Placeholder: 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 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

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Prompt

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

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

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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
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—
As he headed toward the noise, the shrieking grew louder until it escalated into an unearthly screech that made the hairs on his neck stand up. Breaking into a clearing, he froze at the sight before him. A bizarre creature resembling a misshapen humanoid was leaning over the water, its leathery limbs ending in claws that sliced through the air. When its face turned toward Alex, slitted yellow eyes met his with unbridled malice. It let out an earsplitting shriek and charged. Alex turned to run bu
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
In the heart of the buzzing hive, where the walls cracked and the sacred ways of life were defiled, there lurked the malevolent presence known as the Devil of Bees. This entity, born of shadows and whispers, wielded a power that struck fear into the hearts of all who dared to cross its path. The Devil of Bees was not a creature of flesh and blood, but a manifestation of primal terror, a force of nature that twisted the very fabric of reality.
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
In the heart of the buzzing hive, where the walls cracked and the sacred ways of life were defiled, there lurked the malevolent presence known as the Devil of Bees. This entity, with a dark, twisting beard that seemed to writhe with a life of its own, wielded a power that struck fear into the hearts of all who dared to cross its path. The Devil of Bees was not a creature of flesh and blood, but a manifestation of primal terror, a force of nature that twisted the very fabric of reality.
Moth man, real, 8k, night, red eyes
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.
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
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