Placeholder: 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 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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Prompt

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

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

2 months ago

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SSD-1B

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7

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1024 × 1024

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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.
In the midst of the battlefield, a medieval redhead maiden stands tall and fierce, her fiery locks flowing in the wind as she faces off against a horde of bluish orcs. Clad in a simple yet elegant white long shirt that billows around her, she grips a longsword with determination and courage.
"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.
The warrior entered the cavern in hopes of finding the Sword of the Obsidian Flame. After defeating countless lava elementals, he finally finds one in the remains of a fallen foe.
Deep within the forsaken crypts, The Demon’s Warden stands as the final barrier between darkness and ruin. Clad in unholy armor, her crimson cloak billows through the dank corridors, her twin blades gleaming with the light of long-forgotten power. Before her, a swarm of feral demons snarls and claws, but they dare not advance. Her helm, adorned with the curved horns of a conquered beast, hides the scars of a thousand battles. She is the keeper of this ancient prison, cursed to guard its depths f
Seeing no weakness, Azazel snarls in rage— "Fool! Know you not the powers you trifle with?" And with that, in smoke and flame, he departs. Dahlia watches, waiting for their next bout— An endless clash of dark and light continues, And she, a stalwart guardian, abides.
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
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.
Brenda's chest heaves with exertion, her breath ragged from the intensity of the fight. Her blade, stained with the blood of her fallen adversary, trembles slightly in her grip as she surveys the aftermath of the confrontation. The cheers of onlookers and the whispers of the wind intermingle, creating a symphony of triumph and loss. Bone Helm, a warrior of unmatched skill and indomitable will, now lies defeated by Brenda's hand. The once-feared champion now reduced to a mere memory, a testament
Out of the shadows emerged a group of machines, their metallic frames glinting ominously in the dim light. Their red eyes pierced through the darkness, scanning their surroundings with ruthless precision. Maria Magdalena stood her ground, her eyes locked with those of the machines, unyielding in her resolve. The storm raged outside, mirroring the turmoil within. Lightning illuminated the once bustling streets, briefly revealing the extent of destruction that had befallen this forgotten town. But
bloody Templar of the Oath of Silence on the battlefield with her mace and palmtree crab armour
[art by August Malmström] in the heart of the village, shield in hand and sword at the ready, Astrid stood tall. Her hair, the color of flames, whipped around her face in the icy wind, adding to her fierce appearance. The sound of war cries and clashing of weapons filled the air as the enemy approached. Astrid's eyes blazed with determination as she prepared to defend her people.She was not just a shieldmaiden; she was the shieldmaiden. Known throughout the land for her unmatched skill in battle
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