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Asta Fate

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Asta Fate

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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.
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Ursprünglicher Prompt
Hector a l’apparence d’un homme poussé au-delà de ses limites. Ses yeux bruns sont devenus rouge cramoisi, et d’épaisses veines écarlates sillonnent son visage, descendent le long de ses bras et couvrent ses mains. Des éclairs rouge sombre jaillissent de son corps et enveloppent son épée. La chaleur de son aura contraste avec l’air glacial du tombeau. Ses muscles sont tendus par l’afflux de puissance, mais son corps en subit déjà le contrecoup : il crache du sang, sa poitrine le brûle et sa respiration devient difficile. Son manteau noir est déchiré, sa chemise blanche et son pantalon sont tachés de sang, et ses longs cheveux noirs, aux pointes argentées, se sont détachés de leur queue-de-cheval. Ils retombent en désordre sur ses épaules, collés à sa peau par la sueur. Malgré ses blessures, son visage reste calme et son regard fixé sur ses adversaires.
Modus
pro
Größe
1104 x 1824
Sampling-Methode
Euler
Negativ
lowres, worst quality, low quality, bad anatomy, explicit
Prompt-Assistent

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Tsubaki.3 - AI Model cover image

PixAI DiT.3

Tsubaki.3
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AI artwork
Avatar image of Asta Fate
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
Avatar image of Asta Fate
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
Avatar image of Asta Fate
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
Avatar image of Asta Fate
hector_rivera, a man pushed beyond his limits. His originally brown eyes have turned crimson red, and thick scarlet veins crisscross his face, running down his arms and covering his hands. Dark red lightning crackles and erupts from his body, enveloping his sword in a menacing aura. The intense heat of his aura sharply contrasts with the frigid air of the tomb. His muscles are tensed by the influx of immense power, but his body is already suffering the backlash: he is spitting blood, his chest burns, and his breathing is labored. His black coat is torn, his white shirt and pants are stained with blood, and his long, black hair with silver tips has come undone from its ponytail. It falls in disarray over his shoulders, matted to his skin with sweat. Despite his grievous injuries, his face remains calm and his gaze is fixed intently on his adversaries, showing fierce determination and resolve. The environment around him is cold and ancient, likely a stone tomb with a frozen atmosphere, and the style of the image is dark, gritty, and hyper-detailed, focusing on visceral physicality and emotional intensity.
Asta Fate

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character: kaname_madoka_(magical_girl), copyright: mahou_shoujo_madoka_magica Kaname Madoka from Puella Magi Madoka Magica, pink twin tails tied with deep red ribbons, wearing her iconic magical girl costume, white corset-like bodice with delicate back lacing, voluminous layered white and pale pink ruffled skirt, crimson ribbons flowing loosely around her body, viewed from behind at a three-quarter angle, seated with her back gracefully arched, both arms extending naturally downward behind her back, one hand gently holding the opposite wrist, clearly separated hands, relaxed slender fingers, five distinct fingers on each hand, natural finger spacing, anatomically correct wrists, elegant delicate hands, visible knuckles, softly curved fingers, hands clearly visible against the white skirt, unobstructed hand silhouette, accurate hand anatomy, head tilted far backward, chin raised toward the darkness, face mostly hidden, elegant elongated silhouette, delicate exposed shoulders, soft loose strands of pink hair, dramatic asymmetrical composition, close medium shot, large skirt filling the lower frame, dark almost black background, dramatic directional lighting, pale ivory highlights, muted dusty pink, cold gray shadows, rich crimson accents, strong contrast between luminous fabric and deep darkness, thick impasto oil painting, expressive visible brushstrokes, heavy layered paint, rough palette knife texture, sculptural paint strokes, painterly edges, textured canvas, loose gestural painting, rich tactile surface, dramatic chiaroscuro, melancholic atmosphere, haunting beauty, full bleed composition, edge-to-edge artwork, no borders, no frame, textured illustration, grainy texture, crayon texture, chalky brushwork, impasto strokes, bold color blocking, stylized anime, flat shading, dry brush effect, atmospheric lighting, soft glow highlights, rough painterly anime style, visible textured brushstrokes, heavy impasto texture, scratchy charcoal-like linework, expressive gestural strokes, smudged edges, desaturated base tones with aggressive high-contrast color, sketch style, rough brushstroke
リオ
2#Puella Magi Madoka Magica#Madoka Kaname#Puella Magi Madoka Magica
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