character: tobi_(naruto), spiritomb, copyright: naruto, naruto_(series), pokemon
1boy, 1creature, crossover, cowboy shot, from below, low angle, head tilt, spiral mask, orange mask, single eyehole, glowing eye, red eye, sharingan, short spiky black hair, black cloak, high collar, red cloud print, black gloves, outstretched arm, gesturing, weight shift, ghost creature, cracked keystone, ancient stone, swirling vortex, ectoplasm, purple flame, toxic green glow, glowing green orbs, jagged grin, floating pebbles, cracked earth, desolate wasteland, rock crags, dramatic lighting, rim lighting, eerie atmosphere, theatrical malice
From below at a dynamic low angle, a masked man stands poised on shattered bedrock, his weight anchored onto his forward boot while his torso angles slightly to the side in a flamboyant, theatrical posture. His head cocks inquisitively toward the viewer, revealing a single crimson eye marked with black commas that gleams sharply through the lone spiral opening of his orange mask. His left hand rests casually against his hip, while his right arm extends forward with black-gloved fingers curled, beckoning. Directly to his right, an ancient, wedge-shaped grey keystone sits half-buried in the fractured stone; from its jagged central fissure erupts a towering cyclonic mass of translucent violet vapor and phosphorescent lime-green spiritual fire. Within the twisting ectoplasm, a curved arc of small glowing green spirit orbs forms a malevolent, jagged toothy grin beneath two wider, piercing circular eyes that face forward. Tendrils of purple mist coil intimately around the man's extended forearm without burning the cloth, visually binding summoner and spirit. The upward convective draft from the spectral cyclone lifts the fluttering hem and flared collar of his black, red-cloud-patterned cloak toward the dark sky, while small chips of loose shale hover weightlessly around the base of the stone. Cold, sickly green and amethyst rim-light cuts hard across the concentric ridges of the orange mask, the knuckles of his glove, and the folds of his heavy dark robes, standing in sharp relief against the pitch-black shadows of the barren crags behind them. Theatrical malice.
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