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AI art "ファイナルファンタジー8" featuring #Final Fantasy VII, #Final Fantasy, #Kingdom Hearts, #Final Fantasy VIII, #Cloud Strife, #Squall Leonhart and #Selphie Tilmitt

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ファイナルファンタジー8

#Final Fantasy VII #Final Fantasy #Kingdom Hearts #Final Fantasy VIII #Cloud Strife #Squall Leonhart #Selphie Tilmitt

Published on Oct 27, 2026

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character: kasumi_(doa), squall_leonhart, selphie_tilmitt, copyright: final_fantasy_viii, dead_or_alive 4girls, multiple girls, 1boy, 3girls, squall_leonhart, zell_dincht, selphie_tilmitt, kasumi_(doa), dark demon palace interior, gothic stone hall, heroic poses, dynamic action poses, gunblade, revolver chamber in the blade hilt, slashing, dark creatures, shadow beasts, spiky blonde hair, facial tattoo, martial arts, high kick, raised leg, short brown hair, flipped hair ends, green eyes, yellow dress, full-length zipper, restorative magic, healing glow, sitting up, weak, torn blue dress, long brown hair, ponytail, brown eyes, from below, dutch angle, wide shot, foreshortening, looking at another, open mouth, gritted teeth, determined, casting, outstretched arm, glowing hands, arm support, one knee raised, no extra people, fighting stance, dramatic lighting, warm magic light against cold violet shadow The camera sits low and tilted: a wide shot from below at a dutch angle, so the vaulted ribs of the dark demon palace lean across the top of the frame and the four figures stack in depth on the cracked obsidian flagstones of a vast candlelit hall. Black stone columns rise out of frame on both sides; a broken altar dais of pale bone-coloured marble occupies the right third, its steps chipped, and a cold violet gloom hangs between the pillars, broken only by the warm gold-white bloom of magic and the low oil braziers that gutter along the walls. In the left foreground, seen from below and slightly foreshortened, a young man with short brown hair falling in parted bangs between his eyes and cool blue eyes plants his rear foot and drives forward, both black-gloved hands wrapped around the ribbed grip of a heavy gunblade whose blade carries a visible revolver cylinder at the hilt. The blade is caught mid-slash, sweeping down and across from his right shoulder, its edge cutting a bright arc through a knot of dark creatures — low, hunched, tar-black shapes with matte hides and thin pale eyes that crowd in from the left, one of them splitting apart around the blade with a spray of black mist that scatters only along the edge's plane. He wears a cropped black fur-trimmed jacket over a white shirt, the fur collar lifted by the force of his swing, and his jaw is set, teeth gritted, eyes fixed on the creatures at the point where his blade meets them. Behind him and to the centre, a young man with spiky blonde hair and a dark facial tattoo across his cheek is airborne in a martial-arts strike, one leg whipped high in a raised kick, the other tucked under him, both fists clenched at chest height. His torso twists away from the camera so the kick lands on a lunging shadow beast at the right of his hip; impact lines fan from the contact point, and his spiky hair springs with the motion. He is looking down at the creature he is hitting, mouth open in a shout. At the right, on the lowest step of the bone-marble dais, a girl with short brown hair flipped up at the ends and green eyes kneels on one knee with her other foot braced, both palms thrust forward toward the dais. A warm gold-white restorative glow gathers in a sphere between her hands and streams in a soft ribbon toward the figure behind her; the light lands on her face from below, catching her eyes wide and intent. Her yellow dress and its long full-length zipper catch the glow along their edges, and the glow is the only warm source on that side of the hall. Her gaze is fixed on the wounded girl, not the camera. On the dais itself, a young woman with long brown hair tied in a high ponytail and brown eyes pushes herself up weakly from the stone, one arm braced flat behind her, the other hand pressed to her chest; her torn blue dress is split at the shoulder and skirt hem, the fabric hanging in ragged strips, and she lifts her chin toward the three arrivals with her lips parted and her eyes shining. The healing ribbon reaches her shoulder and the torn cloth there glows faintly at its edges. Her weight sits on the braced palm, and her heel slides for purchase on the marble. The braziers are the only ambient light; beyond their pools and the magic's bloom, the hall's far arches fall into absolute black. Palette: cold violet-grey stone and black creature hides, warm gold-white for the restorative magic, blue of the ruined dress as the single cool saturation on the dais. Smoke drifts upward from the shadow beast's severed edge, and the rising magic lifts the loose strands of Selphie's flipped hair. Tense, hopeful.

ファイナルファンタジー8

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