It takes a certain kind of person to look at a flock of perfectly productive Kuroiler hens and think, "You know what's missing? The terror of trying to keep a half-formed chick alive through a power grid that runs on a whim." We see you, Independent-Gate-541, and we respect the madness. You have a rooster with a bloodline worth preserving, a coop full of hens that treat broodiness like a forgotten dance craze, and an electrical system that seems to have been designed by a chicken itself, unpredictable, prone to sudden stops, and probably best handled from a distance.
This is the kind of problem that separates the farmers from the hobbyists. Anybody can buy an incubator from a catalog and plug it into a stable wall socket. But you're out there in the real world, where "constant temperature" is a polite suggestion and "2 hours on, 2 hours off" is considered a schedule. The traditional advice, "just get a broody hen", is useless when your hens treat sitting on eggs like it's a contagious disease. We have to say, we love the raw, fowl-tastic honesty of your predicament. You're not looking for a magic solution; you're looking for something that actually works when the lights go out.
So what do we tell you? First, forget the fancy electric incubator for now. A power cut that lasts longer than a bathroom break will turn your future flock into a science experiment gone wrong. Focus on thermal mass. We're talking about a DIY box insulated with Styrofoam, packed with water bottles or jugs that you heat up on a stove. During those two hours of power, you warm the water. When the lights go out, the water releases its heat slowly, keeping the eggs in a survivable range. It's not perfect, you'll have to check temperatures like a paranoid parent checking a fever, but it beats watching a digital incubator go dark. You can also look into clay pots heated by a candle or a kerosene lamp, set inside a larger insulated container. Old-school means "we didn't have grid power either," and those methods kept chicks alive long before anyone invented a thermostat.
As for the broody hen problem? Your Kuroilers are not going to suddenly develop maternal instincts because you bought them a nice pillow. But consider this: broodiness is partly behavioral, partly hormonal. Some keepers report success by leaving fake eggs in a dark, quiet nest for days, hoping to trigger the nesting urge. It's a long shot, but it's cheaper than importing a Silkie. And if that fails, ask around the village for a friend with a broody hen of a different breed, even a borrowed hen for a few weeks is a living, breathing incubator that doesn't care about power lines. Our honest take? Your situation is a perfect example of why chicken keeping is both infuriating and wonderful. You're not stuck; you're just being forced to be cleverer than a chicken. And that, frankly, is a low bar to clear. So go heat some water jugs, build a box, and start plotting your egg-speriment. The rooster's bloodline deserves a fighter.