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AI art "rai?" featuring #Boy, #full body and #Swordsman
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rai?

rai? AI art by Rai on PixAI. Made with Tsubaki.3.

a guy who lost everything

#Boy#full body#Swordsman
Avatar image of Rai

Rai

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1boy, solo, standing, holding sword, sword in hand, blood, bloody area, blood on ground, blood splatter, red eyes, black hair, black shirt, black pants, short black hair, messy hair, looking at viewer, from below, dutch angle, low angle, cowboy shot, foreshortening, dramatic lighting, dark background, serious, parted lips, narrow eyes, glowing eyes, blood drip, blade, dark fantasy, ominous The camera is low and tilted, looking up at one man who dominates the frame in a three-quarter cowboy shot, his boots planted wide across the blood-slick floor in a broken pool of red that spreads from the foreground into the midground. His body is angled off-axis with the dutch tilt, right shoulder dropped, weight on his back leg, torso twisted so his left side leads. He grips the sword at his right hip, one hand wrapped hard around the hilt, the blade angled down and out toward the lower corner of the frame, its edge catching a cold sheen, dark fluid beading and running down the fuller to gather at the tip and drip a thin string toward the floor. His fingers are white-knuckled around the grip, wrist locked, forearm taut. His black shirt hangs open slightly at the collar, sleeves pushed up to the elbows, fabric darkened in patches where spray has struck it, and his black pants are creased at the knees with the stance. His black hair, short and uneven, is pushed back by the tilt of his head, a few strands falling loose across his forehead. His eyes are red and luminous in the shadow of his brow, narrow and steady, looking directly into the camera lens with a flat, unreadable calm — no snarl, no grin, just a lowered, unwavering stare. His lips are slightly parted, breath shallow. The light comes from a single hard source high and behind him, rimming the crown of his head, the edge of the sword and the tops of his shoulders in a cold white line, throwing his face into deep contrast so that the red of his eyes is the only warm point; the blood on the ground reflects that backlight as a darker, wetter red than the source, and long shadows stretch from his boots toward the camera. The background is a dark, ruined space fading to black, stained walls barely implied, no other figures, empty of everything but blood and shadow. Heavy atmosphere, tense and cold, quiet menace.
Show Parameters
Original Prompt
a man standing in bloody area he have sword his eyes red and his hair black he wear black shirt and pants.
Mode
pro
Quality Tag
﹝Prompts﹞
Size
1104 x 1824
Negative
lowres, worst quality, low quality, bad anatomy, explicit
Prompt Helper

Model & LoRA used

Tsubaki.3 - AI Model cover image

PixAI DiT.3

Tsubaki.3
7.49k

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1boy, solo, adult man, long black hair with silver tips, loose messy hair fallen from ponytail, hair stuck to skin with sweat, sweat on skin, crimson red eyes, thick scarlet veins across face, scarlet veins down his arms, scarlet veins covering his hands, dark red lightning, electricity from body, red lightning around sword, holding sword, one-handed sword grip, torn black coat, blood-stained white shirt, blood-stained trousers, tense muscles, clenched teeth, blood from mouth, coughing up blood, blood on chin, labored breathing, heavy breathing, calm face, expressionless, jitome, fixed stare, looking at another, looking to the side, from side, cowboy shot, profile, tomb interior, stone crypt, icy air, cold breath vapor, aura, power-up, dark fantasy, high contrast Seen in a tight cowboy-shot from his left side, three-quarter profile: he stands in the middle of a stone burial vault, and the camera holds him from mid-thigh to just above his head, so the sweep of the crypt recedes behind his shoulder. His torso is wrenched half-open toward the unseen opponents off frame right — the near (left) shoulder pulled back, the far shoulder driven forward, weight loaded onto the front foot with the rear heel lifted, both knees flexed, every muscle of neck, forearm and thigh standing out hard under the skin. His right hand grips the sword hilt at hip height, blade angled up and out toward frame right where the enemies stand; the sword is sheathed in dark red lightning that crawls in branching filaments along the flat of the blade and spits off the tip. His left arm hangs half-curled, fingers splayed and rigid, knuckles swollen, veins roped over the back of the hand. Thick scarlet veins branch up from his jaw, cross both cheeks and his forehead, run in cords down his bare forearms and over the backs of both hands, standing proud of the skin like heated wire. Dark red lightning forks off his shoulders, ribs and spine in jagged bolts that briefly silhouette his outline and throw red highlights onto the wet stone floor. His long black hair, silver at the tips, has burst free of its ponytail and hangs in damp disordered ropes over his shoulders and collarbones, individual strands plastered flat to his sweaty cheek and neck, the silver ends clinging to the bloodied shirt. His mouth is open on a wet cough, a thin rope of blood running from the corner of his lips down his chin, and a fine mist of blood hangs in the air just in front of his mouth where the cough has just broken it up. His nostrils are flared, chest heaved high mid-inhale. His torn black coat hangs off one shoulder, split open down the flank with the lining showing; beneath it the white shirt is soaked through in a dark spreading stain across the chest and ribs, and the trousers are splashed and smeared with dried and fresh blood down the thigh. Through all of it his face is composed — lids low, brows level, jaw set, and his crimson eyes are locked level and unblinking on the adversaries off frame right, giving away nothing. The tomb is built of stacked grey stone sarcophagi and carved pillars fading into darkness; frost rims every edge and seams of ice glitter on the flags under his boots, and his breath leaves him in a pale vapour that the heat of his aura curls and tears apart the moment it forms. The only light is his own dark red lightning: it is the exclusive source, and beyond the few metres it reaches the vault is absolute black, the stone walls going from red-rimmed to nothing. Palette is restricted to crimson, dark red, black, cold grey stone and the dull white of the shirt, nothing else admitted. Cold, exhaled vapour drifting upward into the red glow is the tell that the air around him is freezing while his body burns. Grim, quietly terrifying.
Asta Fate
AI artwork
mp
1boy, solo, young boy, athletic build, defined muscles, muscular, defined abdomen, tight black shirt, black open magic academy uniform jacket, open jacket, short orange hair, reddish eyes, animalistic eyes, wielding sword, holding sword, european sword, sword in hand, from below, cowboy shot, dutch angle, three-quarter view, looking at viewer, serious expression, clenched teeth, furrowed brow, dynamic pose, leaning forward, outstretched arm, windblown hair, dark stone courtyard, low angle, dramatic light, embers, red accents, painterly anime style, visible brush textures, loose sketch-like linework, teal-blue shadows, warm golden highlights The view is from below, tilted slightly off level, a Dutch angle cutting diagonally across a dark stone courtyard — the camera low near the flagstones, looking up past the boy's hip to his shoulders so he stands over the viewer with real presence. He is caught mid-swing, weight loaded on his back right leg, left leg forward and bent, hips rotated away so his torso twists toward the lens. His right hand grips the sword's hilt at chest height, knuckles pale against the dark leather wrap, the blade a plain European straight blade angled up and out to frame-right, its crossguard a simple bar, red accents along the fuller catching the embers. His left arm is flung back and low for counterbalance, fingers spread, shoulder pulled down. The open black magic-academy jacket swings back off his shoulders in the draft, its front panels falling open, and beneath it the tight black shirt clings sweat-dark over a muscular chest and a hard defined abdomen that is fully exposed, muscle shadows reading down the centerline. Short orange hair is blown back off his forehead and swept to the right, a few strands breaking loose. His reddish eyes are narrow and animalistic, pupils tight, brows drawn down hard, mouth set, teeth just visible — he is looking at the viewer, direct and unyielding. The bladelight smears a hot golden edge along the top of the sword and down the ridge of his forearm; cool teal-blue darkness fills the courtyard beyond him, a low warm glow from off-frame below lighting the undersides of his chin and jaw, embers drifting upward past the blade. His feet are planted apart, back heel dug into a crack in the stones, a scuff of dust rising where the pivot lands. Palette holds to dusty rose and warm terracotta in the air, muted grey-green in the stone, his jacket and shirt pure black, and the pale cream light catching the steel. Quiet, coiled menace.
Mateus Pertussatti

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4#Puella Magi Madoka Magica#Kaname Madoka#Puella Magi Madoka Magica
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