Good day to you. Please keep in mind that I am the worst author around here, incapable of producing anything worth reading. Be cautious about listening to my words or implementing any of my advice. With that out of the way, let's start:
https://www.scribblehub.com/read/1664442-echoes-of-transcendence/chapter/1664448/
In the year 2097, the world stood on the precipice of ruin, torn apart by the ravages of war and the insidious grip of oppression. As the flames of conflict engulfed the globe, society fractured into factions, each vying for control in a desperate bid for survival.
Amidst the chaos, technology became both a tool of liberation and a weapon of destruction. In the hands of the few, it wrought havoc upon the masses, fueling acts of terrorism and rebellion that shook the very foundations of civilization.
As bombs rained down upon cities and the air filled with the acrid scent of smoke and ash, the once-verdant earth withered beneath the relentless onslaught of pollution and neglect. The seasons themselves bent and twisted, collapsing into a harsh duality of eternal winter and scorching summer, leaving humanity to languish in the shadows of their own making. The streets, once bustling with life, became mausoleums of shattered dreams. Amidst the ruins, huddled figures whispered their fears into the void, their voices barely rising above the din of destruction.
In the dim light of a makeshift bomb shelter, a group of survivors gathered, their faces etched with the toll of endless nights spent under siege. An elderly woman with her hands trembling, broke the oppressive silence.
Be honest, did you use AI to write it? I've read
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/35150554-lucius and met less flowery language.
It is beautiful, but it reads as inhuman to me. The first three paragraphs especially come as something that is supposed to be a blurb for a Fallout-style novel. If it is you who wrote it, then congrats, you are awesome; you only need to channel your skills into something a regular reader might like.
In the dim light of a makeshift bomb shelter, a group of survivors gathered,
Inhuman. Try the same sentence, but in a different variation. " A group of survivors gathered in the dim light of a makeshfit shelter. " Wait, why is there a light there?
"Every sunrise brings no promise but only the certainty of survival's cost." she murmured.
A mistake. It should be
"Every sunrise brings no promise but only the certainty of survival's
cost," she murmured.
Since it is a speaking action.
A young man with his eyes hollow from the horrors he'd witnessed, responded with a voice tinged with bitterness. "Survival? This is but a slow demise. The world outside is a proof to our folly, a garden of Eden turned to ash."
Nobody (out of not immortal, ordinary citizens) talks like that! What, are the only survivors of the post-apocalypse overdramatic artists? I mean, if so, I dig the idea; it could be fun comedy, but I doubt that this is what you were going with. Tempokai, rightfully, mocks my own dialogues in my stories, pointing out how bad they are. This piece of dialogue is somehow weirder.
Around them, the walls, inscribed with the names of the lost, stood as silent witnesses to their plight. The air was thick, with the scent of despair and the unspoken question of what future, if any, awaited them.
How could the walls be inscribed with the names if this is supposed to be a
Also, how do you even make a makeshift bomb shelter? It's either a bomb shelter or it isn't. Maybe you could say "ruined" or "dilapidated," but "makeshift" just doesn't fit here.
Beyond the confines of shattered cities, the wilderness bore its scars with a silent dignity. Forests, once teeming with life lay scorched, their blackened limbs reaching towards an indifferent sky. Rivers, the lifeblood of the earth, ran thick with the poison of industrial runoff, their waters a mirror to the desolation that had befallen the world.
In a clearing, a small group of environmentalists sat in defeated silence. Their tools and ideals rendered obsolete by the scale of devastation.
One of them, a seasoned researcher with years of battle scars in the fight for conservation spoke up, her voice barely above a whisper. "We dreamed of healing the earth, of reversing the tide of destruction. But how do you mend a world that people chose to tear it apart?"
It is the same chapter. I didn't skip anything. Where did the bomb shelter go? Why are we in another place? Or are these the same people? If you do a head-hopping, try to indicate it in any way.
Amidst this maelstrom of chaos and despair, two brothers found themselves cast adrift in a sea of uncertainty. Separated at birth by forces beyond their control, they were destined to walk divergent paths. Their fates intertwined by the cruel hand of destiny.
In distant lands, presidents and leaders grappled with the enormity of the crisis, their voices raised in debate and desperation as they sought a path forward. It was here, in the hallowed halls of power, that the brothers' paths would converge, and their reunion would be a harbinger of hope in a world consumed by despair.
The President of the European Alliance, a visionary leader determined to bridge the divides, worked tirelessly to rally the world under a banner of peace. His counterpart, the President of the Pacific Territories, saw opportunity in the turmoil, seeking to expand his domain under the guise of offering protection.
Now there are brothers and presidents. That's too much for a single chapter and too confusing for most readers. It's confusing for me, and I've read The Prince of Nothing!
Sorry for coming on harsh; the story is a bit too confusing for me. You need to rewrite and focus on a single plot, IMO.
