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Personal Stylist

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Alexia Cray was the mirror of mirrors—an high end personal stylist whose name was all over the world. Alongside her staff escpecially Elias, her studio was dreams of transforming women beauty ethernal. That is, until the massacre. In a single night, blood drenched the rose-tinted floors of Alexia Atelier, and everything went dark. But death wasn't the end. Alexia and Elias awaken inside the popular graphic novel—only it’s nothing like the fashion empire they ruled. The world is chaotic, violent, and ruled by narrative laws and is ruled by a Empire. Worse, Alexia is no longer the statuesque woman who commanded the fashion elite—she’s now more sharp-tongued, cold-eyed man, and Elias has been reduced to a frightened child with no memory of the bloodshed and cannot tell who the murderer was . Their only clue? A narrator’s voice whispering the rules: Play your part. Survive the story. Elias tells Alexia to go along the system of narration and the fate of this character disgusted by this Alexia plans to make her own path of living refusing to listen to fate. Her goal? Rebuild her career in this bizarre world, one wardrobe at a time, and stay far away from whatever story fate wants her to follow. But the fate finds her to complete this story and take the prize in wherever she goes.
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Dark Genesis: The Xenomorph Equation

Enzer's unexpected relocation landed him squarely in the chaotic landscape of American comics, and he wasn't alone. An Xenomorph creature, silent and ever-present, became his unlikely shadow. With a bold declaration that hinted at the scale of his ambition, Enzer announced, "Let's set a small initial goal: I intend to architect a universe teeming with Xenomorphs!" And so, across the infinite iterations of the Marvel multiverse, his plan began to unfold: The telltale screech of repulsor jets heralded Iron Man's descent, anti-Xenomorph armor blazing. "Enzer," he grit, plummeting towards the earth, "this ends now." In a somber echo from a reshaped future, Wolverine, his adamantium claws glinting, lamented, "Mutants were never meant to be part of your alien infestation." Conqueror Kang, a master of timelines, surveyed the silent proliferation of Xenomorph variants bearing his own face, a disquieting stillness settling over his features. The tremors of interdimensional breaches rippled into the DC multiverse, where: Superman, usually an unstoppable force, staggered back from a brutal assault by super-powered Xenomorphs. "Engage the kryptonite cannons!" he roared in desperation. Batman, a figure defined by his control, found himself grappling savagely with an Xenomorph, his grim question turning into a horrified realization. "Do you bleed? I guess not!” Light years away, Green Lantern, a beacon of cosmic order, was relentlessly pursued through the star systems by Xenomorphs wielding a grotesque assortment of Lantern Rings. "How in the hell are these things even capable of channeling the Corps' power?!" he bellowed in frustration. As Enzer orchestrated his alien army's relentless expansion across the myriad realities, daring to seize gods themselves as unwilling incubators, he finally paused, taking in the sheer scope of the unfolding pandemonium. A slow dawning of realization crossed his face. "Well," he murmured, a hint of understated alarm in his voice, "it appears things might have spiraled slightly out of control."
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