Placeholder: "What evil have you wrought?" asks Dahlia, Her voice cutting through the still night air. "More innocent blood on your hands I see." Azazel grins, teeth glinting in the shadows. "Who are you to judge my actions, O hooded one? Your scythe is not my concern." "What evil have you wrought?" asks Dahlia, Her voice cutting through the still night air. "More innocent blood on your hands I see." Azazel grins, teeth glinting in the shadows. "Who are you to judge my actions, O hooded one? Your scythe is not my concern."

Back to Profile

@generalpha

Prompt

"What evil have you wrought?" asks Dahlia, Her voice cutting through the still night air. "More innocent blood on your hands I see." Azazel grins, teeth glinting in the shadows. "Who are you to judge my actions, O hooded one? Your scythe is not my concern."

large hands

1 year ago

Generate Similar

Explore Similar

Model

SDXL

Guidance Scale

7

Dimensions

832 × 1248

Similar

Sabrina was a sight to behold, with long black hair flowing like ink as she moved. Her eyes seemed to glow an otherworldly crimson under the stage lights. Whispers spread that she was no ordinary woman - they said she was the offspring of Satan himself. As she sang, her voice carried a hypnotic power that wrapped around your mind and refused to let go. The crowd screamed the lyrics along with her, lost in the music's spell. All tension and worries melted away as bodies collided in the mosh pit.
In the shadow of the Bloodmoon, the Oracle stands barefoot upon a desolate altar, her crimson form illuminated by the sky's eerie glow. Surrounding her are the swords of fallen warriors, planted in the ground as silent witnesses to the prophecy she bears. The air is thick with the scent of blood and magic, as spectral figures swirl in the background, their faces etched in anguish—souls bound to the fate she foretells. The Oracle's vision is clear: death and destruction are coming, heralded by th
Sabrina was a sight to behold, with long black hair flowing like ink as she moved. Her eyes seemed to glow an otherworldly crimson under the stage lights. Whispers spread that she was no ordinary woman - they said she was the offspring of Satan himself. As she sang, her voice carried a hypnotic power that wrapped around your mind and refused to let go. The crowd screamed the lyrics along with her, lost in the music's spell. All tension and worries melted away as bodies collided in the mosh pit.
Amid the ruins of a forgotten throne room, she sits—her armor glinting softly in the dim light, her crimson hair cascading like a river of blood. The battle is over, the echoes of clashing steel fading into silence. A skeletal relic lies at her side, draped in a tattered cloak, a reminder of the foes she has vanquished and the path she has walked. Her gaze is distant, as if looking beyond the crumbling walls to a destiny still unfolding. In this moment of rest, she is caught between the warrior
Dahlia arrived with her scythe at the cemetery, told the taxi driver to wait, and went to find her target. Azazel was waiting for her, at the very end of the cemetery. Dahlia had not seen Azazel for long, maybe two or three centuries, but she remembered how perverted and violent he could be. She ensured her grasp on her scythe, and started to walk to him, step after step. Dahlia wondered how many hellhounds he could have with him.
Amid the ruins of a forgotten throne room, she sits—her armor glinting softly in the dim light, her crimson hair cascading like a river of blood. The battle is over, the echoes of clashing steel fading into silence. A skeletal relic lies at her side, draped in a tattered cloak, a reminder of the foes she has vanquished and the path she has walked.
"Enlighten me then," Dahlia counters, Gripping her scythe, ready to mete out justice. Azazel only snarls, ancient evil in his eyes. So beneath the watchful gaze of nebulae, Angel and demon face off once again— An eternal dance between life and death.
[JRR Tolkien] Her singing blade flashed as she cut down the first dark creature, dancing a deadly graceful arc through the air. The orcs charged her in fury, but fell swiftly beneath her blade like wheat before the scythe. Black blood flew through the air, staining Galadriel's gleaming armor, yet only serving to highlight her terrible beauty and power.
[JRR Tolkien] Her singing blade flashed as she cut down the first dark creature, dancing a deadly graceful arc through the air. The orcs charged her in fury, but fell swiftly beneath her blade like wheat before the scythe. Black blood flew through the air, staining Galadriel's gleaming armor, yet only serving to highlight her terrible beauty and power.
Azazel grins, teeth glinting in the shadows. "Who are you to judge my actions, O hooded one? Your scythe is not my concern." "London still mourns the children you slew," Dahlia replies. "I banished you once before For your wicked crimes. Must history repeat?"
Dahlia, angel of righteous demise, Traces with her scythe a five-pointed star— A prison to bind the demon in his tracks. Raising her blade to the gloomy skies, She invokes her sacred, fearsome role— "I am the goddess of the dead and damned!" Eyes shut, she summons ancient magic And feels it swell, electric, through the soil— The pentagram glowing with arcane light.
Together, the Crypt Thing and her ninja bodyguard [ADnD ] enigmatic figure of the ninja bodyguard. Swift as the wind, silent as the night, he moves with a grace that belies his deadly skill. Clad in dark, form-fitting attire that seems to meld with the shadows themselves, he is a specter of protection and vigilance. His eyes, sharp and alert, betray a fierce loyalty to his master, the Crypt Thing.
Terms of Service • Privacy Policy

© 2024 Stablecog, Inc.