Placeholder: heroic fantasy scene: he looks upon the fallen bodies of her foes, her gaze filled with a mix of sorrow and determination. The memories of her sisters, her mother, and Xho, the ones she could not protect, weigh heavily on her soul. Their faces flash before her eyes, their voices whispering in her ears, a constant reminder of the pain she carries. With her sword in hand and her heart set on her goal, Zhaania embraces the reality that her journey may lead her to the brink of her own mortality. The heroic fantasy scene: he looks upon the fallen bodies of her foes, her gaze filled with a mix of sorrow and determination. The memories of her sisters, her mother, and Xho, the ones she could not protect, weigh heavily on her soul. Their faces flash before her eyes, their voices whispering in her ears, a constant reminder of the pain she carries. With her sword in hand and her heart set on her goal, Zhaania embraces the reality that her journey may lead her to the brink of her own mortality. The

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Prompt

heroic fantasy scene: he looks upon the fallen bodies of her foes, her gaze filled with a mix of sorrow and determination. The memories of her sisters, her mother, and Xho, the ones she could not protect, weigh heavily on her soul. Their faces flash before her eyes, their voices whispering in her ears, a constant reminder of the pain she carries. With her sword in hand and her heart set on her goal, Zhaania embraces the reality that her journey may lead her to the brink of her own mortality. The

statue, doubles, twins, entangled fingers, Worst Quality, ugly, ugly face, watermarks, undetailed, unrealistic, double limbs, worst hands, worst body, Disfigured, double, twin, dialog, book, multiple fingers, deformed, deformity, ugliness, poorly drawn face, extra_limb, extra limbs, bad hands, wrong hands, poorly drawn hands, messy drawing, cropped head, bad anatomy, lowres, extra digit, fewer digit, worst quality, low quality, jpeg artifacts, watermark, missing fingers, cropped, poorly drawn

6 months ago

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Model

SSD-1B

Guidance Scale

7

Dimensions

896 × 1120

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heroic fantasy scene: he looks upon the fallen bodies of her foes, her gaze filled with a mix of sorrow and determination. The memories of her sisters, her mother, and Xho, the ones she could not protect, weigh heavily on her soul. Their faces flash before her eyes, their voices whispering in her ears, a constant reminder of the pain she carries. With her sword in hand and her heart set on her goal, Zhaania embraces the reality that her journey may lead her to the brink of her own mortality. The
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.
heroic fantasy scene: Zhaania, the fierce and resilient sister warrior, stands before Norgal, the renowned head chopper. The air crackles with tension as their eyes lock, each assessing the other's strength and resolve. Norgal's voice booms with a mix of admiration and curiosity. "Zhaania! So it is glory and an honorable death you seek! Why so coy? All warriors long for such things." Zhaania's gaz
[art by Alphonse Mucha] powerful girl attacking a monster in a dark terrifying horror movie, Lovecraftian cinematic lighting, horror movie scene, cinematic, 16k.
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
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I am the slayer of evil and the bane of the burning hells. I went back to the darkest depths of Hell, where Lilith, the daughter of hatred, awaits me. I will not falter, I will not fear. I am the Nephalem and because of our lineage, they loved us. And because of our difference, they feared us. Our existence would forever alter the balance of power in the Great Conflict.
[photography by Titian, Rembrandt van Rijn, by Jeremy Mann, Luis Royo,] As the storm unleashed its full fury upon the town, rain poured down in torrents, washing away the grime and decay that had settled upon the machines. Maria Magdalena extended a hand, her touch infused with warmth and understanding. One by one, the machines lowered their weapons, their metallic armor clanging against the ground.In that moment, amidst the chaos and destruction, a fragile bond formed between Maria Magdalena an
[art by Zdzisław Beksiński] In the midst of a raging war, amidst the clash of swords and the cries of the fallen, a figure stood tall. A woman unlike any other, her muscles rippled beneath her armor, a testament to her strength and resilience. She was a Roman Centurion, a warrior of unmatched skill, commanding respect from both friend and foe alike.
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
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.
Elves were once a high-status race. But they kept their distance, rarely mingling with other races, and for that reason they were viewed as condescending of the beastlike creatures and the human folk alike. Perhaps that was their ultimate downfall, or maybe it was their perceived threat. The true reason was lost to history, and what remained was but a shadow of what they once were.
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