphere. The scent of underground and antique items permeates the air, infusing it with a subtle weightiness. "I pay my taxes directly to them, and in return, they watch my back. It's a reciprocal relationship, like an unspoken pact sealed in trust and mutual benefit. This is how police should function—maintaining transparent, open communication between upstanding citizens, working together with us for the collective good. Will you ensure that keeps happening between us and our good cops, Dea?" I ask.

"Yes, Master," Dea answers.

"Do you know of any bad apples, any rogue officers who might want to shut down our business?" My words hang in the air, as if they are particles of dust caught in a beam of light.

"Yes, Master. Her name is Mae," Dea replies.