Where Lightning Goes to Listen

Majestic figure with electric guitar in volcanic landscape

Artist
Scott...
Prompt
Read prompt
DDG Model
AIVision
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Public
Created
22h ago
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- Info
  Where Lightning Goes to Listen
  
  Model: AIVision
  
  Size: 2688 X 1512 (4.06 MP)
  
  Used settings:
  
  Prompt: A primordial guitarist-wizard stands at the heart of a volcanic realm, a living conduit of cosmic force. He towers in the frame, shot from a low, ascending angle that makes him feel titanborn. His long white hair lashes in hurricane sorcery, robes whipping like torn banners caught in a godstorm. His expression is raw, ageless fury — the gaze of one who has mastered storms older than the world. He grips a pearlescent white runed Flying V, held upright like a divine weapon mid-summon. Runes crawl across its surface, igniting with blue-white arcane fire as celestial current floods through the strings. Each chord rends the air, bending atmosphere like a physical pressure wave. He stands on a fractured volcanic dais, obsidian slabs glowing with magma veins that pulse to the rhythm of his playing. The ground buckles beneath him; fissures bloom with molten light. Flanking him are towering obsidian-and-brass speaker obelisks — carved with sigils, venting silent, visualized sound as rippling distortion patterns, heat currents, and spectral shockwaves. Lightning spirals down from a torn sky, chaining into the guitar, through his bracers, and outward in explosive arcs. Fire geysers whip into spirals around him. Storm halos wrap his silhouette in crowns of electric divinity. The environment is not a backdrop — it is an extension of his will, a throne of storms answering its master. The atmosphere is apocalyptic, high-saturation, and metal-mythic: molten rim-light, deep-carved shadows, scorched-stone texturelogic, chromatic charge in the air. His stance anchors the universe — wide, braced, leaning forward with gravitational certainty. He is not performing; he is conducting creation. A fantasy-metal illustration fused from the gravity of Frazetta, the cosmic spectacle of Ken Kelly, the ethereal surrealism of Amano, and the maximalist drama of heavy-metal album art. Heroic silhouette. Cataclysmic sky. Absolute visual commitment. --mod mythic-metal realism, --mod frazetta heroic anatomy, --mod molten rim-lighting, --mod volcanic atmosphere, --mod scorched-stone texturelogic, --mod electric-arc saturation, --mod cinematic low-angle framing, --mod gravitational composition spirals, --mod atmospheric depth, --mod volumetric fire haze, --mod lightning-kinetic energy, --mod rune-glyph luminosity, --mod high-fidelity rendering, --mod heavy-metal fantasy palette, --mod dynamic cloth motion, --mod storm-crown silhouette, --mod ultra-charged environment, --mod arcane energy threads
  
  Upscale & Enhance: 1
  
  Aspect Ratio: landscape_wide
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Prompt: A primordial guitarist-wizard stands at the heart of a volcanic realm, a living conduit of cosmic force. He towers in the frame, shot from a low, ascending angle that makes him feel titanborn. His long white hair lashes in hurricane sorcery, robes whipping like torn banners caught in a godstorm. His expression is raw, ageless fury — the gaze of one who has mastered storms older than the world. He grips a pearlescent white runed Flying V, held upright like a divine weapon mid-summon. Runes crawl across its surface, igniting with blue-white arcane fire as celestial current floods through the strings. Each chord rends the air, bending atmosphere like a physical pressure wave. He stands on a fractured volcanic dais, obsidian slabs glowing with magma veins that pulse to the rhythm of his playing. The ground buckles beneath him; fissures bloom with molten light. Flanking him are towering obsidian-and-brass speaker obelisks — carved with sigils, venting silent, visualized sound as rippling distortion patterns, heat currents, and spectral shockwaves. Lightning spirals down from a torn sky, chaining into the guitar, through his bracers, and outward in explosive arcs. Fire geysers whip into spirals around him. Storm halos wrap his silhouette in crowns of electric divinity. The environment is not a backdrop — it is an extension of his will, a throne of storms answering its master. The atmosphere is apocalyptic, high-saturation, and metal-mythic: molten rim-light, deep-carved shadows, scorched-stone texturelogic, chromatic charge in the air. His stance anchors the universe — wide, braced, leaning forward with gravitational certainty. He is not performing; he is conducting creation. A fantasy-metal illustration fused from the gravity of Frazetta, the cosmic spectacle of Ken Kelly, the ethereal surrealism of Amano, and the maximalist drama of heavy-metal album art. Heroic silhouette. Cataclysmic sky. Absolute visual commitment. --mod mythic-metal realism, --mod frazetta heroic anatomy, --mod molten rim-lighting, --mod volcanic atmosphere, --mod scorched-stone texturelogic, --mod electric-arc saturation, --mod cinematic low-angle framing, --mod gravitational composition spirals, --mod atmospheric depth, --mod volumetric fire haze, --mod lightning-kinetic energy, --mod rune-glyph luminosity, --mod high-fidelity rendering, --mod heavy-metal fantasy palette, --mod dynamic cloth motion, --mod storm-crown silhouette, --mod ultra-charged environment, --mod arcane energy threads

More about Where Lightning Goes to Listen

Before cities learned to sing in wires and circuits,
before storms were measured instead of feared,
there was one who learned to answer the sky.

He is not a performer.
He is not a sorcerer in the small sense of the word.
He is a living junction between sound and storm,
a titanborn conduit through whom the oldest forces of the world still speak.

The obelisks that rise around him are not instruments.
They are witnesses.
Hewn from obsidian, gutted with brass and fire,
they were raised so that thunder itself would finally have somewhere to stand.

When he strikes the first chord, the land fractures in recognition.
When he bends the strings, lightning changes its mind mid-descent.
The storm does not rage here.
It listens.

Each note is a command written in electricity.
Each surge of power is an ancient memory dragged back into the present.
Volcanoes answer like drums.
The sky answers like a choir that has waited an eternity for its cue.

Civilizations will one day build myths to explain this place.
They will fail.

Because this is not a concert.
Not a battle.
Not a ritual in the way mortals understand ritual.

This is simply where the storm comes to remember what it is, and thunder stands aside in quiet reverence.

And where lightning goes... to listen.