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February 23, 2025
A.I. Generated
Aboard the Dragon Star, Xylo-Zen stood in the dim glow of the warp core, his jade-green muscles flexing as he spun his nunchaku with the precision of a warrior who had studied way too many old Earth kung fu flicks. His sleek black hair, cut in a strangely familiar 1970s Earth style, barely moved as he locked eyes with the invading space goons. "You have disturbed my meditation," he said, rolling his shoulders. The thugs—half-metal, half-stupid—charged, blasters raised. Big mistake. With a flick of his wrist, the nunchaku whistled through the air. CRACK! The first enemy took a solid hit to the face, his cybernetic visor shattering into a thousand tiny regrets. The second goon lunged. Xylo-Zen ducked, letting the fool stumble forward before delivering a spinning whack to the ribs. The guy crumpled like bad galactic fan fiction. The last thug hesitated. Xylo-Zen twirled his nunchaku one final time and smirked. "Blasters don’t hit back." One dramatic strike later, the fight was over. Xylo-Zen exhaled, resting the nunchaku on his shoulder. Somewhere in deep space, an ancient kung fu master surely nodded in approval. Then, with a smirk, he whispered, "Enter the spaceship…" and walked into the stars.
