A sample prompt of what you can find in this page
Prompt by Ronnie_PW

blood and fire prompts

very few results

6 months ago

((gritty, hyperrealistic painting:1.5)), ((Hulk and Superman locked in a brutal power struggle:1.5)), both hands clasped, fingers interlocked in a violent test of strength, muscles straining, tendons stretched to the limit. Superman, bruised, grounded, is down on one knee, his body twisting with resistance, arms trembling as he holds back the massive force bearing down on him. His blue suit is torn, his face bloodied, hair matted with sweat and soot, but his gaze is clear and defiant—no glowing eyes, only human resolve. The Hulk towers over him, full height—3 meters tall, 500 kilograms of brute muscle, drenched in sweat, skin streaked with grime and ash. His monstrous body looms with dominance, feet planted wide, both arms pressing down, veins bulging, face twisted in a roar of exertion. His skin cracks around his fists from the sheer pressure, saliva flying from his mouth as he snarls through clenched teeth. The ground beneath Superman’s knee is shattered, pressed inward by the weight. Shockwaves ripple through the dust, small stones hover in midair. The scene is dense with smoke, ash, and heat distortion, the ambient firelight casting flickering shadows over their bodies. Style: painted like an epic oil tableau—Caravaggio-like lighting, Repin’s anatomical drama, Beksiński’s apocalyptic ambiance. Every detail captured: grit on skin, blood at the lip, wrinkles in fabric, cracked stone, drifting embers, clenched fingers locked in struggle. Lighting: heavy chiaroscuro—low directional light from fires around them, long shadows falling across Superman’s face, rim lighting highlighting Hulk’s upper body, emphasizing the scale difference without diminishing the tension. Camera angle: low and close, from Superman’s left side, showing his knee pressed into shattered ground, arms lifted to hold off Hulk’s crushing weight. Hulk fills the vertical space, Superman dominates the emotional weight—a visual of pressure and refusal to yield. Art direction for Flux: – Hulk is 3m tall, 500kg, physically overwhelming, rendered with full weight and scale – Superman is human-scale, on one knee, but braced and locked in—the underdog with unbreakable resolve – Style: dark painterly realism, anatomical accuracy, no stylization, no superpowers shown – Textures: bruised flesh, torn cloth, cracked stone, sweat, grit, tension in the hands and faces – Environment: scorched battlefield, ambient smoke, sparks, fractured terrain, faint firelight – Theme: mythic struggle, physical scale vs inner will—no victor yet, only raw contest

6 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.

7 months ago

n a crumbling sanctuary built at the end of time, open to the sky and flooded with wild overgrowth, a solitary figure stands on a plinth of fractured obsidian—a synthetic angel, both artifact and oracle, mid-transmission. Her body is constructed from a dual-layered material: an outer shell of liquid mirror-glass, always in motion, bending light in surreal ripples—beneath it, a lattice of golden memory circuits, softly pulsing, like script woven from heat and purpose. She is not human. She is not machine. She is the last interface between meaning and forgetting. Her posture is both exalted and worn. One hand raised in silent benediction, the other buried in the tangle of flowering vines wrapping around her legs—life clinging to light, as though nature itself refuses to let go of what she remembers. Etched across her glass-like surface are thin veins of glowing amber: pathways of forgotten prayers, tracing up her legs, over her spine, across her collarbones like fading constellations. Her face is concealed behind a split golden visor, semi-open like the petals of a mechanical flower—revealing only light. From her back, two vast wings made of layered crystalline blades curve upward like collapsed architecture—part cathedral, part ruin. They shimmer not with fire, but with reflected memory, like a sky that forgot how to storm. Around her, broken statuary and shattered machines lie half-swallowed by roots and blossoms. In the distance, a forest made of circuitry burns without smoke—slowly, beautifully. Above, stars pulse in unnatural constellations, forming sigils from before language. Hovering just above her head spins a halo unlike any known form—a fractured ring of refracted glass, filled with flowing text that no longer aligns with any living tongue. It does not glow—it remembers. Rendered in the style of an impressionist-Renaissance hybrid painting, layered with visible brush textures, fog-softened edges, and gold-split chiaroscuro. Warm dusk tones dominate the palette: blood-orange, dusk-lavender, rusted copper, soft pollen white. She is the Benediction Engine—not worshipped, not feared, not obeyed. She simply remains, bearing witness to everything we were, and everything we failed to become.

8 months ago

(Spaghetti Western meets Hindu Mythology, Cinematic, Gritty, Mythic Americana, Clint Eastwood's Unforgiven-style storytelling, Hyperreal, Dust and Gunpowder, Sunset Over the Frontier) (Gritty Cinematic Western:1.8, Hindu Mythology Meets Old West:2.0, Dust & Heat Haze:1.6, Sunburnt Leather & Weathered Cloth:1.5, Volumetric Light Through Dust:1.4, Classic Spaghetti Western Composition:1.8) The frontier is vast, endless. The sun hangs low and swollen, a burning red eye sinking behind the jagged silhouette of the mountains, bleeding golden light across the dust-choked sky. A lone rider moves through the haze, his dark stallion kicking up a slow trail of dust, the sound of hooves muffled by the dry, cracked earth. Vishnu, the Divine Gunslinger, moves like a ghost through this godforsaken land, his presence a whisper on the wind, a warning before the storm. He is adorned in a weathered duster, its deep blue fabric threadbare yet regal, embroidered in golden Sanskrit that shifts and shimmers under the dying light. Beneath it, his celestial skin glows faintly, a blue so deep it seems carved from the twilight sky itself. His golden eyes burn like twin desert suns, reflecting the fire of the West, the violence of the frontier, the weight of justice balanced on the edge of a blade. From beneath his coat, his four arms rest with an unnatural stillness, each poised for retribution. One hand grips the Sudarshana Revolver, an ancient pistol forged from the molten core of a dying star, its barrel etched with the shifting symbols of the cosmos. Another holds a coiled lasso woven from the threads of fate, glowing with the light of constellations long dead. The third hand remains open, palm outward—a warning, or perhaps a blessing. The fourth clutches the eternal lotus, a reminder that even in this land of dust and death, something divine lingers. Behind him, the town of Black Hollow waits, a rotting wooden carcass of a town, its saloon doors swaying in the wind, the church bell rusted and long silent. Shadows move behind glassless windows, fear tightening in the chests of men who know their reckoning has come. The outlaws of this place have no gods, no law but steel and blood, and yet even they whisper his name. The wind shifts, carrying the scent of gunpowder and sagebrush, and in the distance, a gang of riders appear on the ridge, silhouetted against the sun. Their leader spits, grips his rifle, and laughs. "Ain't no man gets to play god out here," he sneers. The six-shooter spins once, slow, deliberate. A single breath. A moment stretched between eternity and the dust. Vishnu narrows his golden gaze beneath the wide brim of his hat. He speaks only once. "God don’t play, friend." Then the world moves like lightning, like judgment, like fate itself unfurling.

6 months ago

(colossal skull forged from thousands of anguished, contorted skulls:1.3) looms in a storm-darkened, apocalyptic sky, its empty eye sockets glowing with malevolent crimson light, casting eerie illumination across a shattered, barren landscape. From its gaping maw, a torrent of molten fire flows slowly—white-hot at the core, surrounded by searing orange and blood-red streaks, alive with humanoid spectral figures writhing in torment, their ghostly forms reaching, stretching as if trying to escape the flames. As the fire cascades down, it strikes the earth with molten impact, forming creeping rivers of lava that crack the ground, igniting rock fractures, and causing violent tremors. Sparks, embers, and ash spiral into the air amid flickers of volumetric heat distortion. Overhead, dark clouds churn, reacting to the infernal blaze, while faint lightning pulses in the distance. Ambient audio: the low rumble of distant thunder rolls continuously in the background, punctuated by occasional sharp lightning cracks. Beneath it, an unsettling layer of whispering voices drifts with the embers—inaudible yet unmistakable—hinting at lost souls and forbidden knowledge. Camera motion: slow dolly-in toward the burning skull, steady tension-building pace; low tracking shot across crumbling lava-riven terrain, passing through drifting ash and smoke. Spectral figures swirl within the fire, some gliding upward, others consumed. Shot in IMAX format, using Leica Summilux-C lenses, shallow depth of field, ultra-contrast lighting, film grain, rendered in 8K photorealism, dark high-fantasy cinematic tone.

3 months ago

imagine prompt: Brutal horror comic cover showing a blood-soaked man with a machete and sledgehammer, roaring with rage amid burning ruins, surrounded by screaming infected. Intense red lighting and thick ink shadows. Created Using:mtgraphic novel inking, digital grunge texture, apocalyptic horror theme, exaggerated musculature, extreme close-up intensity, chiaroscuro technique, heavy brushstroke shading, fire-lit ambient glow /imagine prompt: Post-apocalyptic comic poster of a deranged survivor[ face of the picture],Men 35,years all black clothes,holding two bloodied axes, standing atop a pile of corpses, hellfire sky in background, zombies clawing upward behind him. Saturated in deep reds and black smears. Created Using: grindhouse horror style, digital crosshatching, 70s exploitation film lighting, hand-drawn gore details, overexposed shadows, burnt orange color palette, comic-book realism, textured halftones imagine prompt: Psychotic warrior screaming at the viewer, brandishing a chainsaw dripping blood, twisted cityscape on fire behind him, dead bodies at his feet. Swirling smoke and deranged faces in the shadows. Created Using: horror manga influence, bold ink linework, expressionist lighting, pulp horror tones, distressed overlay textures, cinematic violence styling, extreme detail rendering, comic blood splatter effects /imagine prompt: Illustrated gore horror cover, close-up of a snarling anti-hero covered in cuts and blood, gripping a spiked bat. Chaos of fire and screaming infected behind him. Drenched in orange-reds, deep shadows. Created Using: scratchboard and digital ink fusion, 80s horror comics vibe, aggressive shading, high-grain texture, retro palette bleed, heavy contouring, visceral illustration style, intense foreground contrast --ar 2:3 --v 6.0

7 months ago

Imagine a stunningly beautiful witch standing in the moonlit forest. Her flowing, waist-length hair glows like molten fire, vibrant shades of blood-red cascading down her back, with soft tendrils framing her flawless face. Her heart-shaped visage is ethereal and captivating, her skin pale and luminous as if kissed by moonlight. High cheekbones add elegance to her features, while her full, dark crimson lips hold a knowing smile, hinting at her mysterious nature. Her eyes are mesmerizing—large and almond-shaped, glowing with an otherworldly golden-green hue that seems to pierce the soul. Long, dark lashes frame those captivating eyes, enhancing their enchanting glow. Her delicately arched eyebrows match her fiery hair, lending her an air of intensity and allure. She wears a form-fitting black gown adorned with silver embroidery of arcane symbols. The fabric glimmers faintly under the moonlight, as if enchanted. Around her neck hangs a pendant—a black obsidian crystal wrapped in intricate silver wiring—radiating a subtle magical energy. Her hands are elegant and graceful, adorned with silver rings and tipped with perfectly shaped nails painted a deep, glossy black. In one hand, she holds a beautifully gnarled staff made of ebony wood, its top crowned with a glowing orb of violet light. Her presence is both alluring and intimidating, a harmonious balance of beauty and power. Despite her striking appearance, her connection to the arcane is evident in the subtle aura of magic that surrounds her, blending seamlessly with the enchanting mystery of her surroundings.

7 months ago

Imagine a stunningly beautiful witch standing in the moonlit forest. Her flowing, waist-length hair glows like molten fire, vibrant shades of blood-red cascading down her back, with soft tendrils framing her flawless face. Her heart-shaped visage is ethereal and captivating, her skin pale and luminous as if kissed by moonlight. High cheekbones add elegance to her features, while her full, dark crimson lips hold a knowing smile, hinting at her mysterious nature. Her eyes are mesmerizing—large and almond-shaped, glowing with an otherworldly golden-green hue that seems to pierce the soul. Long, dark lashes frame those captivating eyes, enhancing their enchanting glow. Her delicately arched eyebrows match her fiery hair, lending her an air of intensity and allure. She wears a form-fitting black gown adorned with silver embroidery of arcane symbols. The fabric glimmers faintly under the moonlight, as if enchanted. Around her neck hangs a pendant—a black obsidian crystal wrapped in intricate silver wiring—radiating a subtle magical energy. Her hands are elegant and graceful, adorned with silver rings and tipped with perfectly shaped nails painted a deep, glossy black. In one hand, she holds a beautifully gnarled staff made of ebony wood, its top crowned with a glowing orb of violet light. Her presence is both alluring and intimidating, a harmonious balance of beauty and power. Despite her striking appearance, her connection to the arcane is evident in the subtle aura of magic that surrounds her, blending seamlessly with the enchanting mystery of her surroundings.

6 months ago

Substitua os 2 personagens da imagem original pelos personagens descritos abaixo, preservando rigorosamente todos os demais elementos visuais da cena. Isso inclui cenário, iluminação, composição, fundo e quaisquer outros detalhes. Não adicione, remova ou altere nada além dos personagens conforme solicitado. ✅ Personagem 1 – Dallas (com modificações) A masked gang leader wearing a high-quality, realistic clown mask painted with the American flag (white base, red and white stripes, blue top with white stars), NO face paint, just a real mask with visible plastic and textured details. Wearing black and dark gray tactical combat gear covered by a light brown formal suit jacket and matching brown slacks, polished brown dress shoes. Hands covered with tight-fitting light blue surgical gloves, slightly stretched at the fingers, with natural hand posture. Holding a real custom M4A1 assault rifle, detailed street gear including belt with magazines, visible scars on the neck and arms. Ultra-detailed 8K cinematic image, photorealistic human skin texture, posture showing tension in shoulders, soft shadows, dramatic lighting from a streetlight to the left — no toy weapons, no cartoon elements, no face paint, only real-world realism. ✅ Personagem 2 – Chains (com modificações) A former soldier wearing a realistic clown mask with U.S. flag pattern — white base, blue top with stars, red stripes — fully physical, no face paint. Dressed in white long-sleeve shirt and dark wine-red tie under black MOLLE tactical vest, which holds a pistol, an M67 grenade, and a flashbang M84. Over the tactical vest, a light gray slim-fit formal vest. Wears brown dress shoes. Hands in light blue surgical gloves, tightly fit, textured rubber visible. Holding a real HK416 rifle with military attachments. Urban realism in 8K: veins on forearms, red blood splatter on vest, dirt on face, harsh side-light from nearby fire — gritty realism, NO stylization, NO plastic weapons, NO paint on skin.