pulsing in time with her fragmented FLUX flux-1.1-pro prompts

6 months ago

In the heart of a dystopian cyberpunk city, a blonde woman dances alone in a rain-soaked alley lit by flickering neon. Her face is smeared with makeup, and her techwear bodysuit is torn in places, revealing glowing circuit tattoos beneath. She’s barefoot on wet concrete, surrounded by trash, steam vents, and holographic graffiti glitching on the walls. Her dance is wild and unpredictable—glitchy, erratic, full of manic energy and sudden, graceful turns. Her limbs move like they’re controlled by static or electricity, sometimes fluid, sometimes jagged, as if her nervous system is syncing to some private, digital beat. There’s no one watching. No music but what plays in her head. Behind her, buzzing ads flash in every language. Drone lights flicker overhead. The city breathes around her, uncaring. The atmosphere is electric, raw, and intimate. The camera is handheld, spinning around her, zooming in and out erratically, pulsing in time with her fragmented, beautiful madness. A dance of chaos, freedom, and digital solitude.

4 months ago

The Landscape of the Ebon Pyre The Ebon Pyre itself is not a simple ruin—it is a living inferno, a realm where embers never fully extinguish and the ashes of failed ascensions linger in the air like spectral echoes. Time seems warped here, with fragments of the past replaying in flickering firelight, revealing glimpses of immortals who were consumed by the process. Sky: A void-choked expanse, with distant bursts of ember storms, cascading like dying stars. Ground: Cracked obsidian veins pulse with heatless flame, remnants of attempts to bind souls to transcendence. Structures: Jagged spires of blackened stone, some half-melted, others contorted into unnatural shapes as if resisting their own history. The Forge Entrance: A colossal iron gateway, its surface scarred with failed inscriptions—runes that never achieved their purpose.