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Prompt

God/Deicide

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 years ago

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Model

SSD-1B

Guidance Scale

7

Dimensions

832 × 1248

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. His muscular form is defined by years of battle, and his chiseled features bear the scars of countless encounters. In his hands, Conan wields a warhammer, its weight seemingly insignificant within his mighty grasp. The weapon gleams in the sunlight, a testament to the countless foes it has crushed under its devastating blows. With every sinewy muscle flexed, Conan exudes an aura of raw power and indomitable strength.
[illustration by Kevin Eastman and Peter Laird] The vampire lord's eyes flash with anger at your words, a low growl rumbling in his throat. He lunges forward, his movements blindingly fast, but you're ready. Your broadsword flashes out, the blessed blade leaving a trail of holy light in its wake.
(art by Robert E. Howard) Khosatral Khel, the ancient from the Abyss, the god of Dagonia. It was dim and misty in the chamber, a head and a pair of gigantic shoulders grow out of the twilight gloom. He is clad in sandals, a skirt and a broad shagreen girdle. His square-cut mane is confined by a circlet of gold. With monstrous shoulders, the breadth of the swelling breast, the bands and ridges and clusters of muscles on torso and limbs. The face was without weakness and without mercy. The eyes we
[Frazetta tribute sketch by Marco Turini] God/Deicide
God/Deicide [Art by Kelley Jones] God/Deicide God/Deicide God/Deicide
God/Deicide [Art by Kelley Jones] God/Deicide God/Deicide God/Deicide
[Frazetta tribute sketch by Marco Turini] God/Deicide
n his hands, Conan wields a warhammer, its weight seemingly insignificant within his mighty grasp. The weapon gleams in the sunlight, a testament to the countless foes it has crushed under its devastating blows. With every sinewy muscle flexed, Conan exudes an aura of raw power and indomitable strength. His gaze never wavers, locked onto some unseen target in the distance. It is the gaze of a warrior, honed by years of hardship and survival. In that moment, Conan appears as an unstoppable force,
. His muscular form is defined by years of battle, and his chiseled features bear the scars of countless encounters. In his hands, Conan wields a warhammer, its weight seemingly insignificant within his mighty grasp. The weapon gleams in the sunlight, a testament to the countless foes it has crushed under its devastating blows. With every sinewy muscle flexed, Conan exudes an aura of raw power and indomitable strength.
The Slavs knew well enough to fear him. A god of this primeval underworld, both venerated and cursed in turns. King of this pit where myths were born. But Alex had come to face no mere idol - Khors haunted her dreams, this blight that had driven her mother to the brink. Beyond the tomb's threshold, something was awakening. Slithering over stone like a loathsome serpent roused from slumber. Two baleful orbs blinked open, choking the passage in a miasma like the mouth of Hell. Alex clutched her bl
n his hands, Conan wields a warhammer, its weight seemingly insignificant within his mighty grasp. The weapon gleams in the sunlight, a testament to the countless foes it has crushed under its devastating blows. With every sinewy muscle flexed, Conan exudes an aura of raw power and indomitable strength. His gaze never wavers, locked onto some unseen target in the distance. It is the gaze of a warrior, honed by years of hardship and survival. In that moment, Conan appears as an unstoppable force,
In the desolate steppe, Conan stands tall, Fierce eyes blazing, his grip tight on a warhammer's thrall. His hair wild, the wind whipping through, A warrior's gaze, piercing and true. Muscles honed by battles fought, Scars etched on his face, lessons hard-wrought. Warhammer gleaming, a weapon of might, Conan embodies strength, a force to ignite. Defiance and resilience in his every stance, A symbol of justice, ready to advance. With untamed power and unwavering will, Conan's legend grows, his des

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