Placeholder: Under the blood red moon, they emerge— Azazel, Prince of Wrath, tall and proud, Flanked by his hounds, violent and grim. Born of flame, Azazel's skin smolders, Dark horns curl from his twisted brow, His wingspan blocks out the very stars. At his heels, the hellhounds follow, Coarse fur matted, teeth bared and snarling, Jaws that drip with sinners' blood. Under the blood red moon, they emerge— Azazel, Prince of Wrath, tall and proud, Flanked by his hounds, violent and grim. Born of flame, Azazel's skin smolders, Dark horns curl from his twisted brow, His wingspan blocks out the very stars. At his heels, the hellhounds follow, Coarse fur matted, teeth bared and snarling, Jaws that drip with sinners' blood.

@generalpha

Prompt

Under the blood red moon, they emerge— Azazel, Prince of Wrath, tall and proud, Flanked by his hounds, violent and grim. Born of flame, Azazel's skin smolders, Dark horns curl from his twisted brow, His wingspan blocks out the very stars. At his heels, the hellhounds follow, Coarse fur matted, teeth bared and snarling, Jaws that drip with sinners' blood.

large hands

11 months ago

Generate Similar

Explore Similar

Model

SDXL

Guidance Scale

7

Dimensions

832 × 1248

Similar

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.
Under the blood red moon, they emerge— Azazel, Prince of Wrath, tall and proud, Flanked by his hounds, violent and grim. Born of flame, Azazel's skin smolders, Dark horns curl from his twisted brow, His wingspan blocks out the very stars. At his heels, the hellhounds follow, Coarse fur matted, teeth bared and snarling, Jaws that drip with sinners' blood.
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.
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.
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.
Moth Man, a mysterious figure shrouded in darkness, emerges once more from the depths of the unknown. With a wingspan that stretches eight thousand feet, this enigmatic creature haunts the night with its piercing red eyes that seem to burn with foreboding. Mothman, they call it, the harbinger of impending tragedy. Whispers of its existence have resurfaced, spreading like wildfire through the depths of human consciousness. Is it merely a product of mass hysteria, a figment of the collective imagi
. 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.
. 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.
[warhammer] 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
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—
ConceptSheet [by Boris Vallejo]: woman wizard succubus and her dagger with AD&D statistics

© 2024 Stablecog, Inc.