Blackstone Code - Chapter 16:

When she was ten, she said, “When I grow up, I want to be the President!”“It's impossible, but you can be the President's wife,” he replied.He gazed at her tenderly. His youthful eyes filled with deep affection, as if he wanted to give her the whole world.When she was thirty-three, due to a leak of military secrets, she was imprisoned for treason, and she saw his signature on the death sentence document.She finally understood that the so-called undying love was fake, and that power and status were the true goals.Love is just like a ghost—more talked about than seen....Reborn and back to the age of twenty, she opened her eyes and shouted, “I must be the President!”“But, Madam... Your husband is already the President,” someone said.She was stunned for only a second, then viciously replied, “Then I'll take him down first, and I'll become the President!”A man gently pushed open the half-closed door, chuckling softly, “Did I hear wrong? Sweetie, you want to... take me down?”

Name: ParadoxSpecies: Snake, ?Description: A tiny snake with great potential.That was who I was. That was what I was. A tiny snake with great potential. The sole creation of the Great Core.It was just us, the Great Core and I, tucked away in our little corner of the World Dungeon. Together, we hid from the bad-things and the Coreless of the world outside - safe from the horrors that would consume us.Until, one day, the Coreless found us. Until they tried to steal away my creator. Until, with no other option, I swallowed the Great Core that had made me.Only after that did I become what I was always meant to be.At last, I became the Great Core's Paradox in more than name.[The Endless Cycle] began.Thus begins the story of a little snake zealot and his journey to greatness.

What happens when a genderless Artificial Intelligence who is proclaimed as one of the worst in mankind's history travels back in time from the unreachable future to the modern day and makes himself a true living body?

“Coming live to you, from Cerou Street, this is MBP News, and we have an unfolding situation to report. Late last night, at approximately 3:00 AM, an explosive-like sound reverberated through this area, disrupting the sleep of residents and instilling fear in their hearts,” the news anchor, a striking figure, delivered the report with poise, standing before the camera amidst a bustling scene.

In the background, the blaring horns of ambulances and police vehicles disturbed the serenity of the beautiful morning light. Two individuals wearing protective suits, presumably forensic experts, held a stretcher carrying a charred body.

The news anchor, who had been reporting earlier, placed a hand on her ear, fitted with an earpiece, and looked visibly surprised. Her voice filled with urgency as she continued, “We have just received an update from our headquarters regarding the sole fatality in this unexpected incident. The victim of this tragic event is none other than Norman, the famous gigolo of Night palace.”

“My colleague, who was set to cover an event today at Nightplace, obtained this information firsthand from Countess Maria, who held a special place for Norman in her heart. Our focus this morning is on this breaking news,” the female news reporter continued amidst the chaotic scene, while Norman's charred body lay alone in the ambulance.

Meanwhile, in a different world, a young boy lay fast asleep with his head on the table. The sun, seemingly displeased with the boy's carefree slumber, cast its rays directly onto his face. Annoyed by the intrusion, the boy shifted his head in another direction, unwilling to be roused from his deep sleep.

*ZZZr Zzrz Zzrzzr* However, an additional source disturbed his sleep, filling the room with a buzzing sound. The boy furrowed his brows in annoyance, his eyes still closed. He searched his surroundings and discovered a glass-like slab. With closed eyes, he slid his finger across it and placed it near his ear.

“Hello...” he mumbled in his drowsy voice, which carried a hint of depth.

“Hey, Pissed-up Prat, where are you?” a voice laced with disdain emanated from the slab.

The boy, referred to as the “Pissed-up Prat” by the irritating female voice, recognized it as a voice he heard frequently but couldn't recall its owner. With his eyes still closed, he inquired, “Who is this?”

“What do you mean, 'who is this'? Wake up, come home, or eat shit for breakfast if you prefer!” the voice behind the transparent slab retorted before falling silent.

The boy, still not fully awakened, gazed at the half-opened glass slab with a mixture of confusion and surprise. As his eyes darted around the room, he became increasingly shocked.

As he recollected the fragmented memories from the night before he lost consciousness, his gaze fell upon the entrance of the shop. Once old and damp, it now bore a different appearance. While not transformed into a luxurious space, it had undergone improvements compared to its previously dilapidated state.

The shop took on a rectangular shape, with one longer side adorned with wooden shelves intricately patterned. Rows of empty glass jars lined these shelves. On the opposite side, there was another wooden shelf, also displaying empty jars. Towards the beginning of the counter, where the boy had been sleeping, there stood a peculiar machine.

Confusion etched across his face, he murmured to himself, “Whose shop is this?”

In response to his question, a mechanical voice resonated in his mind.

[The Omnistore belongs to you, host.]

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