null Static eye the ghost

    Static eye the ghost, drifting on mist lies the wake, slipping useless off the seas of Europa. Giant eye. Mist sea, blue smoke.
    In the abyssal depths where no light dares to reach, a monstrous yet mesmerizing anglerfish drifts through the inky blackness. Its translucent body pulses with vibrant 80s neon, a shifting kaleidoscope of electric blue, hot pink, and acid green. The bioluminescent lure crackles like a synthwave skyline, casting rhythmic glows across its jagged, crystalline skin. Razor-sharp teeth shimmer like neon-lit glass shards, while oversized, ghostly eyes reflect a cybernetic void—an ancient predator reimagined in luminous hues. The water hums with an artificial radiance, thick with swirling particles that flicker like static in an old VHS tape. Shadows stretch and warp into surreal, digital phantoms, moving in sync with the angler’s eerie glow. It is both terrifying and hypnotic, like a lost fragment of a neon-drenched nightmare from a forgotten future.
    A grungy, laid-back nun lounging effortlessly in a worn, overstuffed armchair, her presence oozing rebellious charm. Next to her stands an old, boxy television with flickering static and faintly playing a music video, casting a nostalgic glow. The scene is bathed in monochrome tones with faded pastel red highlights, embodying a raw, gritty aesthetic. Her messy black hair falls in crooked bangs over a face adorned with heavy neon yellow and black eyeshadow, a testament to her punk rock edge. She wears a distressed yet ornate grunge-inspired habit, a mix of torn fabrics, intricate lace, and punk embellishments like chains and spikes. A dieselpunk halo-like crown with jagged metal accents sits askew on her head. The background features a decayed, punk dystopian living space, where the peeling wallpaper and scattered relics of a bygone era meet cyberpunk vibes. Her pose is relaxed yet defiant, her glowing eye sockets catching the dim light of the room. A ghostly aura faintly shimmers around her, amplifying her enigmatic allure. This grunge-pop masterpiece evokes the mood of an alternative album cover from the '90s, blending rebellion, nostalgia, and haunting beauty into a visually arresting key visual.
    A realistic, intimate close-up of the last cyborg animals—a once-fluffy black cat and a once-soft, clumsy dog. Their synthetic fur is patchy, revealing aged mechanical joints, frayed wires, and corroded circuits beneath. The cat’s round, glassy eyes, flickering weakly, hold a trace of their former curiosity, while the dog’s dim, artificial pupils reflect quiet, fading warmth. Snow falls gently around them, melting against the exposed metal, sending tiny, flickering sparks into the cold air. Faint red light drifts like dying embers, catching in the cat’s fractured whiskers and the dog’s static-ridden ears, as if the world itself mourns their fading existence. The background, blurred and distant, suggests the remnants of a ruined, frozen forest—nature long abandoned, its beauty now a ghostly memory. Yet in this silent, desolate moment, there is something achingly beautiful—the way they lean into each other, instinctively seeking warmth they no longer feel, their broken bodies still yearning for connection. The last of their kind, staring forward into the endless snowfall, as if searching for something lost—a past they can never return to, or a future that will never come.
    bmstlyle Abstract, vaporwave, a (godlike being:1.8) composed entirely of neon lights and digital static, its form glitching in and out of reality, shifting between humanoid and alien, (liquid crystal skin:2.0) reflecting a kaleidoscope of impossible hues, (eyes that are black holes:2.1), (holographic veins:1.7) pulsating with digital data streams, (fingers trailing afterimages:1.9) that leave reality warped and twisted in their wake, floating in a (void of pure static:2.4), surrounded by ghostly echoes of forgotten memories, the air thick with the scent of burnt ozone and electricity, a walking (aneurysm of color:2.3) and form, terrifyingly beautiful, unreal, a (digital deity of the neon cosmos:2.5).
    A ghost in the machine, a soldier on the verge of detonation. His face glitches—fractured, repeating, lagging between agony and cold resolve. His eyes burn like ruptured floodlights, neon beams stabbing through the dark, his mouth a gaping wound of searing white. The light isn’t escaping—it’s devouring him from within, cracking through his corroded plating, tearing him apart pixel by pixel. His body flickers, warping between steel and static, neon scars pulsing like dying circuitry. The air vibrates with a distorted hum, reality bending as his form destabilizes. Glitching shadows stretch unnaturally, his figure collapsing, reforming, seconds from oblivion. Kneeling in the wreckage of his own existence, he prays to nothing. The war is over. He won’t be for much longer.
    A grungy, laid-back nun lounging effortlessly in a worn, overstuffed armchair, her presence oozing rebellious charm. Next to her stands an old, boxy television with flickering static and faintly playing a music video, casting a nostalgic glow. The scene is bathed in monochrome tones with faded pastel red highlights, embodying a raw, gritty aesthetic. Her messy black hair falls in crooked bangs over a face adorned with heavy neon yellow and black eyeshadow, a testament to her punk rock edge. She wears a distressed yet ornate grunge-inspired habit, a mix of torn fabrics, intricate lace, and punk embellishments like chains and spikes. A dieselpunk halo-like crown with jagged metal accents sits askew on her head. The background features a decayed, punk dystopian living space, where the peeling wallpaper and scattered relics of a bygone era meet cyberpunk vibes. Her pose is relaxed yet defiant, her glowing eye sockets catching the dim light of the room. A ghostly aura faintly shimmers around her, amplifying her enigmatic allure. This grunge-pop masterpiece evokes the mood of an alternative album cover from the '90s, blending rebellion, nostalgia, and haunting beauty into a visually arresting key visual.
    A ghost in the machine, a soldier on the verge of detonation. His face glitches—fractured, repeating, lagging between agony and cold resolve. His eyes burn like ruptured floodlights, neon beams stabbing through the dark, his mouth a gaping wound of searing white. The light isn’t escaping—it’s devouring him from within, cracking through his corroded plating, tearing him apart pixel by pixel. His body flickers, warping between steel and static, neon scars pulsing like dying circuitry. The air vibrates with a distorted hum, reality bending as his form destabilizes. Glitching shadows stretch unnaturally, his figure collapsing, reforming, seconds from oblivion. Kneeling in the wreckage of his own existence, he prays to nothing. The war is over. He won’t be for much longer.
    Beneath the neon glow of an otherworldly city skyline, a punkish, cobalt-blue-skinned warrior with a shock of electric pink hair stands atop a rusted metal platform, screaming into the chaotic night. His jagged, metallic armor gleams under the shifting lights of floating advertisements and pulsing holograms that flicker like digital ghosts around him. His mouth is wide open, revealing rows of sharp, gold-tipped teeth, his throat glowing with an internal, bioluminescent energy. His fists are clenched, one gripping the handle of a massive, spiked gauntlet that hums with raw power, while the other is raised toward the sky, as if challenging the universe itself. Behind him, the city stretches infinitely, a labyrinth of color and noise, filled with hover-bikes zipping between monolithic skyscrapers and neon-lit temples dedicated to long-forgotten gods. The air is thick with a mix of rain and static electricity, causing his vibrant mohawk to stand on end, crackling with excess energy. A billboard flickers overhead, briefly illuminating his scarred face, his burning orange eyes wild with unrestrained fury. His scream is one of defiance, echoing into the night like a battle cry that will never fade. , detailed background Fantastic lighting. Detailed shadows.intricate details, vivid colors, hyper-detailed, ultra-sharp, , <lora:Luminous_Shadowscape-000016:0.4><lora:black_fantasy_1.0:0.4><lora:Glitchcore_Flux:0.4><lora:- Flux1 - vanta_black_V2.0:0.4>
    A ghost in the machine, a soldier on the edge of detonation. His face glitches violently, fractured, flickering between agony and cold, mechanical resolve. His eyes burn like ruptured floodlights, neon beams ripping through the oppressive darkness, his mouth an open wound of blinding white. The light devours him from within, cracking through his corroded armor, tearing him apart, pixel by pixel. His body convulses, warping between twisted metal and frenzied static, neon scars pulsing like dying veins of circuitry. The air hums with a sickening distortion, reality warping, his form flickering and collapsing, barely holding on to existence. Glitching shadows stretch unnaturally, his body a broken frame of broken code, seconds from oblivion. Kneeling amidst the ruins of his own disintegrating self, he whispers to the void. The war has ended, but he remains, a dying echo of what once was.
    reedyart, A rough, chaotic sketch-style portrait, the figure’s face fragmented by jagged, unstable lines, as if struggling to hold its form. One eye stares out, wide and raw, filled with static-like distortions, while the other is lost in a smear of ink and unfinished strokes. Their expression is tense, a mixture of sorrow and defiance, barely held together through frantic crosshatching and abrupt ink bleeds. Their hair is drawn in uneven, broken strands, some dissolving into abstract scribbles, others sharply defined, giving an impression of movement or unraveling thought. The clothing is sketchy and unfinished, only partially detailed, with some areas left as ghostly outlines while others are overworked into a heavy mass of blackened ink. The background is an unstable void—rough, abstract smudges and ink splatters, like a memory collapsing in on itself. Small, distorted fragments of red cut through the monochrome—a jagged line across their cheek, a deep, uneven stain running down their collar, hints of something lost or breaking. The entire image carries the weight of distortion, an unfinished existence barely tethered to the page.
    A ghost in the machine, a soldier on the verge of detonation. His face glitches—fractured, repeating, lagging between agony and cold resolve. His eyes burn like ruptured floodlights, neon beams stabbing through the dark, his mouth a gaping wound of searing white. The light isn’t escaping—it’s devouring him from within, cracking through his corroded plating, tearing him apart pixel by pixel. His body flickers, warping between steel and static, neon scars pulsing like dying circuitry. The air vibrates with a distorted hum, reality bending as his form destabilizes. Glitching shadows stretch unnaturally, his figure collapsing, reforming, seconds from oblivion. Kneeling in the wreckage of his own existence, he prays to nothing. The war is over. He won’t be for much longer.

      FLUX

    • Dev - flux_dev.safetensors