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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 · 奇幻
分數不夠
215 Chs

French Revolution

I fought for the French Revolution just like many of these people, breathing in the thick air of rebellion mixed with the musky scent of unwashed bodies and the faint aroma of freshly baked bread from a nearby bakery.

 

Sweat dripped down my brow as I saw young kids, mostly in their teens and twenties, their faces smeared with the dirt of battle. Their shirts clung to their backs, dampened by the fear and anticipation. The majority of the revolutionaries were young people because the older ones had lost their power to dream. Their calloused hands and weary feet, cracked from long marches, had been grounded to the earth, burdened by the weight of providing for their families. They couldn't risk their lives while their children's innocent eyes still looked up to them, relying on their protection and support.

 

The younger generation, however, their hearts racing with adrenaline, dares to dream more.