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Prompt by ElectricL

The vortex rises upward prompts

very few results

9 months ago

A colossal, ancient tower rises endlessly into the storm-wracked sky, its blackened stone walls jagged and monolithic, as if carved by forgotten gods. The tower stretches upward with impossible scale, piercing through the heavens themselves, its summit vanishing into churning, thunderous clouds. Around the tower’s foundation, the earth trembles and fractures—fiery veins of molten orange light seep through the cracks like wounds in the very fabric of the world, casting a sinister, flickering glow against the weathered stone. At the base of the tower lies the remnants of a once-mighty wall, a colossal gate now reduced to crumbling ruin. Though shattered and decayed, the gate still exudes power, its shattered arches adorned with intricate carvings of twisted demons and forgotten gods, their faces frozen in expressions of torment and rage. Jagged, black iron spikes jut from the stone, some broken, others slick with the glow of embers drifting through the thick, sulfurous air. The gate yawns open like a maw, and the darkness beyond seems to pulse and breathe—an ominous passage leading into the depths of hell itself. The landscape surrounding the tower is a barren, scorched wasteland. Twisted rock formations claw upward like skeletal fingers, shrouded in drifting mists that glow faintly with the light of unseen fires. Patches of smoke rise lazily from fissures in the earth, and small, flickering flames dance atop scattered braziers—unearthly fires that refuse to die. The wind howls through the desolation, carrying with it whispers and distant screams, as though the very land resents the presence of intruders. Above, the sky churns violently. Dark clouds swirl in a massive vortex centered around the tower, lit from within by bursts of electric blue and crimson lightning that tear through the heavens, illuminating the tower’s grotesque carvings and dark reliefs. Shadows dance and warp across its surface, giving the impression that the stone itself is alive, writhing with an ancient, malevolent energy. The atmosphere crackles with power, as if the boundary between worlds grows thin in this accursed place. In the distance, at the edge of the ruined path leading to the gate, a lone figure stands, cloaked in black and dwarfed by the tower’s immeasurable size. The figure’s silhouette is sharp against the fiery glow emanating from the cracked earth, their head tilted upward as they stare at the monstrous tower with a mixture of awe and dread. A faint wind pulls at their cloak, adding a sense of motion to the scene, as though the very world pushes them toward their inevitable fate. The color palette is dramatic and vivid: deep, shadowy blacks and cold grays dominate the stone, contrasted by fiery oranges and molten reds that pulse like a heartbeat through the earth. The sky above glows with dark blues and sickly purples, pierced by streaks of violent, crackling lightning. Reflective pools of molten light shimmer against the tower’s base, while faint embers drift through the air like dying stars, caught in the gravity of this immense, profane structure. Every detail—every crack, carving, and glowing fissure—breathes with life and dread, as though the tower itself is aware of those who dare gaze upon it.

8 months ago

(masterpiece:1.5), (cinematic lighting:1.4), (8k, fine art:1.4), (volumetric light:1.5), (dynamic shadows:1.4), (realistic skin texture:1.5), (ethereal atmosphere:1.5) A witch with jet-black hair stands at the center of a spiraling vortex of unholy fire, its colors glowing in deep purple and electric blue. The flames twist and intertwine like the patterns of a Twister ice cream, encircling her in dense, fiery coils. The unholy flames rise in spirals, forming a dynamic, three-dimensional inferno that dances chaotically yet remains contained within the vortex. She stands in the eye of the storm, untouched by the raging inferno, her bone wand held with an aura of commanding power. The wand glows faintly with otherworldly runes that match the fiery hues. Her eyes are closed, her expression serene and fearless, as though communing with a dark force that fuels the storm. The flames radiate intense light, casting sharp highlights and complex shadows across her pale skin, emphasizing every curve and detail with realistic subsurface scattering. Embers and sparks float in the air around her, creating a chaotic but mesmerizing interplay of motion and light. The background is consumed in darkness, emphasizing the vortex's glowing presence. The storm's flames illuminate the scorched ground beneath her, and the faint volumetric haze enhances the sense of depth and mystique. The vortex spirals upward into the void, its twisting, fiery tendrils suggesting a connection to a higher, malevolent realm. Her robes are tattered and flowing, whipping around her in the intense heat and wind generated by the flames, adding to the dynamic and apocalyptic feel of the scene. Her stance is strong and unyielding, her head slightly tilted upward, embodying both elegance and untouchable power. The unholy flames twist and crackle as they encircle her in dense, spiraling coils, beginning with orange and red fire near the ground and transitioning to deep blue and electric purple as they climb higher, their glow casting flickering shadows across her form. Her expression is serious and strained, her head slightly turned to the side, her furrowed brow and parted lips conveying the immense effort required to channel such destructive power. She wears a sheer black dress with oversized, flowing sleeves that billow dramatically in the vortex’s winds. One side of the dress has slipped down her shoulder in the chaos, accentuating her curves while revealing the curve of her breast and adding a sense of raw energy and intimacy. The dress twists and flutters dynamically, amplifying the scene’s sense of motion. She grips a wand carved from a human femur, the handle adorned with skeleton fingers gripping tightly as though alive with unholy energy. Around her waist, a rope belt adorned with shrunken heads sways lightly in the vortex’s wind, their grotesque, leathery faces twisted in eternal agony. The ground beneath her feet is scorched and cracked, glowing faintly with embers. Scattered withered skulls and incomplete bones lie among the charred earth, blending seamlessly into the apocalyptic scene. In the distance behind her, partially obscured by the flickering flames, hanged bodies dangle upside down from their feet, their silhouettes faint and distorted by the heat of the vortex. The eerie sight adds a macabre depth to the atmosphere, their forms barely visible through the haze and unholy fire. The vortex rises upward, dense and hypnotic, its chaotic motion pulsing with energy, casting volumetric light through the smoky, ash-filled air. The atmosphere is alive with glowing embers, drifting ash, and the faint echoes of crackling flames. The entire scene exudes raw, unrelenting power and destruction, with the witch at its center as the embodiment of chaos and terror.

4 months ago

A powerful fully topless with, her breasts painted with blood, (witch:1.5) with (jet-black hair:1.4), her hair whipping violently in the chaotic winds, stands at the center of a (vertical spiraling vortex of fire:1.5), rising from the ground like a colossal (upright Twister ice cream:1.4). The unholy flames are (blue:1.3) and (purple:1.3), twisting and crackling as they encircle her in dense, spiraling coils, their glow casting intense, flickering shadows across her form and the scorched ground beneath her feet. Her eyes glow faintly white, rolled subtly back in her head, adding a terrifying and otherworldly aura to her appearance. The glow is faint, almost as if the light emanates from deep within her, intensifying her connection to the destructive forces she wields. Her expression is one of intense focus, her furrowed brows and parted lips showing the strain of channeling such immense power. She wears a (sheer black dress:1.6) with (oversized, flowing sleeves:1.5) that billow dramatically in the vortex’s winds. One side of her dress has come undone, sliding down her shoulder in the frenzy, revealing a subtle hint of one breast, as though the raw energy of her power has caused her appearance to become as chaotic as the firestorm she commands. The fabric clings lightly to her body in places, accentuating her curves while maintaining a sense of mystery and elegance. The dress flows dynamically in the swirling wind, twisting and fluttering as if alive, amplifying the sense of motion and intensity. She grips a (wand carved from a human femur:1.6), the handle adorned with (skeleton fingers:1.4) gripping the bone tightly, as though channeling her unholy power. Around her waist, a (rope belt:1.4) hangs loosely, adorned with (shrunken heads:1.7), their leathery faces twisted in agony, their grotesque forms reminiscent of the ceremonial work of Jivaroan tribes. The heads sway slightly in the vortex, their eerie stillness contrasting with the wild motion of the flames. The ground beneath her feet is scorched and cracked, glowing faintly with embers. Scattered (withered skulls and incomplete bones:1.3) lie among the charred earth, blending seamlessly into the apocalyptic scene. The (vertical vortex of fire:1.5) rises around her, twisting upward in a dense, hypnotic spiral. The flames pulse with chaotic energy, their intertwined hues of purple and blue casting (volumetric light:1.4) through the smoky, ash-filled air. The atmosphere is alive with glowing embers, drifting ash, and the faint echoes of crackling flames, creating a scene of raw, unrelenting power and destruction.

1 month ago

A vast, windswept plain stretches endlessly under a storm-darkened sky, the land cracked and scorched from the aftermath of a brutal sorcerer’s duel. Towering, jagged clouds churn violently above, illuminated by streaks of purple lightning that crackle across the heavens, casting ominous flashes of light over the battlefield. At the center of this desolation stands the victorious, malevolent sorcerer—a towering, sinister figure with half of his face shrouded in swirling smoke and glowing, crackling purple energy. His expression is one of cold triumph as his glowing, inhuman eye burns with power. Before him, his defeated foe lies sprawled on the ground, his form crumpled and broken, robes tattered and bloodstained. The fallen sorcerer’s body is limp, his face twisted in despair and pain as the last remnants of his soul are ripped from his chest. Glowing tendrils of ethereal light—streams of ghostly white, blue, and violet energy—pour upward like smoke, writhing and coiling as they are drawn into the victor’s outstretched hand. The defeated sorcerer’s soul flickers and splinters, taking the form of countless ghostly faces screaming silently as they are siphoned into the dark vortex swirling in the sorcerer’s palm. The victorious sorcerer stands tall, his dark, flowing robes billowing violently in the wind as though alive, tattered edges writhing like shadows. His gnarled hands, covered in dark rings and veins glowing faintly with power, radiate with purple energy that pulses like lightning. Trails of smoke and embers rise from his form, blending into the stormy sky as the sorcerer’s aura bends the very air around him. The ground beneath his feet cracks and glows with faint purple fissures, as if the land itself recoils from his presence. The battlefield is littered with charred earth and faint arcs of residual energy, remnants of the ferocity of their duel. In the distance, faint silhouettes of jagged rock formations pierce the horizon, shrouded in drifting mist. A cold wind sweeps through the plain, carrying with it the echoes of screams and the distant rumble of thunder. Above, the clouds twist into a dark vortex, as if nature itself acknowledges the sorcerer’s dominance. The purple lightning dances around him, refracted and amplified by the energy of the soul being consumed. The composition is dynamic and cinematic: the sorcerer, center-frame, looms over his fallen opponent, one hand raised high as the swirling, ghostly soul tendrils spiral into him. His form crackles with immense power, the light of the extracted soul casting a vibrant glow across his sinister face. The defeated sorcerer lies sprawled at his feet, his body limp, with faint residual light seeping from his chest as his soul is pulled free. The dramatic lighting and contrast—deep shadows broken by radiant purples and ghostly whites—create an atmosphere of awe and terror, solidifying the sorcerer’s godlike victory.