Placeholder: [high res photo by Ray Harryhausen] The thing moves again, emerging fully from the shadows. It is a wight—a walking corpse of immense size, its body wrapped in the tattered remains of priestly robes, gray with age and decay. The cloth flutters as it moves, revealing glimpses of bone beneath. Its head is a featureless skull with glowing blue light where the eyes should be, casting a faint azure radiance over the snow. As it drags itself forward, its joints grind audibly, the sound like stone grin [high res photo by Ray Harryhausen] The thing moves again, emerging fully from the shadows. It is a wight—a walking corpse of immense size, its body wrapped in the tattered remains of priestly robes, gray with age and decay. The cloth flutters as it moves, revealing glimpses of bone beneath. Its head is a featureless skull with glowing blue light where the eyes should be, casting a faint azure radiance over the snow. As it drags itself forward, its joints grind audibly, the sound like stone grin

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@generalpha

Prompt

[high res photo by Ray Harryhausen] The thing moves again, emerging fully from the shadows. It is a wight—a walking corpse of immense size, its body wrapped in the tattered remains of priestly robes, gray with age and decay. The cloth flutters as it moves, revealing glimpses of bone beneath. Its head is a featureless skull with glowing blue light where the eyes should be, casting a faint azure radiance over the snow. As it drags itself forward, its joints grind audibly, the sound like stone grin

distorted image, malformed body, malformed fingers

6 days ago

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Model

SSD-1B

Guidance Scale

7

Dimensions

1024 × 1024

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[high res photo by Ray Harryhausen] The thing moves again, emerging fully from the shadows. It is a wight—a walking corpse of immense size, its body wrapped in the tattered remains of priestly robes, gray with age and decay. The cloth flutters as it moves, revealing glimpses of bone beneath. Its head is a featureless skull with glowing blue light where the eyes should be, casting a faint azure radiance over the snow. As it drags itself forward, its joints grind audibly, the sound like stone grin
The thing moves again, emerging fully from the shadows. It is a wight—a walking corpse of immense size, its body wrapped in the tattered remains of priestly robes, gray with age and decay. The cloth flutters as it moves, revealing glimpses of bone beneath. Its head is a featureless skull with glowing blue light where the eyes should be, casting a faint azure radiance over the snow. As it drags itself forward, its joints grind audibly, the sound like stone grinding on stone.
Skeletor by Philippe Druillet
[scene in a village by Bernie Wrightson] 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.
[high res photo by Ray Harryhausen] The thing moves again, emerging fully from the shadows. It is a wight—a walking corpse of immense size, its body wrapped in the tattered remains of priestly robes, gray with age and decay. The cloth flutters as it moves, revealing glimpses of bone beneath. Its head is a featureless skull with glowing blue light where the eyes should be, casting a faint azure radiance over the snow. As it drags itself forward, its joints grind audibly, the sound like stone grin
The thing moves again, emerging fully from the shadows. It is a wight—a walking corpse of immense size, its body wrapped in the tattered remains of priestly robes, gray with age and decay. The cloth flutters as it moves, revealing glimpses of bone beneath. Its head is a featureless skull with glowing blue light where the eyes should be, casting a faint azure radiance over the snow. As it drags itself forward, its joints grind audibly, the sound like stone grinding on stone.
feature two central characters: a skeletal, death-like figure wearing a dark, hooded cloak, armed with swords, and adorned with intricate mechanical designs, and a pale, ghostly woman with flowing hair, wearing a tattered garment, who appears frightened or desperate. Ensure both characters are prominent and interact within the composition, capturing the contrast between the menacing, skeletal figure and the ethereal, ghostly woman.
[scene in a village by Bernie Wrightson] 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.
The thing moves again, emerging fully from the shadows. It is a wight—a walking corpse of immense size, its body wrapped in the tattered remains of priestly robes, gray with age and decay. The cloth flutters as it moves, revealing glimpses of bone beneath. Its head is a featureless skull with glowing blue light where the eyes should be, casting a faint azure radiance over the snow. As it drags itself forward, its joints grind audibly, the sound like stone grinding on stone.
[art by Dorohedoro] Necromancy is the summoning of and speech with the dead, as is shown by its etymology; for it is derived from the Greek word Nekros, meaning a corpse, and Manteia, meaning divination. And they accomplish this by working some spell over the blood of a man or some animal, knowing that the devil delights in such sin, and loves blood and the pouring out of blood. Wherefore, when they think that they call the dead from hell to answer their questions, it is the devils in the likene
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
[The evil dead, in the jungle] Bone Helm charged his opponents with spinning blade and spinning flail at speeds too quick for the eye. His wicked tools traded hands with a grace and fluidity that left his foes entranced or confused. Did one prepare to parry the flail? Deflect the blade? Many were so mesmerized or frozen with fear.
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