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โI think Dante would like his sword backโฆ keeps loosinโ em too often that guyโ
KI-Kunst โโI think Dante would like his sword backโฆ keeps loosinโ em too often that guyโโ von Memories broken auf PixAI. Tags: Schnalle, Wald, Leder, Schwertkรคmpfer, Schwarze Hose. Erstellt mit IllustriousSat-Real.
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- Ursprรผnglicher Prompt
- Nero (DMC5), white hair, standing, holding a revolver, holding a sword, Red Queen sword (devil may cry 5), 1 male,,DMC5Nero, 1boy, white hair, short hair, blue eyes, slightly younger appearance
- Grรถรe
- 768 x 1024
- Sampling-Schritte
- 8
- Sampling-Methode
- Euler a
- CFG Scale
- 1.2
- Negativ
- glitched, distorted, blurry, low res, low quality, bad quality, worst quality, low detail, worst detail, cropped, censor, censored, text, signature, watermark, username, artist name, ugly, bad eyes, closed eyes, deformed, disfigured, bad anatomy, bad hands, monochrome, grayscale, sketch, oldest, simple background.
Gesichtskorrektur
Verwendetes Modell und LoRA
![Nero from Devil May Cry 5 [Pony] - AI Model cover image](https://images-ng.pixai.art/images/thumb/2bb7413c-98c9-4f5d-bf1c-36e39077a075)
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This wide, eye-level shot employs a centered framing strategy, establishing a stark, desolate desert landscape where dark earth tones are pierced by warm, flickering orange highlights. The dominant color palette merges deep, saturated blacks with fiery golds and ash grays, emphasizing the oppressive heat of the wasteland. Low-key lighting bathes the scene in shadow, while the radiant firelight acts as the primary illumination source, casting long, dramatic shadows across the terrain. The art style is a gritty, cinematic digital illustration, blending painterly textures with sharp, atmospheric color grading.
The primary subject is a lone, heavily tattooed man standing stoically amidst the ruins, his weathered, muscular frame draped in tattered, dark leathers and scarred silk. He has short, ash-blonde hair and piercing, cold blue eyes that glare directly at the viewer with unwavering resolve. His expression is grimly determined, with a faint, stubborn line across his mouth. He wears a reinforced hood, a chainmail collar, and a leather apron soaked in soot, holding a massive, blood-stained broadsword loosely in his right hand, the vessel of his impending vendetta. Beneath his feet, the charred remains of withered grass and broken roots cling weakly to the scorched earth.
The environment is an expanse of blackened battlefield, a vast wasteland stripped of all life. Grey and ash-covered withering grass sways in the apocalyptic wind, surrounding the towering, skeletal remains of burnt trees, their blackened trunks twisting toward a cold, still night sky. The background features a deliberate, simple gradient of absolute darkness, fading seamlessly into an inky, impenetrable void that isolates the cenotaph of the war. Flickering embers float through the misty air, providing subtle atmospheric depth and reinforcing the desolate, apocalyptic silence of the abyssal wasteland.
ใขใณใใญใกใ
This wide, eye-level shot employs a centered framing strategy, establishing a stark, desolate desert landscape where dark earth tones are pierced by warm, flickering orange highlights. The dominant color palette merges deep, saturated blacks with fiery golds and ash grays, emphasizing the oppressive heat of the wasteland. Low-key lighting bathes the scene in shadow, while the radiant firelight acts as the primary illumination source, casting long, dramatic shadows across the terrain. The art style is a gritty, cinematic digital illustration, blending painterly textures with sharp, atmospheric color grading.
The primary subject is a lone, heavily tattooed man standing stoically amidst the ruins, his weathered, muscular frame draped in tattered, dark leathers and scarred silk. He has short, ash-blonde hair and piercing, cold blue eyes that glare directly at the viewer with unwavering resolve. His expression is grimly determined, with a faint, stubborn line across his mouth. He wears a reinforced hood, a chainmail collar, and a leather apron soaked in soot, holding a massive, blood-stained broadsword loosely in his right hand, the vessel of his impending vendetta. Beneath his feet, the charred remains of withered grass and broken roots cling weakly to the scorched earth.
The environment is an expanse of blackened battlefield, a vast wasteland stripped of all life. Grey and ash-covered withering grass sways in the apocalyptic wind, surrounding the towering, skeletal remains of burnt trees, their blackened trunks twisting toward a cold, still night sky. The background features a deliberate, simple gradient of absolute darkness, fading seamlessly into an inky, impenetrable void that isolates the cenotaph of the war. Flickering embers float through the misty air, providing subtle atmospheric depth and reinforcing the desolate, apocalyptic silence of the abyssal wasteland.
ใขใณใใญใกใ
Marcus Dontinvius (Original Character)
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This wide, eye-level shot employs a centered framing strategy, establishing a stark, desolate desert landscape where dark earth tones are pierced by warm, flickering orange highlights. The dominant color palette merges deep, saturated blacks with fiery golds and ash grays, emphasizing the oppressive heat of the wasteland. Low-key lighting bathes the scene in shadow, while the radiant firelight acts as the primary illumination source, casting long, dramatic shadows across the terrain. The art style is a gritty, cinematic digital illustration, blending painterly textures with sharp, atmospheric color grading.
The primary subject is a lone, heavily tattooed man standing stoically amidst the ruins, his weathered, muscular frame draped in tattered, dark leathers and scarred silk. He has short, ash-blonde hair and piercing, cold blue eyes that glare directly at the viewer with unwavering resolve. His expression is grimly determined, with a faint, stubborn line across his mouth. He wears a reinforced hood, a chainmail collar, and a leather apron soaked in soot, holding a massive, blood-stained broadsword loosely in his right hand, the vessel of his impending vendetta. Beneath his feet, the charred remains of withered grass and broken roots cling weakly to the scorched earth.
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ใขใณใใญใกใ
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