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Beneath the Blood Moon, he stands — not man, not beast, but something far more ancient, more accursed.
Clad in jagged, obsidian-black armor, his form radiates dread. The plating looks forged not by man, but by gods who abandoned mercy long ago — spikes jut from his shoulders and arms like the spines of a demon, catching the red light of the moon like molten glass.
His hair, once silvery-white, now streams wild like smoke in a storm, whipping in an unseen wind. His face is cloaked in shadow, unreadable, inhuman. You cannot see his eyes — only the emptiness where mercy used to live.
This creation was not made on NightCafe.
Midjourney 5.2
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dope