Placeholder: A hydra, its seven heads, each one brimming with malevolence, writhe and strain against the chains that hold them captive. Six of the heads, chained tightly, restrict the hydra's movements. But the seventh head unchained looms above the others. A hydra, its seven heads, each one brimming with malevolence, writhe and strain against the chains that hold them captive. Six of the heads, chained tightly, restrict the hydra's movements. But the seventh head unchained looms above the others.

@generalpha

Prompt

A hydra, its seven heads, each one brimming with malevolence, writhe and strain against the chains that hold them captive. Six of the heads, chained tightly, restrict the hydra's movements. But the seventh head unchained looms above the others.

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

1 year ago

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Model

SSD-1B

Guidance Scale

7

Dimensions

832 × 1248

Similar

A hydra, its seven heads, each one brimming with malevolence, writhe and strain against the chains that hold them captive. Six of the heads, chained tightly, restrict the hydra's movements. But the seventh head unchained looms above the others.
Azazel's true face leers from the dark. No longer cloaked in shadow, but exposed— A being woven of pure malice and spite, With serpents coiled where hair should frame his face. Eyes black as endless voids reflect no soul, Only an endless hunger to defile, destroy. His claws are jagged shards of obsidian. The very air contorts around his form, Reality rejecting such wickedness—
What dark visions will they unleash? I hear panting in the shadows, a rumbling beneath the floor. Something is stirring in the netherworld, drawn by the call of pen against paper. A sudden gasp tears through the tense quiet. The monsters are coming, scrabbling against the veil that separates our worlds. I must capture their frenzied essence before they tear through, bring strange terrors spilling out into the night. My pen flies, guided by otherworldly hands. A tale is forming, one that will ke
What dark visions will they unleash? I hear panting in the shadows, a rumbling beneath the floor. Something is stirring in the netherworld, drawn by the call of pen against paper. A sudden gasp tears through the tense quiet. The monsters are coming, scrabbling against the veil that separates our worlds. I must capture their frenzied essence before they tear through, bring strange terrors spilling out into the night. My pen flies, guided by otherworldly hands. A tale is forming, one that will ke
A hydra, a monstrous beast of myth and legend, lurks within the castle's walls. Its seven heads, each one brimming with malevolence, writhe and strain against the chains that hold them captive. Six of the heads, chained tightly, restrict the hydra's movements, confining its destructive potential. But the seventh head, unchained and unrestrained, looms above the others, a constant reminder of the peril that awaits.
Infamous Azazel, demon of sacrifice, Bearer of man's sins into the wilderness - What secrets lie beneath your fearsome guise, Your twisted horns and talons sharp as knives? Perhaps you too were innocent once, cleansed By desert winds and baptismal rains. But corruption crept in, sin by sin, Until your heart as black as soot became.
What dark visions will they unleash? I hear panting in the shadows, a rumbling beneath the floor. Something is stirring in the netherworld, drawn by the call of pen against paper. A sudden gasp tears through the tense quiet. The monsters are coming, scrabbling against the veil that separates our worlds. I must capture their frenzied essence before they tear through, bring strange terrors spilling out into the night. My pen flies, guided by otherworldly hands. A tale is forming, one that will ke
Detailed (drawing by artist Otto Rapp 1.5) at the Cryptid Taxidermy Museum in post apocalyptic Wonderland, in heaven everything is fine by lady in the radiator and brothers quay, drawing by H.R. Giger, by Giuseppe Arcimboldo, Hieronymus Bosch, Alphonse Mucha, intricately detailed, hyperrealism, fantasy, Bogomils Universe
A hydra, a monstrous beast of myth and legend, lurks within the castle's walls. Its seven heads, each one brimming with malevolence, writhe and strain against the chains that hold them captive. Six of the heads, chained tightly, restrict the hydra's movements, confining its destructive potential. But the seventh head, unchained and unrestrained, looms above the others, a constant reminder of the peril that awaits.
Azazel's true face leers from the dark. No longer cloaked in shadow, but exposed— A being woven of pure malice and spite, With serpents coiled where hair should frame his face. Eyes black as endless voids reflect no soul, Only an endless hunger to defile, destroy. His claws are jagged shards of obsidian. The very air contorts around his form, Reality rejecting such wickedness—
Infamous Azazel, demon of sacrifice, Bearer of man's sins into the wilderness - What secrets lie beneath your fearsome guise, Your twisted horns and talons sharp as knives? Perhaps you too were innocent once, cleansed By desert winds and baptismal rains. But corruption crept in, sin by sin, Until your heart as black as soot became.
I liked the old Death better. He was all about fried pickles and tickle babe. This new Death... She's always sticking her scythe where it doesn't belong. There has to be another way. Well, there's not. Now, I know you don't like it, and I don't really care. 'Cause you just heard it from God Himself

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