null whipping violently in

Upper body shot of a dark, menacing figure, now a nun in the same mechanical, battle-worn outfit, in the heat of an intense, action-packed battle, captured with the gritty realism of an old analog camera. The nun’s intricately designed, battle-worn helmet reflects the eerie glow of her weapon—a massive, twisted sword. However, the blade now crackles with divine energy, gathering at its tip where a glowing orb of golden and white light pulses with immense holy power. The energy radiates along the length of the blade, casting a radiant, holy glow that illuminates the nun’s helmet and armor, creating stark contrasts between light and deep shadows.
In her other hand, the nun wields a terrifying yet sanctified shield, adorned with jagged, twisted patterns and a serene visage that emanates holiness, as if blessed by divine magic. The glow from the sword throws the intricate details of the shield into sharp relief, casting long shadows. The nun stands amidst a dark, angry, and dense sandstorm in a barren desert, with the storm whipping violently around her, obscuring the sky with swirling sand and creating a chaotic, foreboding atmosphere.

In a desolate graveyard, a Banshee floats above the ground, her long, flowing white hair whipping violently in the cold wind. Her face is pale, gaunt, and twisted in a scream of eternal agony, her mouth wide open as she unleashes a bloodcurdling wail. Her ghostly, translucent form flickers in and out of existence, as if she is barely clinging to this world. Around her, gravestones crack and shatter from the force of her voice, and the ground splits open, revealing skeletal hands clawing at the surface. The air is thick with a supernatural chill, and the sky above is darkened by swirling, unnatural clouds.

A grand, medieval battlefield stretches far into the distance, its golden fields trampled under the weight of clashing armies. In the foreground, a tattered coat of arms hangs from a shattered spear planted into the ground, its once-proud emblem now stained with dust and blood. Behind it, warriors in mismatched armor charge forward, their own banners whipping violently in the wind. The sky above is a deep, bruised red, streaked with curling smoke from burning siege engines, while distant castle walls loom on the horizon.<lora:XRSTYLE_FLUX:0.5><lora:RetroAnimeFluxV1:0.4><lora:MoriiMee_Gothic_Niji_Style_FLUX:0.3>

A towering dark entity stands in a stormy wasteland, holding a glowing neon-pink smiley mask, cracked porcelain, jagged teeth, in front of its shadowed face, obscure his face. One massive, feathered wing, jagged obsidian feathers, broken in places, stretches upward, while tattered gray cloaks whip violently in gale-force winds. Dramatic low-angle perspective, backlit by lightning in a bruised purple sky. Hyper-detailed, cinematic style horror, with heavy shadows and radioactive neon accents, <lora:FantasyWizardWitchesFluxV2-000001:0.8>, <lora:FluxMythR3alisticF:0.4>, <lora:CinematicStyleFlux_v1:0.6>, <lora:RetroAnimeFluxV1:0.4>

$smooth and sharp, confined lines, A twilight battlefield, where an armored sorceress stands alone on a hill of fallen warriors, gripping a radiant silver staff. Her flowing midnight-blue cloak flutters wildly as a massive ethereal dragon coils behind her, its translucent body glowing with an eerie cyan luminescence, in stark contrast to the dark, storm-laden sky. Burning cinders rain from above, flickering between the chilling blue of the dragon’s form and the smoldering red of the battlefield below, creating a surreal clash of light and shadow. The winds whip violently, dust and embers spiraling around her as the ground itself fractures under unseen forces. The composition pulls the eye toward the intense confrontation of warm and cold colors, framing the lone sorceress between destruction and spectral energy.$

Cinematic close-up of a rogue in tattered leather armor, his head replaced by roaring, wind-torn flames. He stands amidst a thundering herd of wild horses, their powerful forms blurring into motion, kicking up dust and shadows. The air is thick with chaos, the storm of hooves drowning out all but the flickering roar of his enchanted fire. His shredded cloak and leather straps whip violently in the turbulence, his flame bending and writhing with the stampede’s force. Only sparse beams of golden light pierce through the swirling mass of beasts, illuminating the rogue’s charred pauldrons and the translucent, supernatural glow radiating from his fire-wrought crown. The scene is drenched in deep, cinematic tones—muted browns, scorched blacks, and ember-lit oranges, giving the image a dramatic, moody intensity. Cinematic composition, hyper-detailed textures, Leica Q2 with Summilux 35mm f/1.2 ASPH, ultra high resolution, 8K, RAW photo, dramatic angle, rich texture details, epic lighting.

"Perched on the edge of a jagged cliff, a powerful witch stands with her arms raised to the sky, her tattered robes whipping violently in the fierce winds. The storm clouds overhead churn and swirl as she commands the elements, her eyes glowing with arcane energy. Dark lightning crackles around her fingertips, illuminating the intricate tattoos on her arms, glowing with an eerie blue light. The ocean below roars, crashing violently against the rocks, while the air hums with raw power. Her face is set with fierce determination as she summons the storm to exact vengeance on those who wronged her. Behind her, her familiar, a shadowy raven with glowing red eyes, circles overhead, cawing ominously. The storm is her weapon, and tonight it will answer her call."

A lone male knight stands atop a towering, jagged rock, a figure of unyielding resolve against a backdrop of stormy chaos. The heavens above churn with dark, thunderous clouds, streaks of lightning illuminating the battlefield below in fleeting flashes. The wind howls, carrying with it the distant clamor of warâshouts, the clash of steel, and the ominous rumble. Yet, amidst this tempest, the knight is an immovable sentinel, radiating both strength and defiance.
Clad in massive, radiant iron armor, every plate polished to a mirror-like gleam, the knight's form is both imposing and majestic. The armor bears intricate engravings of ancient symbols and battle-worn scratches that tell the story of countless victories. The sheer weight of the armor is evident, but it does nothing to hinder his commanding presence. Over his shoulders flows a crimson cape, torn and frayed by countless battles, whipping violently in the wind as if it shares his indomitable spirit.
His helmet, fully enclosing his face, is a masterpiece of craftsmanship. The visor, fashioned like a frowning visage, conceals his identity, adding an aura of mystery and menace. Atop the helmet rises a magnificent crest of red feathers, vibrant and defiant even in the storm's gloom. The plume sways with the gusts, a beacon of his unyielding spirit.
In his hand, he holds a massive broadsword, the blade forged to perfection. The metal gleams coldly in the dim light, reflecting both the storm above and the chaos below. The sword's edge is deadly sharp, and it's hilt intricately adorned with crimson inlays and symbols of protection and power. The knight holds it effortlessly, as though they are extensions of his will, the weight a testament to his unparalleled strength and skill.
The rock beneath him rises above the battlefield like a natural fortress, jagged and unyielding, much like the knight himself. Around him, the landscape is a grim tableau of destructionâscattered weapons, broken siege engines, and fallen warriors litter the ground, muted in the moody, stormy light. The earth is scorched and torn, as if the land itself has been ravaged by the ferocity of battle.
The knight's stance is one of readiness and determination, his swords raised slightly as if anticipating the next wave of foes. His figure dominates the scene, the interplay of light and shadow accentuating every curve of his armor and every sharp edge of his weapons. Behind him, the storm grows fiercer, bolts of lightning framing his silhouette in fleeting moments of brilliance. The air around him hums with the tension of an impending clash, as though the very world is holding its breath.
The overall composition is moody and powerful, drenched in shades of grey, silver, and crimson. The stormy sky and ravaged battlefield create a stark contrast to the knight's gleaming armor and vibrant plume, drawing all focus to him. He is the epitome of a battle-hardened warrior, standing alone but ready to face whatever challenges lie ahead, a symbol of unshakable courage in a world engulfed by chaos.
DB4RZ, g0thicPXL, mythp0rt
<lora:FLUX-daubrez-DB4RZ-v2:0.8>, <lora:gopFLUX:0.15>, <lora:artisketchyfs-v02:0.2>, <lora:FluxMythP0rtr4itStyle:0.15>

$A washed-out, overexposed vision—80s city ninja, a lone warrior standing atop the neon-drenched skyline, his form flickering between reality and illusion. The black-and-red palette bleeds into the frame like corrupted filmstock, his silhouette dissolving at the edges, as if the world itself struggles to render him. A headband whips violently in the wind, its motion smearing into glitching afterimages, red streaks tearing through the dark like spectral echoes of past battles. His stance is effortless, poised, yet his presence distorts the very air around him. But the true rupture in reality is the sword. An abomination of scale and presence, the blade is comically vast—so impossibly large that it fractures the skyline, its sheer existence an error in the world’s logic. It flickers between solid steel and digital collapse, its edges unraveling into cascading error codes, fractured light shards, and violent chromatic distortions. The surface doesn’t reflect the city but something else—warped memories, burning red data ghosts, lost battlefields frozen in fragmented time. The sheer weight of it bends space, a gravitational wound bleeding static and visual artifacts. giant sword$

A breathtaking and intensely dramatic scene of Melissa O'Neil standing on the edge of a windswept cliff, her figure a striking silhouette against the stormy, chaotic sky. She wears a flowing red dress that clings to her form and whips violently in the fierce, unrelenting wind. Her arms are outstretched, holding a bouquet of roses, their petals being torn away one by one and scattered into the air. The crimson petals swirl around her, filling the sky like a storm of delicate, fleeting beauty, contrasting with the dark, brooding clouds above.

The sea below rages with towering waves, their frothy crests crashing against the jagged rocks. In the distance, a solitary lighthouse stands defiant, its beam cutting through the darkness and casting fleeting glimpses of light on Melissa’s figure. The wind is so powerful it seems to pull at her very essence, yet she stands firm, her expression a mix of sorrow, defiance, and quiet strength.

The atmosphere is electric, charged with raw emotion and the untamed power of nature. The art style is hyper-detailed, capturing the texture of her dress, the fragility of the rose petals, and the dynamic movement of the wind and waves. The lighting is dramatic, with the lighthouse beam and the faint glow of the stormy sky highlighting Melissa’s figure and the swirling petals.

This artwork tells a story of resilience, loss, and the fleeting nature of beauty. It captures a moment of profound emotion, where the wind and the roses become symbols of both chaos and grace, and Melissa stands as a beacon of strength amidst the storm

FLUX

Dev - flux_dev.safetensors