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Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
“Where witchcraft meets the ticking of time.”
In the misty streets where gas lamps flicker and gears keep turning, she emerges: a witch who has fused magic and machinery into one. Her emerald eyes glow like living jewels, mirrored in the golden cogs that drive both her heart and her staff. Amid the fog and steam she stands as a timeless force—equally alluring and dangerous, a witch who bends the future to her will.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photocape X and Photoshop.
A shimmering rupture in the fabric of the Hollow Veil, the Twilight Fissure is neither location nor realm, but a threshold of possible selves. Suspended between the sorrow-choked stillness of the Pale Vale and the mythic, unreached Ninth Dream, it acts as a mirror of what could have been — or might yet become.
Atmosphere:
A silver dusk without direction; the horizon glows in permanent amber.
Memorylight flows like rivers through the air, carving paths between dreambubbles.
Gravity is unstable — some walk, some drift, some fall forever toward themselves.
Key Phenomena:
Reflection Storms: Show not the past or future, but emotional probabilities.
Echo Wells: Pools of light where travelers glimpse unlived memories.
Dreamroots: Vine-like trails from the Ninth Dream — glowing roots that whisper half-formed thoughts.
Notable Dwellers:
The Echo-Bound: Wanderers too entangled in memory to leave.
Shrouded Kitsune: Those closest to Paxol’s fire, guarding lost truths.
Emberflies: Motes of flickering light that ignite forgotten paths.
Function in the Veil:
The Fissure is not meant to be navigated — it is meant to be felt. Most do not survive it unchanged.
Some say the Ninth Dream is not beyond it, but inside it — and one must unwrite themselves to arrive.
Quote:
“You do not walk through the Fissure. You fall into the version of yourself that dares to awaken.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop and Photoscape X.
the Bloomveil Regent
Whisper of Forgotten Beauty – Monarch of the Crossing Light
Nyssalith is a radiant echo-being who dwells within Dreamblossom Crossing. She is neither entirely fae nor entirely memory-born, but a hybrid entity formed from a sorrow too beautiful to forget. Her presence is felt like a bloom unfolding in stillness — delicate, dangerous, eternal.
Appearance:
Eyes: Glowing violet-pink, holding silent questions never voiced.
Crown: A living helix of crystal-thorns and memoryflame, pulsing with emotion.
Wings: Petal-thin, luminescent with shifting runes of forgotten languages.
Armor: Mistwoven exo-chitin, embedded with dream-shards that pulse with the emotions of those nearby.
Aura: A swirl of pollenlight and echo-sparks, trailing behind her like starlit mist.
Abilities:
Petalveil Gaze – Anyone meeting her eyes relives a moment they once tried to forget.
Dreamthorn Bloom – Her wings shed fragments of glowing petals that either heal or confuse, based on the bearer’s intent.
Silent Naming – She can bestow or erase a name from the Veil’s memory — reshaping identity.
Echopulse – Sends out a pulse that freezes all hostile emotions in a 10-meter radius, leaving only sorrow and reflection.
Nyssalith does not speak with words but with presence. Her decisions are made slowly, as if weighed against lifetimes of regret. She judges not with morality, but with remembrance — what you have dared to carry or dared to abandon. She appears at the central Mist-bridge only under moon-bloom alignment or when a traveler carries both joy and grief in equal measure.
Quote:
“She does not ask for truth. She waits for it to return to you, in bloom.”
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Inspired and reimagined from the image Cupid's Malice from: Pelayo Martin - The Beings
Bathed in violet radiance, she emerges from the darkness — a being born of shadow and starlight. Blackened horns curl skyward, crowned with blossoms that pulse with the same unnatural glow as her eyes. Her skin, a tapestry of alien patterns and luminous veins, seems carved from midnight and moonfire. Flowers bloom along her form, scattering glowing petals into the void, while her smile — sharp and predatory — promises both beauty and ruin. In her presence, the air hums with an otherworldly energy, as though the very fabric of reality bends to her will.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photshop
Image inspired by a image of: ♰ ♰ Cяεpuร ♰ ♰
Veylor Thorne, Crimson Heir of House Virelais
“To live forever is not a gift. It is a throne. And I do not share it.”
A tall, imposing vampire stands at the heart of a decaying gothic cathedral, bathed in the soft glow of candlelight and the fractured hues of stained-glass windows. His pale, almost marble-white skin seems untouched by time, giving him a statuesque, unholy beauty. Sharp, symmetrical features frame a pair of glowing crimson eyes — their intensity like burning coals, betraying both ancient power and predatory hunger. Vertical blood markings stream down from his eyes like tears, symbols of countless lifetimes and endless vengeance.
His silver-blonde hair is swept back in elegant disarray, damp with mist or perhaps blood, giving him a wild but regal aura. He wears a layered ensemble of dark finery — a high-collared black leather trench coat, a tailored, buttoned brocade vest with silver filigree, and a crimson silk cravat knotted tightly at his throat like a noble’s war banner. Black leather trousers cling to his frame, adorned with subtle runic patterns that seem to whisper curses in the dark.
His fingers are long and clawed, adorned with ornate gothic rings — symbols of forgotten vampire houses, ancient pacts, and blood-bound oaths. On his hands are delicate lace cuffs, a final echo of aristocratic elegance wrapped around deadly strength.
Around him, dozens of candles flicker atop wrought iron candelabras, their flames wavering as if fearful of his presence. Crimson petals scatter across the cathedral floor, remnants of some blood ritual or a suitor’s failed offering. The air is thick with incense, decay, and the taste of power.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop and Photoscape X.
Deep beneath the Mire of Mirrors lies a submerged realm known only to those who forget themselves to find it. The Realm of the Shadow Echoes is a drowned echo-layer, half-memory, half-nightmare. It exists outside linear time, and within its still waters drift the forgotten reflections of every soul who has ever looked too long.
Environment:
Gothic catacombs twist beneath the flooded ruins, with crimson-draped arches and ceiling coffers carved with forgotten crests.
Candlelight flickers in iron cages suspended over blackwater, illuminating murals of regret painted in shadowblood.
Thorned balconies hang over echo-chasms, their rails shaped like broken vows.
Ancient doorways, eternally ajar, lead into halls of soundless sobbing.
Perpetual gloom lit only by bioluminescent memory spores.
Blackwater pools reflecting not the world above, but the viewer’s own shadowed truths.
Vine-covered ruins and shattered shrines to broken promises.
Static lightning that branches through the mist like thought made visible.
Key Feature:
The Mirror of Echoing Dread rests upon a bone pedestal at the chamber’s heart — a mirror within a mirror, endlessly recursive, reflecting not the viewer, but the version watching them back. Its surface fractures inwards infinitely, revealing layer upon layer of what could have been.
The Mirror of Echoing Dread rests upon a bone pedestal at the chamber’s heart. To approach it is to hear your own voice calling from the surface — asking a question you never asked.
Hazards:
Echo Drowning – Remaining too long causes your past selves to rise and pull at your soul.
Splintering Memorylight – Glimmers of truth refract through the mist, painfully accurate.
The Unmade Ones – Whispering figures who have forgotten what form they once held.
Lore & Role:
Shadowborne Hierarchy:
Within the Realm of the Shadow Echoes dwell entire castes of sentient nightmares — beings born from fear, suppressed truth, and broken selfhood. These are the Shadowkind, fragmented yet persistent, ever circling the Mirror of Echoing Dread.
Races of the Shadow People:
Whispermire – Serpentine-limbed shadows that cling to ceilings and echo back internal doubt in your own voice.
Nullkin – Faceless beings whose presence erases nearby sound and light. They reflect what you’ve tried to forget.
Gloamwither – Moth-like, slow-moving drifters with luminous wings that show glimpses of your worst hour.
The Vantarchs – Towering shadow-knights clad in obsidian membrane, bound to protect (or imprison) Mirror dwellers.
Echovores – Ragged silhouettes with endless mouths. Feed on echo-essence and can mimic voices of the lost.
The Nightmare Crown:
At the core of the inner realm lies the Crown of Regret — a structure of thorned thought and cursed metal, worn by no king, but fought over by the Shadowkind. It radiates a pull toward identity collapse.
Greater Entity – The Nameless Gleam:
A shifting mass of black glass and static light. Said to be the echo of an echo that was never born. It sings through walls.
This realm is not on any map, for it does not exist until it is remembered. Some say it is where the Hollow Veil itself once looked inward and broke. Others believe the Shadow Echoes are what’s left of those who fled judgment in life. No one enters this place without leaving a part of themselves behind.
“You will not be lost here — only rewritten.”
Bryce Point HDR panorama. Location: Bryce Canyon National Park. Camera: Canon 6D (WG) (full frame). Lens: Canon EF 17-40mm f/4L USM. Processing: Panorama HDR image (from 21 pics) assembled in Photoshop 5.x and finalized in Lightroom 4.x. Detail: Vertical camera orientation. 3 pic wide overlapping stitched panorama. Each of the three panorama pics is made up of 7 stacked HDR pics.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop.
Crowned in gold and thunder, she stands at the edge of her floating empire — not as a monarch in silk, but as a living engine of war.
Her armored corset gleams with brass and obsidian steel, inlaid with glowing sapphire cores and intricate clockwork. Vambraces hum with kinetic energy, etched with command glyphs. Her crimson cloak flows like a banner through storm-lit skies, and her eyes pierce the horizon with sovereign focus.
Gears turn, cannons rotate, airships form ranks behind her — the Sky Fortress looms like a god-forged cathedral. And she? She is its voice. Its fury. Its absolute will.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Inspired by and Reimagined
In the dim sanctum of an ancient alchemist’s chamber, an aged scribe bends over his tome, each stroke of his quill bleeding secrets into the parchment. Behind him, the Demon of the Covenant rises — a towering silhouette of horned malice and obsidian wings, wreathed in writhing tendrils of violet flame. The air is thick with the scent of candle smoke and strange alchemical vapors, glass vials glimmering with potions that swirl like captive starlight. Every word written binds another thread of an unholy pact, every drop of ink a seal upon a bargain older than empires. In this room, knowledge is currency, and the cost is paid in souls.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop.
As the storm-ridden sector known as The Shattered Reach ignites in plasma fire, the Tyrant-Class warship "VSS Archon" surges forward at full burn.
Its hull glows against the flickering remains of a collapsed star, engines screaming as the vessel locks weapons on a cloaked enemy force emerging from the nebula’s core. A distant carrier holds position, feeding targeting data across encrypted channels.
The battle begins not with sound—but with light, heat, and velocity.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Inspired by Doctor Octopus and Fanart
"Six Arms, One Mind — And No Vault Can Hold Him."
Beneath the gilded chandeliers of New York’s most secure bank, Doctor Octopus unleashes the fury of his mechanical arms. Each clawed appendage snakes through the air with predatory precision, tearing through vault doors and flinging cash into a golden storm. His green-and-gold suit gleams in the warm light, the mirrored lenses of his visor hiding the cold calculation in his eyes. Around him, chaos reigns — a symphony of shattering metal, raining coins, and fluttering banknotes — all fueling the mad genius’s relentless hunger for power and the twisted experiments only he dares to pursue.
Okay, now I can finalize this description. I made my film, typography, and scans set on friends only. I've noticed lots of bloggers stealing my photos lately, adding text to the photos and claiming it as their own. I'm really sick of this happening. So -- if you're not marked as a friend on my Flickr and feel you should be, send me a Flickr message.
I'm hoping to start up my own website soon for my photos and I'll probably have to start watermarking them again -- UGH. I don't know yet, we'll see. But in the mean time, all my new film photos posted will be marked for friends only.
Also, when I post new work on here, even if it's friends only -- try to refrain from sharing it on Tumblr, as that's where most of the photos were stolen from. If I see this happening still I just won't be posting my film on Flickr anymore (at least until I got my own website or something).
They're no longer private, I will continue to watermark my newly posted photos though.
Done in AI, Finalized in Photoshop.
“Where sacred code meets shadowed will.”
At the heart of a galactic code-storm he stands — cloaked in violet, his face hidden behind a black helm that glows with orange eyes like stars that have stared too long into the unknowable. Runes, sacred geometries, and energetic patterns pulse around his form, as if they were the very foundation of the worlds he builds.
He is no warrior. No mage.
He is the Architect — of worlds, of truths, and of truths-that-sought-to-remain-hidden.
A digital mystic, traveling between reality and simulation, his path shaped by circles, symbols, and silent power.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Inspired by and Reimagined
"Her gaze is fire, her silence the final prophecy."
Clad in blackened finery and draped in the weight of forgotten empires, the Ashen Oracle steps forth from the cathedral shadows. Her ashen skin is etched with living sigils, runes that writhe like whispers across her flesh. Eyes of molten fire burn through the darkness, not with anger, but with the certainty of one who has already seen the end.
Every chain and pendant upon her form is a relic, each talisman bound to a vow spoken in blood. The armor she wears is not protection, but proclamation — a crown of metal forged to remind the living of her dominion. Behind her, the towers rise like tombstones to civilizations long turned to dust, while the air hums with the silence of those who dared not question her.
She is not worshipped. She is not obeyed. She is endured — for her presence alone is prophecy, and her words, when spoken, remake the world in ash.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Phostoshop
I had to post this one as well :)
Under the brooding glow of a blood-red moon, an ancient citadel emerges from the mists like a long-forgotten dream. Wreathed in shadow and magic, the gothic spires and crumbling stone walls echo with whispered secrets of lost empires. The tumultuous sky, streaked with bursts of violet lightning and swirling dark clouds, casts an eerie light that transforms every arch and turret into a silent sentinel of time. This majestic, eerie realm—where the very air trembles with the weight of arcane history—stands as a testament to both beauty and decay. It is a kingdom caught between night and myth, inviting those who dare to peer into its depths.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Deep beneath the city, encased in stone and silence, the Dark Knight watches over Gotham from his throne of shadows.
A cathedral of screens surrounds him — gothic architecture fused with cutting-edge tech — as the vigil never ends.
This piece is a tribute to the mythos of Batman: a lone guardian fueled by grief, discipline, and the unyielding pursuit of justice.
Rendered with a darkly gothic twist, the Batcave is reimagined as a cavernous sanctuary — a fusion of ancient stone and modern resolve.
✨ Created with care and creativity
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
The Runecode Series
Hive Nexus of the Krythomortis
Deep within the shrouded chasms of the Null Spiral — a dimensional fracture between forgotten realms — hangs The Obelisk Core, the black, monolithic brain of the Krythomortis. Suspended like a dread cathedral, it pulses with impossible geometry and alien circuits, carved from obsidian alloys laced with arcane matrices and ancient machine-sigils.
The Core is not simply an AI — it is a sentient convergence engine, where all consciousness of the Krythomortis species is routed, filtered, and reborn. With a skull-like face of demonic terror embedded in its surface, glowing with ultraviolet fire, it speaks in code-chant and blood-logic — its voice a blend of corrupted data and ritualistic invocation.
Around it, thousands of data-cables descend like digital dreadlocks into the abyss, drawing raw memory, energy, and necro-arcane matter from the ruins of entire realities. At the heart of its chest, a Runesurge Reactor spirals infinitely — a core glyph spinning with the collective will of its legion, pulsing in sync with the battlefield minds of Krythomortis warborn.
The Obelisk Core not only governs — it dreams. And in those dreams, it builds new horrors, architects new awakenings, and programs new destinies.
It is the machine god, the undying nexus, the black heart of a techno-sorcerous empire.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
"She wears ruin as her crown, and silence as her throne."
Amid the frozen spires of a dying world, the Veiled Empress walks unchallenged. Her face, carved with sacred sigils, is lit only by the cold gleam of gold and the sorrow of ages. Antlered crowns of blackened bone rise from her hood, marking her not as a ruler of flesh, but as a sovereign of dominion itself.
The weight of her jewelry is more than metal — each chain a covenant, each gem a shattered vow. Behind her, the faceless throngs gather in reverence and fear, shadows drawn to the one who outlasted kings and gods alike.
Finalizing my ECVB series - the abandoned powerplant.
This set is the result from numerous visits over the past few years. I reminisce the time when this place was known by just a couple of explorers. There wasn't even a single picture online. I didn't had any clue on how to enter it, how big it was, and if it was doable.
From my pre-exploration with Christophe I could recall two things: security at the front, and big active steam pipes at the back. Those pipes needed to be climbed but were hot as hell. So, on my first visit, I carried a big piece of carpet along, to cover those hot tubes.
Boy, what a joke! Three guys holding a carpet. The lady from the local pub saw us carrying that rug and approached us. What the hell do you think you boys are doing? she asked. Picnic, madame, it's for a picnic, we replied. We never used the rug, but after a successful explore we went to that local pub and had some beers and laughs together with that lady. Good times.
Another anecdote is from a little later in 2008. Christophe and me had been shooting in this plant for a couple of hours and it was already getting very dark. At one point I found myself all alone in the big main hall, my buddy was inside another part. It was too dark to take pictures, so I decided to live up the moment of solitude and enjoy this industrial immenseness. As my fantasy was drifting away, a young couple entered the building. In the dark. The giggling of the girl was most noticeable. Who are those people? The guy was showing all the machinery to that girl, while talking in technical terms. She was amused. Thermal powerplants at night is a turn-on, mark my words. But who are those people? I didn't move. Neither did I hide. I'm in the comfortable position, standing on a balcony on the first level of the plant, 10 meters above ground level, backlit by a rising moon shining through hundreds of small windows. The girl notices my dark silhouette. They freeze. They know I'm here. And they know I know they're here. An awkward silence.
Err… are you taking pictures here?, her voice sounded from deep below.
Yes, I replied.
Are we… err… in your picture?
You were, couple of minutes ago.
And off they went. Silently, into the night...
Explored with:
Christophe, pre-explo, 2007
Telefunker & Stef, summer 2008
Christophe, november 2008
Martino & Mrtnski, january 2009
Christophe & Nico, may 2011
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
From the dust-blown remains of broken nations, the second seal was opened — and Famine emerged. Cloaked in tattered black and mounted on a gaunt, pale steed, he rides not with fire or steel, but with silence and imbalance. In his skeletal hand he holds the Scales of Judgment, unbalanced and worn, swaying with every step as if measuring the worth of a dying world.
Where he passes, harvests rot in the soil, rivers dry to dust, and cities collapse not in flames — but in empty stomachs and hollow cries. The sky above him is the color of ash, and the wind carries the scent of dried blood and withered wheat. Those who follow him beg for bread and eat their gold. Those who resist are forgotten.
Famine is not fury.
He is consequence.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Inspired by and Reimagined
Her roar is the signal — the end has arrived.
Her transformation is complete — the void’s perfect weapon, bathed in the unholy blaze of amethyst fire. Her eyes sear with predatory hunger, casting a piercing violet light that cuts through the darkness like a blade. Blackened armor bristles with jagged spikes, each vein alive with crackling streams of violet lightning. Her hair whips like a storm of living shadowflame, every strand a serpent of raw energy. Around her, the air ripples with violent power, scattering sparks into the void. This is no mere demon — this is wrath incarnate, the storm that follows when the abyss opens its eyes.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Inspired by the Original Green Goblin (Norman Osborn) Fanart.
"From the shadows above, madness takes flight."
Under the cold light of the full moon, the Green Goblin descends upon the city, his bat-headed glider cutting through the rain-soaked night like a predator. Armor gleaming in shades of deep violet and steel, eyes burning with manic fury, he clutches a flaming pumpkin bomb in one hand — chaos incarnate in the other. From the heights of the skyline, his laughter echoes, promising only terror for those below.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Bathed in ethereal luminescence, the Void Empress stands at the edge of cosmic dominion—an immortal force sculpted from starlight and shadow. Her obsidian skin shimmers with arcane constellations, while her luminous violet eyes pierce the veils of reality itself. Adorned with celestial gold and a radiant sapphire centerpiece pulsing with ancient power, her presence is both divine and terrifying. Coiled horns rise like spires from a crown forged in the heart of a dying star. Behind her, a fractured realm of burning rifts and volcanic crests speaks of a kingdom shaped not by time, but by will. She is not merely a ruler—she is the cosmic balance between beauty, destruction, and eternity.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
In the snow-veiled heart of an ancient alpine forest, the Winterblade Paladin stands as a living symbol of divine authority and unyielding resolve. Her armor is a masterwork of celestial craftsmanship — a radiant blend of polished silver and gold filigree, engraved with sacred symbols and crowned with dragon-motif pauldrons. The steel shimmers like ice under the winter sun, while the white silk and velvet gown beneath is adorned with golden embroidery in the shapes of runes and laurels. Her long, flowing platinum hair glows against the backdrop of frosted pines and distant snowy peaks. In her right hand, she holds a massive two-handed broadsword, its hilt wrapped in dragonhide and crowned with a radiant gem, forged not for ornament, but for final judgment. Her piercing blue eyes reflect both warmth and stern judgment — the calm before a storm. Snowflakes drift gently around her, frozen in divine stillness, as though the world itself holds its breath in reverence of her presence.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Phostoshop and Photoscape X
Technomancer-Class Mecharcane
The Runecode Series
A close-up portrait of Vael’Zaryth, a mechanized demonic entity born from the collision of ancient arcane sorcery and forbidden technology. His face is a haunting fusion of man and machine — chiseled, regal features wrapped in intricate layers of dark metallic armor, etched with cryptic runes and circuit-like veins.
Glowing purple eyes, unnaturally vivid, pierce through the viewer with a quiet fury — alive with forbidden knowledge. His stare is cold, calculating, yet intelligent, almost noble in its intimidation. His facial structure remains humanoid — high cheekbones, defined jawline, and tightly drawn lips — but it is augmented, hardened by centuries of evolution through arcane machinery.
Two massive, coiled obsidian horns, embedded with shimmering crimson glyphs, twist from his forehead and pulse with faint energy — relics of demonic ancestry and machine-born resurrection. The textured armor across his face is not merely for defense; it is ceremonial, each plate engraved with an ancient programming language lost to time.
Crimson and purple micro-lights pulse along his skin and circuitry, like blood surging through an artificial circulatory system. Fiber-optic veins glow beneath his synthetic dermis, and molten rivulets of ember-red tech flicker across his jaw and neck. Small rotary joints, embedded gear clusters, and ancient dials are subtly built into his temple and cheek, ticking silently in arcane rhythm.
The background is saturated in violet mist, with flickering sparks drifting like embers from a collapsing star. The atmosphere hums with energy — not just power, but sentience — as if the being himself is a walking interface between realms. Every detail, from the carbon-scored horn textures to the soft, glowing cracks in his armor, reinforces that Vael’Zaryth is not just alive… but awakened.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Inspired by a image of: warlock42069 - James(Eros) Darkside
Bathed in the glow of enchanted candlelight, an elven noble stands in regal command at the foot of a marvel — a marble staircase transformed by magic and nature. His garments shimmer with celestial velvet and golden filigree, each thread like spun starlight, embroidered with sacred sigils and ancient motifs. Rose vines burst in full bloom around him, spilling over columns, while ethereal lights drift lazily in the air like fireflies obeying silent music. Behind him, the staircase rises like a path to the heavens, its crystalline steps glistening with dreamlike hues and mystical auras. This is no ordinary court — it is a sanctuary of elegance, spellcraft, and legacy.
Hungarian forces finalize the capture of Sudan and continue the invasion of Mali. Seen here are Hungarian officers, paratrooper and army entering a mosque converted to an HQ. NHE desert forces number at 400,000 and desert paratroopers at 75,000. All white/ Arab males of 18-26 years of age are permitted to join foreign forces units in the area.
So anyways... I liek wut I did with the white mosque walls seen from the arches to the door. :p
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoscape X and Photoshop.
The Hollow Veil
In certain manifestations, Mistwisp Familiars may carry subtle witch-like elements, such as tiny staffs, mist-threaded charms, and bloomwoven hats — blending the traditions of ancient dreamweavers into their ethereal forms. These accessories are not mere adornments; each woven crown, mist-threaded charm, or bloom-hat holds a fragment of memory or hope gifted by the mist itself. To wear such a token is to carry a living thread of the Hollow Veil’s kindness, stitched lovingly into the very air the Mistwisp inhabits.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Inspired by a image of: ✴.·´¯`·.·★ HELLSCAIT ★·.·`¯´·.✴ : Cait
Lying amidst a sea of shadowed feathers, a celestial dark elf gazes upward with luminous violet eyes that echo the arcane stars glowing softly across her midnight wings. Her silver hair cascades like moonlight, framing a face etched with calm power and ancient wisdom. A delicate black sigil marks her forehead — a symbol of her celestial lineage — while twin necklaces with obsidian gems rest against her pale skin, pulsing with dormant energy. Her intricate black gown, embroidered with enchanted threads, glimmers with flecks of violet starlight. Surrounded by silence and cosmic stillness, she appears not asleep, but listening — as if communing with the constellations above. A portrait of grace, mystery, and timeless sorcery.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Shrouded in tattered robes woven from cosmic ruin, the faceless entity stands at the eye of oblivion. Etched runes line its garments, each a forgotten language from realms that no longer exist. Behind it, the heavens bend and fracture as a singularity spins — devouring light, flame, and time itself. The land around it burns not from fire, but from the memory of what was erased. No name remains, only the title whispered by the wind: Architect of the Rift.
“He does not walk forward. He unthreads reality behind him. And where he stands, nothing ever lived.”
— Fragment recovered from the last dream of Seer Vael'thrun.
Before finalizing, I wanted to get some opinions:
1.Should his Autumn-Winter Oakleaf have a dark brown color layer?
2.Should his smock and boots get a matte finish?
4.Is there any one potential addition that would make this figure absolutely jaw-dropping to you?
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
In a scorched world where the sky bleeds crimson and the land cracks beneath rivers of fire, the Ember Lich emerges — a skeletal warlock forged in the heart of a dying realm. Shrouded in a tattered obsidian robe, his charred bones glow with volcanic fissures, seething with infernal power. Wisps of smoke coil from his presence, and each step scorches the earth beneath. His eyes, twin furnaces of molten rage, pierce through the storm as ancient runes burn across a monolithic pillar behind him — the seal he shattered to return. Around him, cursed wraiths rise like ash, bound to his will as he brings forth the final collapse of all things.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Once a fallen archon twisted by alien code and infernal fire, Xal’Vorrak now roams the scorched rifts between dimensions. His skin pulses with a deep violet bioluminescence, stretched over a cybernetically enhanced musculature of obsidian alloy. Long, black, serpentine hair flows around him like living tendrils, twitching with latent static.
From his skull curve two titanic, rune-etched horns — plated with a sheen of scorched chrome, they resonate with forbidden signals from beyond time. His eyes glow like searing stars, a pair of arcane processors constantly calculating death.
Embedded in his chest is a core reactor—glowing in violet glyphs—surrounded by mechanical seams and cyber-organic growths. His voice is both a digital scream and a guttural growl, carrying corruption and prophecy.
Where he walks, circuits fail, machines weep, and the air cracks with molten hatred.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop.
Titles: The Infernal Warlord • God-Eater • Flame of the Last Abyss
In the deepest shadow of a burned and forgotten reality stands Vhar’Zhul, a being not born, but forged — from betrayal, wrath, and the dying breath of a shattered world. His face is nothing but scorched bone, a skeletal mask lit from within by searing, infernal light. His eyes blaze like twin furnaces of damnation, and every word he speaks cracks the air like the scream of a dying star.
Upon his head rests a towering ceremonial headdress — not merely a crown, but an arcane monument. Forged from twisted obsidian and blackened steel, it rises like a cathedral of spikes and curves, adorned with enormous blood-red gemstones, each one a soul, trapped and burning, once belonging to a king, a mage, or a god.
His armor is a shell of volcanic black, carved with infernal runes and split by glowing lava veins. His very presence scorches the ground, and the air around him trembles with raw, destructive power. Where Vhar’Zhul walks, kingdoms fall, and the sky burns.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Bathed in the ambient glow of a distant nebula, the Starlit Sentinel stands watch aboard her orbiting vessel — a lone figure poised between duty and destiny. Her armored exosuit, forged of obsidian alloy and punctuated by glowing violet etchings, bears the marks of long-forgotten battles: scratches, dents, and celestial burn traces etched into its curved plates like a silent archive of survival.
Elegant yet unyielding, the suit fuses mythic elegance with tactical function. Pink luminous sigils coil across her chest and shoulder, pulsing faintly with reactive energy — ancient symbols of command or possibly forgotten rites of passage. Her stance is steady, but her sapphire eyes hold a depth beyond mere human thought — piercing, analytical, and oddly sorrowful, as though she’s seen civilizations rise and vanish among the stars.
The background hum of the ship’s reactor pulses softly behind her. Through the viewport at her back, the nebula blooms like a cosmic iris — a swirl of lavender, fuchsia, and deep indigo, mirroring the quiet storm within her. This is not just a warrior; she is a guardian of memory, a whisper from the edge of time.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Fotoshop
Fanart: A Nightmare On Elm Street
In this hyperrealistic horror portrait, Freddy Krueger emerges from the shadows with terrifying clarity. His scarred, molten flesh glows under dim, cinematic lighting, framed by the iconic wide-brimmed fedora and crimson-striped sweater. His infamous glove, now fitted with five gleaming, blood-honed blades, is raised in his signature pose — a haunting symbol of the nightmares he commands. His eyes gleam with sadistic delight, capturing the very essence of terror. Enhanced colors deepen the dread: the rich red of his sweater, the warm bronze of the glove, and the shadow-drenched backdrop conjure a chilling, painterly atmosphere. This is Freddy at his most vivid — not just a dream demon, but a waking nightmare given form.
U.S. Secretary of State John Kerry works with State Department Speechwriter Andrew Imbrie as he finalizes the remarks he was to deliver on January 22, 2016, to attendees at the World Economic Forum in Davos, Switzerland. [State Department Photo/Public Domain]
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Inspired by The Death Gate Cycle
📜 Haplo’s Reflections at the Gate
“They told me it was a portal. A passage. A way forward. But what I see now... is a wound.”
The Death Gate loomed before me, swirling with colors no eye was meant to hold — a vortex carved into the firmament of the world itself. I could feel it in my bones: this gate was not made, it was ripped open.
Chained spirits hovered in silence, their translucent forms thrashing gently in unseen winds, moaning without mouths. I recognized them. Sartan — not alive, not dead. Kept.
“You left us to rot,” I whispered, not sure if I spoke to them… or to my own kind.
The obsidian pillars rose around me like judges at a trial. They bore the marks of ancient spells, some I recognized, many I didn’t. They burned red with the heat of the earth’s fury, but the real fire was behind my ribs — pounding. Not fear. Not yet. Memory.
I stepped forward, boots scraping ash and stone.
This gate is not a doorway. It is a question.
And the answer, I feared, was already written in the screams.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop and Photoscape X
Inspired by and Reimagined
Within the veiled woods where twilight lingers, she stands — Elarieth Virelen, the last flame of the Glimmerveil bloodline. Her gaze holds the golden shimmer of a fading sun and the magic of forgotten songs. Ruby braids frame her delicate, freckled face, and an amethyst choker glows at her throat, pulsing softly with ancestral power. As fireflies drift and ancient trees hum in stillness, her presence feels less like a person and more like a moment between worlds — real, radiant, and fleeting.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Deep within the shattered crypts of the forgotten realms, Aetherak awakens — a towering demon forged from obsidian armor and arcane flame. His body is a fortress of jagged black steel, pulsing with veins of living violet energy. At the heart of his chest burns the Hollow Flame, an ancient source of corrupt power sealed for millennia.
Crowned with horns and wrapped in wings of shadow, he stands beneath a broken sky laced with lightning, surrounded by the ruins of long-dead civilizations. Every step fractures the earth. Every breath disturbs the ashes of kings.
Boeing and Thai Airways International (THAI) have finalized a firm order for six 777-300 Extended Range (ER) airplanes. The order completes an agreement to purchase Boeing 777-300ERs announced during the Paris Air Show in June. At list prices, the order is valued at $1.7 billion.
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