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AI art "ニクソン" featuring #Handgun, #Boy, #Fantasy, #Firing and #zetaCollab

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ニクソン

某RPGで教会で拳銃を撃っている僧侶子供好き

Contest Entry

PixAI × zeta Original Character Creation Contest 2026 #zetaCollab

#Handgun #Boy #Fantasy #Firing

Published on Oct 25, 2026

yucho o

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1boy, solo, male priest, brown hair, short brown hair, messy brown hair, brown eyes, red-brown robe, long-sleeved robe, high-collared robe, wide sleeves, rope belt at waist, gripping handgun, both hands on gun, firing, cross-shaped bullets, glowing cross projectiles, muzzle flash, combat, action, church interior, daytime, stained glass windows, pews, from below, dutch angle, foreshortening, dynamic pose, motion blur on projectiles, dust motes, god rays, looking at target, gritted teeth, focused expression, open mouth, shout, no earrings, bare earlobes, no hair ornaments, unadorned hair, no necktie, open collar at throat Low-angle dutch shot, tilted off level, looking up at a lone male priest in the aisle of a sunlit church. He stands with weight thrown onto his right leg, left foot braced forward and turned out, torso twisted so his right shoulder drives back and his left arm extends across the frame toward the viewer's left. Both hands close on a matte black semi-automatic handgun: right hand high on the grip with the trigger finger hooked inside the guard, left hand cupping under the magazine well, wrists locked, the slide snapped back in recoil. The muzzle spits a blunt orange-white flash and a thin curl of smoke. A string of cross-shaped bullets streams from the barrel, each small cross of hard white-gold light with a blazing core and wings of light trailing behind, some sharp and near, some stretched into motion streaks further off, one cross clipping the corner of a pew and throwing splinters and dust into the air. His brown hair is short and tousled, lifted and pushed back by the pressure of the discharge, a few strands cutting across his brow. Wide brown eyes fixed forward past the barrel at a target off-frame to the left; brows drawn down hard, jaw set, mouth open in a shout, a thin sheen of sweat at the temple. The red-brown robe is heavy wool, high-collared and long-sleeved, wide sleeves shoved back and bunched at the forearms, a rope belt cinched at the waist with its knot knocked askew, hem swinging out around his ankles from the recoil; the fabric reads deep rust in the light and near-black in the folds. Behind him: a long nave of pale stone columns, rows of dark wooden pews receding in perspective, a polished floor carrying faint reflections. Tall stained glass windows on the right wall pour daylight in from the upper right, hard shafts of colored light slanting down through the air and full of drifting dust, warm amber and red and blue patches lying across the floor and across his shoulder and cheek; the far end of the church falls into cool shadow under the vaulting. A single spent casing hangs in the air beside his wrist, catching a pinpoint of light, and the dust the muzzle blast kicked up hangs in the god rays. Palette of rust red-brown, honey-gold daylight, cool grey-blue shadow and the hot white-gold of the cross bullets. Kinetic, fierce.

ニクソン

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