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Prompt by janaberserkovic

Abyssal Presence prompts

very few results

8 months ago

Summon a hauntingly cinematic vision of Baba Yaga, the ancient witch of the dark forests, feared and revered across the ages. The scene unfolds deep within a mist-covered, cursed woodland, where twisted, skeletal trees loom overhead, their branches forming eerie claw-like shapes. A flickering, spectral light moves through the fog, revealing a crumbling wooden hut standing on massive, grotesque bird-like legs, shifting and creaking as if alive. 🔹 The Witch Appears. From the shadows, Baba Yaga emerges, cloaked in tattered robes infused with black magic, woven with the threads of time itself. Her face is gaunt, yet powerful, her glowing, hollowed eyes pierce the darkness, ancient knowledge burning within them. Long, wiry white hair floats around her like strands of spectral mist, and her gnarled hands, adorned with enchanted rings, clutch a twisted staff, pulsing with eerie, greenish energy. 🔹 The Atmosphere Darkens. The ground cracks beneath her bare feet, roots twisting unnaturally in her wake. A cauldron bubbles nearby, filled with a swirling, glowing elixir that emits a ghostly green vapor. Whispers of trapped souls echo through the trees, their faint outlines flickering in and out of existence. Ravens caw from the treetops, their eyes glowing like embers in the abyss. 🔹 A Sinister Presence. Her long, bony fingers trace symbols in the air, weaving spells that send tendrils of black smoke spiraling through the trees, coiling around unseen forces lurking in the shadows. The very air trembles as she mutters an incantation in an ancient, forgotten tongue, her voice both terrifying and mesmerizing. 🔹 The Final Omen. Suddenly, the forest is silent, an unnatural stillness taking hold. Baba Yaga turns her head slowly, her piercing gaze locking onto the viewer, as if sensing their presence. The wind howls, the mist swirls, and the hut shifts once more—a sign that she is always watching, always waiting. The screen fades to black, leaving only the inscription, written in glowing, cryptic runes: 🔥 Beware the Witch of the Woods. Beware… Baba Yaga. 🔥

AiFlux
1 120

8 months ago

A small submarine navigates the deepest, most isolated part of the Mariana Trench, where no natural light can reach. The scene is enveloped in an impenetrable void of absolute darkness, with no water surface, no reflections, and no ambient glow. The environment is entirely alien, and the submarine’s floodlights are the sole source of illumination, casting narrow beams through the black abyss. As the lights cut through the void, they briefly reveal the shadowy silhouette of a colossal sea monster (1.6), its massive form mostly hidden by the overwhelming darkness. Only fragmented details are visible: a faint, glowing eye (1.4), the outline of jagged fins, and armor-like scales. The rest of the creature disappears into the blackness, emphasizing its immense size and the unknowable danger it poses. The submarine appears fragile, its lights carving out small sanctuaries of visibility in the infinite abyss. Fine particles of sediment drift lazily through the beams, glowing faintly like suspended stardust, adding texture to the void. Small bioluminescent creatures flicker in electric blue, green, and violet, darting briefly through the lights before vanishing again into the darkness. The trench itself is a suffocating expanse of blackness, stretching endlessly in every direction. There is no surface, no water layers, and no ambient light—only the submarine and its lights exist in this oppressive, otherworldly environment. The composition is cinematic, with the submarine’s beams forming the focal point, casting sharp contrasts of light and shadow. The monster’s glowing eye and faint outline add a haunting, mysterious presence, highlighting the profound isolation and alien beauty of Earth’s deepest frontier

ElectricL
1 110

8 months ago

A lone figure sits bathed in the soft, flickering glow of a starship cabin, shoulders heavy with the weight of a lifetime that never was. The universe outside the viewport is an endless abyss, speckled with distant stars, yet in this moment, he is entirely alone. A single overhead light casts a gentle, golden illumination on his face, highlighting the silent tears tracing lines of grief down his cheeks. The shadows of the room stretch long and deep, enveloping everything except for the delicate artifact in his hands—a simple, well-worn flute, its polished surface catching the light with a quiet reverence. The illumination subtly shifts, as if responding to the weight of his sorrow—soft highlights glisten on his fingertips as they gently trace the contours of the instrument, a memory made tangible. A cool, blue glow from the ship’s control panels faintly reflects off the metal walls, emphasizing the vast sterility of his present against the warmth of the past. The flute’s presence, however, remains bathed in warm light, a contrast that suggests something more than an object—an anchor to a life erased by time. This is a moment where memory and reality blur into one, where light and shadow mirror the ache of remembering something beautiful yet irretrievably lost. The soft glow on his features is not just illumination—it is the warmth of love long gone, the fading embers of a world that exists only in his heart. The universe moves on, unaware—but for him, a melody remains, flickering like a candle in the dark, an echo of a life that will never fade.

Pulsar212121
1 68