DeviantArt: Newest Superheroes

Red Rocket and Pink Lightning

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 15:42:53 PDT

Fred: Man, you look so badass in all that gear, chick!

Destiny: Thanks, honey! You did a great job making these wings!

Fred: Hehe, just doing my best! You ready for this?

Destiny: Absolutely! This is going to be the flight of a lifetime!

I couldn't resist.

Seems like Destiny got interested in Fred's jet wings from a while back:

Fred offered to craft her a very own set of these wings. And she happily agreed. Now that they're done, she's taking them on their maiden voyage, under Fred's supervision. I think he was happy that his girlfriend is getting more interested in his shenanigans.

Also thought of funny names for the two, like the superhero kind. Hence the silly title.

Fred and Destiny (C) to me

Pinkhead superhero doing her ordinary thing 141536

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 15:37:02 PDT

hot Tamle and spirti walker

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 15:15:58 PDT

The Zog king of wraiths of the wraiths was fansitnated by comic book super heroes. He decreed that that all highly level lords should have have atleast one superhero bodde A few mid level lords are allowed one super hero body.y. If the heroe was to tow obeser to have a manguin in the plex musme of fictional carters he would use th betaplex factory make on Instead of drawing manguians of acutlal supersheroes I pefered to draw expys. These are expy of firbird and red worlf form marvle comci rangers comcis. there names are hot tamale and sprit walker

Wonder Woman and Black Cnary Sketch Cover

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 15:08:29 PDT

My original Sketch Cover for sale on www.raremar.com.

https://www.raremarq.com/auctions/wonder-woman-and-black-canary-sketch-cover

This Setch Cover art features Wonder Woman in action, surrounded by swirling enemies in a dramatic tunnel scene. The DC logo and Wonder Woman title are prominently displayed on this issue, making it a standout addition for collectors. This piece is perfect for fans of the iconic Amazonian superhero and DC Comics history. Add this vibrant cover to your collection for an impressive display. I took advantage of this and used my different styles to enhance the visual impact of the canary waves.

Follow me on Instagram @matiasstreb.art.

My superhero when i was a boy

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 14:52:50 PDT

Superhero Cigar - Robin Nightwing 05 (2 Pics)

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 14:43:44 PDT

Full Uncensored Version:

x.com/paxbias/status/2044169573549883437

image 1

https://cdn.bsky.app/img/feed_fullsize/plain/did lc:3lgn74nnmzqk63akledbehla/bafkreih2xrhgvm7fbdb2mgruwwkh7k6myvgiodnkyl4d2iroimqero5nbm

image 2

https://cdn.bsky.app/img/feed_fullsize/plain/did lc:3lgn74nnmzqk63akledbehla/bafkreihxro2ygofzku4ff7szrxppbwpppgbh7yf5ltvacgvdmk3gma7o2q

Wonder Woman | Diana Prince

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 14:30:45 PDT

All characters are 18+ years of age.

Access exclusive content here:

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Wonder Woman | Diana Prince

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 14:30:34 PDT

Thank you for your support ❤This work exclusively features adult characters (18+), with all depicted interactions being entirely consensual.All characters are 18+ years of age.

Access exclusive content here:

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Wonder Woman | Diana Prince

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 14:30:20 PDT

All characters are 18+ years of age.

Access exclusive content here:

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She-Hulk Superhero Pinup (2 images)

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 14:19:30 PDT

All characters depicted are fictional or artistic representations. Any resemblance to real persons is purely coincidental. All fictional characters are portrayed as adults aged 18 or older.

Miss Bubble (Hero Axis)

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 13:59:25 PDT

Miss Bubble (Hero Axis)

Miss Bubble's real name is Rania Youssef, and she's a Lebanese superhero from Beirut. She's known for her ability to control and create bubbles of all kinds, manipulating them to perform various moves and skills.

In addition, she can produce special and unique types of unusual bubbles, such as steel shield bubbles, glow bubbles, and small bubbles that she uses as traps, swallowing anyone who touches them into a large, floating bubble. She also uses other types of bubbles in innovative ways. She's highly flexible, incredibly fast, and physically strong.

Miss Bubble is known for being cheerful and energetic, but also strong, serious, and intelligent when the situation calls for it. She loves to joke and tell funny stories. She's one of the newest members of Hero Axis and is considered a supportive element, as she enjoys helping other heroes and creating moves that complement their powers and abilities.

She is also a consistently positive member of society, even in the most difficult circumstances. She encourages others not to give up and gives her all in every task. She is well-liked and always ready to confront villains or corrupt heroes and protect the innocent, and she doesn't care about fame or media attention.

الآنسة فقاعة ( محور الابطال)

الانسه فقاعه اسمها الحقيقي هو رانيا يوسف، وهي بطلة خارقة لبنانية من مدينه بيروت. تتميز بقدرتها على التحكم بالفقاعات وإنشائها بكل أنواعها، والتحكم بها للقيام بحركات ومهارات متنوعة.

بالإضافة إلى ذلك، تقدر تنتج أنواع خاصة وفريدة من الفقاعات غير العادية، مثل فقعات درعيه أصل من فولاذ، أو فقعات مظيئه، أو فقعات صغيره تستعملها كفخاخ حيث تبتلع كل من يلمسها داخل فقاعه كبيره تطفو بالهواء، وغيرها من أنواع الفقعات اللي تستعملها بشكل مبتكر. كما أنها تمتاز بمرونة عالية وسرعة كبيرة في الحركة وقوه جسديه.

تُعرف الآنسة فقاعة بكونها فتاة مرحة ونشيطة، لكنها في الوقت نفسه قوية وجدية وذكيه عندما يتطلب الموقف ذلك، وتحب مزاح والقاء النكت. وهي من أحدث أعضاء محور الأبطال، وتُعتبر عنصراً داعماً حيث تحب مساعدة الأبطال الآخرين، وتكوين حركات تتماشى مع قواهم وقدراتهم.

كمان تُعد عضواً إيجابياً دائماً، حتى في أصعب الظروف، فهي تشجع الآخرين على عدم الاستسلام وتبذل قصارى جهدها في كل مهمه. وهي محبوبه ومستعده دئماً لمواجهة الاشرار أو الأبطال الفاسدين وحماية الأبرياء، ولا تكثرت للشهره أو الصوره الإعلاميه

Do you like my new suspenders?

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 13:53:14 PDT

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Explore Some Popular Categories:

Amanda | Bikini Babes | Daily Challenges | Fan Favorites | Fun at the Renaissance Fair

Gagged Ladies | Mermaids | Metal Bondage | Sports and Fitness Women | Superheroes

Sort My Ladies by Hair Color:
►Blondes ►Brunettes ►Gingers

All AI women are fictitious and intended to be at least 21 years old.

Explore more of my art and see the AI Tools I use, including free ones, here on my Linktree

All Smiles and Good Vibes Here

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 13:53:14 PDT

View Some Similar Pictures

Explore Some Popular Categories:

Amanda | Bikini Babes | Daily Challenges | Fan Favorites | Fun at the Renaissance Fair

Gagged Ladies | Mermaids | Metal Bondage | Sports and Fitness Women | Superheroes

Tifa - Everyday Life (201)

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 13:00:47 PDT

❤️🔥 Power and Grace: Girls of Justice 🔥❤️

Strength meets style. 'Girls of Justice' is a curated gallery dedicated to the world’s most iconic female heroes. Whether they possess superhuman abilities or unmatched survival skills, these women prove that justice has a formidable face. Explore the art of the heroines who inspire us all

The Exclusive Revelation:

👑 Your Secret Claim: This is a one-time offering. The shadow you claim will be yours, and yours alone. Full Exclusive Ownership is granted for this specific digital soul.
📐 The Unfiltered Vision: Experience the complete truth. The file is delivered in breathtaking 4K Resolution, ensuring every haunting detail and subtle curve is revealed with crystalline clarity.
🚫 Clean Canvas: There is no need for signatures or symbols to mar the beauty. Your download is delivered Completely Watermark-Free, allowing the imagery to consume you whole.
🗝️ Forbidden Knowledge: My creations are raw and unfiltered. You will receive the Original, Uncensored Content, precisely as intended by the muse.
🌍 Unleash the Spirit: This exclusive acquisition grants you Unlimited Usage Rights. Take this vision with you into any domain—personal collections, commercial ventures, prints, or digital display. It is yours to possess and use everywhere for any purpose your dark heart desires.

Dare to step into the darkness and possess this piece of forbidden beauty. Claim your exclusive revelation before the shadow fades.

⚠️ MATURE CONTENT DISCLAIMER ⚠️

This AI artwork is intended for adult audiences (18+) only. This piece explores themes of seduction, eroticism, and mature feminine desire.

Please Note:

All characters depicted are imaginary figures and are represented as being of legal adult age.

This content is created in strict adherence to DeviantArt's Mature Content Policy. It does not contain any explicit, illegal, or offensive material. The focus is on artful allusion and suggestive themes, not graphic or hyper-realistic depictions.

Viewer discretion is advised. By continuing to view and interact with this artwork, you confirm that you are over the age of 18.

Marvel Minimalism - Wiccan

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 12:58:10 PDT

This is part of an ongoing series of minimalist designs based on Marvel comics! If you want to support my work OR suggest a character for me to make, I have a Ko-fi account where people who donate can name the next character I design.

Ko-fi:

ko-fi.com/jrlunaart/

Instagram:

www.instagram.com/jrlunaart/

Etsy:

www.etsy.com/shop/jrlunaart

Shopify:

https://jrlunaart.myshopify.com/

Marvel Minimalism - Dr. Strange (MCU)

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 12:56:56 PDT

Ko-fi:

ko-fi.com/jrlunaart/

Instagram:

www.instagram.com/jrlunaart/

Etsy:

www.etsy.com/shop/jrlunaart

Shopify:

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Superhero

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 12:49:51 PDT

All models depicted are over 21 years of age

COMM: CRAZY HAMBURGER

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 12:39:15 PDT

This is a commission of (from left to right) Harley Quinn and Batgirl from DC Comics, made for my friend https://www.deviantart.com/sosukeaizen605. Thank you for commissioning me!

To be honest the mention of “crazy hamburgers” is a reference to this video if it’s okay to say and show: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v VbtFP40E50 The dialogue is also meant to have a similar tone to the more expository dialogue of earlier superhero comics.

Stars Strips

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 12:34:25 PDT

Loth-Eth/Superwarrior

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 12:28:44 PDT

Birthname: Loth-Eth

Legal Name: Robert Jack Burton

Superhero name: Superwarrior

Titles: The Last Warrior of Krypton, The Warrior of Steel, The Warrior of Tomorrow, The Kryptonian Avenger, The Kryptonian Demon, Hell's Greatest Hero, Seven Rings' Greatest Hero, Hell's Mightiest Hero, Seven Rings' Mightiest Hero, White Lantern of Pride Ring

Gender: Male

Species: Kryptonian

Place of origin: Krypton

Team affiliations: Immediate Murder Professionals (I.M.P.), Hazbin Hotel, Superfamily, The Justice Avengers, and White Lantern Corps

Occupation(s): Explorer, scientist, inventor, researcher, engineer, video gamer, warrior, fighter, martial artist, superhero, assassin, hitman, and bodyguard.

Power Source:

Solar Radiation

Constant Power Absorption

Healing Factor

Yellow sunlight increases powers:

•2700x-5500x

Red sunlight has no effect:

•<2700x

Blue sunlight double increase:

•>5500x

•Adds new abilities

Super Senses:

Super Hearing

Super Vision:

•X-Ray Vision

•Telescopic Vision

•Microscopic Vision

•Electromagnetic Vison

•Fourth dimensional

Powers:

Flight

Super Strength

Super Speed

•Infinite Mass Punch

•Molecular Phasing

Healing Factor

Super Breath

Arctic Breath

Heat Vision

Super Flare

Invulnerability

Bio-Electric Aura

Time Travel

Genesis powers:

•Energy construct

•Interstellar teleportation

•Mechanokinesis

Genius Level Intellect:

Super Brain

Perfect Photographic memory

Technological Genius

Master Technician

Can read and memorize DNA

Taught all remaining Kryptonian knowledge by his father Bur-Eth

Skills:

Chi control

Martial Arts:

•Boxing

•Jujitsu

•Krav Maga

•Pressure Points

•Hamon

Toquasm-Rao:

•Astrel Projection

•Energy purification

•Increases combat instinct

Toquasm-Vo:

•Kryptonian "Theta State"

•Illusion projection

•Mind manipulation & protection

Arsenal:

(Right middle finger):

White Lantern Ring:

•Life Energy Conduit

•Emotional Spectrum Dominance

•Energy Blast

•Force Field Generation

•Energy Constructs

•Phasing

•Environmental Playback

•Invisibility & Light Reflection

•Energy Absorption

•Flight

•Wormholes and Spatial Warps

•Healing

•Connection to Life

White Lantern Power Battery

(Left wrist):

Omnitrix:

•Current Model: Omnitrix (Completed)

•Contains 1,000,912 Alien DNA Samples (Except Human DNA)

•Kryptonian-Galven hybrid tech

•Master Control Enabled (Unlimited transformation time, transforming in an alien or switching between transformations using thoughts, no mistranformations and unlocks every single DNA sample in the Omnitrix database)

•Created by Azmuth and Siber-Te

Suit(s): New 52 Ceremonial Kryptonian Armor (Green)

Weaknesses:

Kryptonite:

• Green: Fatally saps strength

• Red: Creates random mutations

• Black: Causes murderous insanity

• Gold: Permanently removes powers

Lead blocks X-ray vision

Magic vulnerability

Red solar energy

Sensory overload

Elliot - Body Paint

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 12:28:11 PDT

Follow the adventures of Dr. Evie Adams. A young ambitious scientist makes a game changing discovery and accidentally imbues herself with amazing powers. Now she must come to grips with life as a superhero!

Subscribe here for full access to the G3nysis comic book and uncensored extras! - https://www.deviantart.com/g3nysis/subscriptions

Spider-Gwen (Gwen Stacy)

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 12:04:18 PDT

The image is presented as fan art.

Only 1 owner!
If you buy this art, you will get it without watermarks and in high resolution. You will be the only owner of this art in maximum quality.

Spider-Gwen (Gwen Stacy)

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 12:03:54 PDT

The image is presented as fan art.

Only 1 owner!
If you buy this art, you will get it without watermarks and in high resolution. You will be the only owner of this art in maximum quality.

Spider-Gwen (Gwen Stacy)

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 12:03:25 PDT

The image is presented as fan art.

Only 1 owner!
If you buy this art, you will get it without watermarks and in high resolution. You will be the only owner of this art in maximum quality.

Spider-Gwen (Gwen Stacy)

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 12:02:13 PDT

The image is presented as fan art.

Only 1 owner!
If you buy this art, you will get it without watermarks and in high resolution. You will be the only owner of this art in maximum quality.

Spider-Gwen (Gwen Stacy)

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 12:01:34 PDT

The image is presented as fan art.

Only 1 owner!
If you buy this art, you will get it without watermarks and in high resolution. You will be the only owner of this art in maximum quality.

Queen Chrysalis And The Mean 6 2.0

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 11:44:39 PDT

Seong Mi-Na: Spear of Defiance

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 11:41:56 PDT

***I really appreciate your likes and comments. Thank you so much for your support ***

...for more supergirl, chun li, batgirl, tifa, lara croft, wonder woman, catwoman, rogue, samus aran, psylocke, power girl, poison ivy, she hulk, black widow, captain marvel, jean grey, storm, video game fan art, superheroes, comic art, anime and much more, please visit my page at www.deviantart.com/jadegretzai - Thanks for your support

...for more supergirl, chun li, batgirl, tifa, lara croft, wonder woman, catwoman, rogue, samus aran, psylocke, power girl, poison ivy, she hulk,

black widow, captain marvel, jean grey, storm, video game fan art, superheroes, comic art, anime and much more, please visit my page at www.deviantart.com/jadegretzai - Thanks for your support

Seong Mi-Na: Spear of Defiance by Jade Gretz

Shadows of the Glaive

Mist clung to the jagged peaks like a shroud woven from forgotten screams, and Seong Mi-Na gripped her glaive tighter, its crescent blade humming faintly against the chill. The forest below pulsed with unnatural life—trees twisting into shapes that mocked human forms, branches like outstretched claws. She had fled her father's stronghold three nights past, the echo of his final command still burning: "Return, or be dragged back in chains." But chains were the least of her fears now. The mercenaries he sent were no ordinary hunters; their eyes gleamed with a void-black hunger, and their wounds sealed like water over a stone.

Mi-Na paused at the ridge's edge, her breath a ghost in the fog. Beautiful in her defiance, her raven hair bound in a warrior's knot, her silk hanbok torn but unyielding, she scanned the valley. Torchlight flickered far below, weaving through the underbrush like predatory fireflies. They were closing in, twenty strong, their leader a hulking figure named Kang, whose axe had tasted more than steel in recent moons. Whispers followed them—inhuman murmurs that slithered into her mind, promising reunion with something ancient and ravenous.

A twig snapped behind her. She whirled, glaive arcing in a silver blur, but met only empty air. Laughter? No, a chuckle, bold and reckless, from the shadows of a gnarled pine.

"Impressive swing, spear-maiden. But if you're aiming for ghosts, you'll need more than flair."

Out stepped Yun-seong, his frame lean and coiled like a panther's, twin swords sheathed at his hips. His grin cut through the dread, eyes alight with the fire of one who courted chaos. Mi-Na lowered her weapon fractionally, recognition dawning. The wandering swordsman, infamous for challenging warlords on whims, now here in this cursed wood.

"You," she hissed, voice steady as tempered steel. "Fate mocks me by sending a fool at my heels."

"Fool? Nay, fortune's favored son." He bowed mockingly, then straightened, peering into the mist. "Heard the howls on the wind. Your father's dogs? They reek of something fouler than greed."

She glanced at the torches snaking closer. No time for banter. "If you value your neck, vanish. This hunt ends with my head, not yours."

Yun-seong's laugh rang out, defiant against the encroaching whispers. "And miss the sport? Lead on, Mi-Na. I'll carve a path through your shadows—if you can keep pace."

Reluctance warred with necessity. His recklessness was legend: storming fortresses alone, dueling phantoms of his own making. Yet in this gloom, where reality frayed at the edges, his fire might pierce the veil. She nodded curtly, and they plunged into the valley, the forest swallowing them whole.

The path twisted through ravines where the air grew thick, tasting of iron and decay. Mi-Na led, her glaive parting vines that writhed like serpents. Yun-seong flanked her, swords drawn, humming a defiant tune. But the mercenaries were relentless, their footfalls a thunderous rhythm laced with those insidious murmurs.

"Why does your father unleash hell itself upon you?" Yun-seong asked, parrying a low branch that lashed out unbidden.

Mi-Na vaulted a fallen log, her mind flashing to the stronghold's undercrypts—rumors of a blade shard her father had unearthed, pulsing with crimson light. "He seeks control. Always control. But these men... they change. Kang's axe drank blood that night; now it hungers for souls."

A scream pierced the dusk, too human yet warped. Ahead, a clearing ringed by standing stones, etched with runes that glowed faintly blue. The mercenaries emerged from the mist, encircling them. Kang stepped forward, his face a mask of stretched skin, eyes pits of endless night.

"Mi-Na," he rasped, voice overlapping with a chorus beneath. "The shard calls you home. Father weeps for his lost glaive-witch."

She froze. Glaive-witch? Her weapon, heirloom of her line, forged to guard against Soul Edge's fragments. Had her father bound it to that curse?

Yun-seong snorted, swords blurring into guards. "Poetic drivel. Come, flesh-puppets—dance with steel!"

Battle erupted. Mi-Na spun her glaive in a whirlwind, severing limbs that reformed in oily shadow. Yun-seong dove recklessly into the fray, blades singing, laughing as he bisected a foe only for it to whisper his name from the ground. "Predictable!" he taunted Kang, dodging the axe. "Swing like a man, not a gale!"

Kang's reply was a guttural chant, and the ground heaved. Roots erupted, coiling like veins, tipped with thorns that wept black ichor. One snagged Mi-Na's ankle; she slashed free, but pain bloomed—visions assailed her: her father enthroned on bones, a crimson shard embedded in his chest, birthing abominations.

"They're not men anymore!" she shouted, glaive cleaving a root. "The shard corrupts!"

Yun-seong grinned through blood-sweat. "Then we root out the heart! Follow my lead—or don't, and watch the show!"

His recklessness ignited her fury. He charged Kang headlong, swords flashing in a reckless flurry that drew the axe wide. Mi-Na seized the opening, glaive thrusting true into the brute's chest. Black essence sprayed, and Kang crumpled, but his form dissolved into mist, reforming as a swarm of shadowy motes that burrowed into the earth.

The remaining mercenaries faltered, murmurs rising to a wail. Yun-seong grabbed her arm. "Run! This wood hides worse."

They fled deeper, the forest closing ranks. Night fell like a predator's hood, stars blotted by writhing clouds. Whispers intensified, forming words: Join us. The blade sings your name.

Hours blurred into torment. They stumbled into a ruined temple, its arches carved with fox spirits and dragon maws, overgrown with luminescent fungi that pulsed like heartbeats. Mi-Na collapsed against a pillar, glaive across her lap. Yun-seong scouted the perimeter, returning with a waterskin and dried fish—provisions snatched mid-flight.

"You're a storm in man's skin," she said, accepting the food. Her voice softened, edged with weary admiration. "But storms drown the wise."

He crouched beside her, wiping his blades. "And the wise rot in cages. Your father cages you, Mi-Na. Why flee now? The shard—tell me true."

She met his gaze, the fungi's glow casting her features in ethereal light. Beautiful, unbowed, yet haunted. "He found it in the old wars' graves—a fragment of Soul Edge. Claimed it would forge our dynasty anew. But it twisted him. Visions came: me, wielding it as queen of shadows. He sends these... thralls to bind me to it."

Yun-seong whistled low. "Soul Edge. Legends whisper it devours wills, births nightmares. Your glaive—it's keyed against it?"

She nodded, tracing the blade's runes. "Forged by shamans. But the whispers grow stronger. I fear it's weakening."

A distant howl echoed, joined by skittering claws. Yun-seong stood, alert. "Company. Not your father's dogs—these are wilder."

Shadows coalesced at the temple mouth: dokkaebi imps, horned fiends with clubs of bone, eyes like embers. Folklore made flesh, drawn by the shard's aura. They chittered, circling.

"Reckless one," Mi-Na murmured, rising. "Your charge will be our end."

"Or our legend." He winked. "Bet on the fool."

The imps lunged. Yun-seong met them in a whirlwind, swords a blur, felling two with precise fury. "Like swatting flies!" he crowed. An imp leaped for his back; Mi-Na's glaive impaled it mid-air, hurling the corpse aside.

"Less boasting, more blade!" she snapped, but a smile ghosted her lips. His fire emboldened her strikes, glaive weaving death in arcs of silver.

They cleared the pack, but exhaustion clawed deep. Deeper in the temple, a chamber yawned: altar central, veined marble throbbing faintly. Atop it, a mirror—ancient, framed in jade foxes—rippled like liquid night.

Mi-Na approached warily. Her reflection stared back, but twisted: eyes black voids, glaive crimson.

"It's a soul-trap," Yun-seong warned, hand on her shoulder. "Don't—"

The mirror shattered inward. Shards reformed into Kang's visage, larger, spectral. "The shard hungers, daughter. Father bids you kneel."

Illusions swarmed: visions of her kin, twisted into thralls, begging her return. Terror gripped her—hands clawed at her from the stone floor, whispers promising power.

Yun-seong shattered the spell with a shout. "Lies of the pit!" He hurled a sword into the apparition; it dispersed, but Kang's true form emerged from the altar's base—a hulking shadow amalgam of all the mercenaries, axe fused to flesh.

"Now the dance ends," it boomed.

Mi-Na and Yun-seong fought as one. Her glaive parried the axe's cataclysmic swings, his swords seeking joints in the nightmare flesh. "Flank left!" she called.

"Already there!" he replied, slashing tendons that oozed shadow.

But the beast adapted, spawning tendrils that pierced Yun-seong's guard, coiling his throat. He gasped, swords faltering.

"Fool!" Mi-Na cried, desperation fueling her. She leaped, glaive channeling shamanic light—runes blazing. The blade plunged into the core, where a crimson shard pulsed.

Agony ripped through her: visions of her father, shard-merged, laughing in the stronghold. Come home, Mi-Na. Rule with me.

"No!" She twisted the glaive, shattering the fragment. The beast wailed, collapsing into dissipating smoke.

Yun-seong coughed free, grinning weakly. "Told you... bet on the fool."

Dawn pierced the temple as they emerged, weakened but alive. The forest lay still, whispers silenced. Yet mystery lingered: her father's fate unknown, the shard's echo perhaps calling more.

Mi-Na sheathed her glaive, turning to him. "Your recklessness saved us. But next time, heed the wise."

He laughed, sheathing his retrieved sword. "Wise? We'd be thralls. Admit it—you thrive on the storm."

She paused, his words stirring something fierce. "Perhaps. But storms pass. What now, ally?"

"Together, we storm the stronghold. End your father's curse."

Her eyes gleamed. Uneasy alliance forged in terror, emboldened by fire. The hunt reversed.

Far off, in the stronghold's crypt, her father stirred, a new shard pulsing. Whispers renewed: They come. Prepare the feast.

My Fanart of Tony Holiday

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 11:06:16 PDT

And here is fanart of Tony Holiday, also as another gift to @SubwooferLabs. He's the biggest superhero, bigger and stronger than Superman, the Hulk, Goku and any WWE wrestler that comes to mind!

G3nysis #12 - Page 31

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 11:04:41 PDT

Subscribe here for full access to the G3nysis comic book and uncensored extras! - https://www.deviantart.com/g3nysis/subscriptions

Storm: Electric Elegance

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 11:03:16 PDT

***I really appreciate your likes and comments. Thank you so much for your support ***

Storm: Electric Elegance by Jade Gretz

The Breath of Leviathan

Ozone tasted like bruised metal on the back of the tongue. High above the churning maw of the Philippine Sea, Ororo Munroe tasted nothing but a continent-sized cemetery.

Below her, a meteorological impossibility was digesting a catastrophe. Typhoon Meranti, a category five engine of devastation, should have been spinning out its fury across the open water. Instead, its spiraling white arms were being violently unraveled, drawn upward into the belly of a far denser, darker mass of cumulonimbus. It was a supercell, yet it possessed an anatomy that defied every law of nature Ororo commanded.

The usurper storm did not merely consume the typhoon; it savored it. Violet lightning, thick as redwood trunks, pulsed in rhythmic, circulatory flashes deep within the charcoal-gray clouds. It had a heartbeat. It was stalking global weather systems, eating them whole, and growing entirely too large.

"Ororo, you must fall back. Now." Jean Grey’s voice echoed in the cathedral of Ororo’s mind. The telepathic transmission was frayed, fringed with a psychic static that sounded alarmingly like grinding teeth. "Logan is prepping the Blackbird, but I cannot promise we can reach you in time. That thing... it isn't just a low-pressure system."

"I can feel its hunger, Jean," Ororo replied aloud, her voice laced with the absolute authority of the elements, yet entirely stripped of her usual comfort. She hovered at thirty thousand feet, her white cape snapping against invisible, probing updrafts. "It is tasting the ocean. And it is tasting me."

"It's building a nervous system out of ionized air," Jean warned, her mental projection shimmering with rare, unvarnished panic. "Emma tried to pierce its core a moment ago. It pushed her out so hard she hemorrhaged. The sheer scale of its ego is terrifying. It isn't just surviving, Ororo. It is hunting."

"Then I shall be its lobotomy," Ororo said, her eyes shifting into a luminescent, solid white.

"Do not play the surgeon when you are meant to be the bride," a third voice interrupted.

The sound did not come through Jean's telepathy, nor did it travel through the earpiece. It manifested in the physical vibration of the ice crystals suspended in the troposphere. It was a whispering baritone that resonated directly in the marrow of Ororo’s bones, carrying the scent of crushed deep-sea coral and the damp, earthy rot of unearthed graves.

Jean’s presence in Ororo’s mind vanished instantly, severed by a wall of impenetrable electromagnetic static. The sky had isolated them.

The wind abruptly shifted. The violent gales surrounding the supercell ceased, replaced by a terrifying, velvet stillness. An updraft coiled around Ororo's ankles, creeping up her thighs and wrapping around her waist like a silken, invisible serpent. It was a caress. A chilling, proprietary touch that made the hairs on her arms stand on end.

*Beautiful goddess,* the storm vibrated against her skin, the friction of the air creating a localized acoustic field. You bind yourself to the dirt. You tether your infinite grace to apes who hate you. Come. Dance with the endless dark.

"You are an aberration," Ororo commanded, sweeping her arms outward. She summoned a localized squall, intending to shear the supercell's outer bands and disrupt its convection.

A torrent of razor-sharp wind blades lashed into the dark clouds. The entity simply absorbed the kinetic energy. The violet lightning within its belly flared brighter, glowing with a sensual, satiated rhythm.

*Your sparks are sweet, mutant. Your fury is a fine vintage. Feed me more. I have swallowed the ghost of Katrina. I have drank the memories of Haiyan. They were mindless beasts, screaming into the void without purpose. You... you possess the exquisite agony of restraint.*

The supercell began to rise, engulfing the horizon. Ororo found herself encased in a canyon of bruised clouds, walls of churning gray and violent purple towering miles above her. It was a sensory deprivation chamber built of pure terror. The barometric pressure fluctuated wildly, an intentional assault designed to induce vertigo and a profound, claustrophobic dread.

"You are nothing but weather," Ororo declared, forcing her voice to remain steady while her internal compass spun in agonized confusion. "I am the Windrider. I command the elements. I do not submit to them."

*You command localized tantrums,* the entity mocked gently. The wind brushed her cheek, tracing her jawline with horrifying tenderness. I stalk the globe. I sweep the oceans clean. Look upon my choir, Windrider. Listen to the dowry I bring you.

From the depths of the cloud canyon, faces began to press against the vaporous walls. They were not solid, but formed from mist and rain—thousands of agonizing visages opening their mouths in a silent, collective chorus. It was the psychic imprint of every soul claimed by the typhoons and hurricanes this leviathan had eaten.

The sheer weight of their terror pressed against Ororo’s psyche. It was a masterpiece of horror, painted across the canvas of the sky. The entity was not merely killing; it was curating a gallery of suffering to fuel its massive, expanding consciousness. It considered her a rival in power, but the ultimate prey for its insatiable ambition.

*Merge with me,* the storm pleaded, the temperature plummeting as it tightened its invisible embrace. Let us drown the eastern hemisphere in a single, glorious tide. Why hold back the rain, Ororo? Relinquish the burden of your morality. Let us wash the slate clean.

To fight it with lightning would be to feed it. To fight it with wind would only grant it momentum.

Ororo ceased her resistance. She let her arms fall to her sides, her white eyes dimming back to their natural, piercing blue.

*Ah,* the storm murmured, the thunder rolling like a contented purr. You see the wisdom of surrender. You feel the truth of our union.

The supercell parted, revealing its eye. It was not the chaotic, churning center of a normal hurricane. It was a perfect, cylindrical cathedral of smooth, black ice walls, miles across, illuminated by an ethereal, sickly green luminescence. The air within was entirely dead. A perfect, terrifying vacuum of sound and motion. Shadows danced along the curved walls, cast by the bioluminescent glow of the trapped lightning. It felt like standing inside the hollowed-out throat of a cosmic beast.

Ororo allowed the gentle currents to pull her into the center of the eye. The silence was heavier than the noise had been. It pressed against her eardrums, a suffocating absence of reality that made her own heartbeat sound like the deafening beat of war drums. The scent of ozone had been replaced by something far more unsettling: the sterile, ancient smell of deep space.

In the center of the vast expanse, the storm manifested its avatar. It coalesced from ozone, mist, and concentrated electrostatic energy—a towering, shifting silhouette of a masculine figure, crowned in jagged halos of ball lightning. It possessed no face, only a swirling vortex of slate-gray clouds where a head should be, yet Ororo could feel its gaze upon her. It was a look of absolute, consuming desire. It reached out a hand composed of swirling, dark vapor, crackling with miniature thunderstorms.

"You wish to merge," Ororo said, her voice small but piercing in the absolute silence. "To become a single entity."

*I wish to marry your soul to my flesh,* the entity resonated, no longer needing the wind to carry its voice. It spoke directly into the water within Ororo’s cells, a terrifying invasion of her own biology. I am the inevitable evolution of this world's pain. Humanity burns the sky, poisons the sea, and expects the Earth to remain a silent victim. I am the planet's retort. Take my hand. Leave the world of the crawling things behind. Let us cleanse it all.

Ororo drifted forward. The sheer dread of the entity’s proximity made her heart hammer against her ribs like a trapped bird. Every instinct screamed at her to flee, to summon a solar wind, to burn the sky down. But she knew that any expression of heat or energy would only seal the bond, feeding the convection loop of its immense ego.

She reached out, her trembling fingers inches from the swirling vortex of the entity's hand.

"You are vast," Ororo whispered, looking up into the faceless, shifting visage of the storm god. "You are powerful. But you have forgotten one fundamental law of this world."

The entity paused, a flicker of uncertainty rippling through its vaporous form. Speak your vows, Windrider.

"Convection requires warmth," Ororo said, her eyes flashing with a blinding, terrifying brilliance.

She did not summon a storm. She summoned the void. Reaching deep into her connection to the Earth's atmosphere, she bypassed the troposphere entirely and pulled down the unfathomable, killing cold of the mesosphere.

She did not blast the entity with ice; she simply deleted the heat from the space around them.

The temperature inside the eye plummeted past minus one hundred degrees, then minus two hundred, racing toward absolute zero in a fraction of a second. The velvet stillness shattered.

The entity shrieked. It was not a sound of wind or thunder, but a psychic scream that tore through the electromagnetic spectrum, audible only in the realm of raw consciousness. Its vaporous avatar crystallized instantly, freezing into a grotesque, jagged statue of dirty ice.

*Treachery!* the entity howled, its voice fracturing like breaking glass in her mind.

"I am no one's bride," Ororo said coldly, the air around her so frigid that oxygen itself began to liquefy, falling like pale blue tears toward the ocean far below.

The supercell, deprived of the thermal energy required to sustain its massive, unnatural circulatory system, began to collapse. The heartbeat of violet lightning seized. The immense, bruising walls of the cloud canyon lost their structural integrity, turning brittle and pale.

Ororo maintained the absolute freeze, her own body pushed to the extreme brink of endurance. Frost blackened the edges of her costume; her skin grew dangerously pale. She felt the entity thrashing against the cold, a dying leviathan trapped under an unbreakable sheet of thermal death.

It tried to pull warmth from the ocean below, but Ororo had severed the updrafts, placing an impassable thermal ceiling above the water. It was cut off, isolated, and starving.

*I... would have... made you... eternal...* the voice faded, the seductive baritone reduced to a pathetic, grinding rasp as the ice crushed its vocal architecture.

"I am already eternal," Ororo replied.

With a final, monumental exertion of will, she shattered the frozen core of the supercell.

The sky broke. The continent-sized mass of the entity fractured into a billion pieces of harmless hail, raining down upon the turbulent, confused waters of the Pacific. The psychic weight that had pressed against the atmosphere evaporated, leaving behind a sky that felt wounded, but clean.

The sudden absence of the entity created a violent vacuum, and natural winds rushed in to fill the void. Ororo was tossed like a ragdoll by the sudden turbulence, her concentration breaking as the localized freeze dissipated.

She caught herself, fighting the mundane, mindless gales of the returning atmospheric normal. She was shivering violently, her lips blue, her energy reserves entirely depleted.

"Ororo!" Jean’s voice burst back into her mind, breathless and frantic. "Ororo, are you there? The static is gone. The pressure anomaly just vanished off our scanners."

"I am here, Jean," Ororo breathed, wrapping her cape tightly around herself. The tropical sun was beginning to break through the dissipating clouds, warming her frozen skin.

"What happened? Emma is still unconscious. The psychic backlash was massive. Did you destroy it?"

Ororo looked down at the ocean. The hail had already melted into the sea. There was no trace of the leviathan, no monument to the nightmare that had nearly consumed the heavens.

"I starved it," Ororo said softly.

"It felt like an ancient god, Ororo. It felt like something that shouldn't exist."

"It doesn't anymore."

Ororo banked toward the east, following the gentle, natural pull of the trade winds. The sun felt different on her skin now. It felt less like a given right, and more like a hard-won prize. She had gazed into the vast, hungry eye of an intelligence born of chaos, and she had watched it die.

Yet, as she flew toward the horizon, Ororo Munroe could not shake the chill that lingered deep within her bones. She listened to the rustle of the wind against her cape, listening very closely to ensure it was only the mindless movement of air, terrified that one day, the sky might whisper her name again.

(OPEN - Adopt) Starshard

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 11:01:15 PDT

Adopt Profile — Starshard

Name: Solenne Vey

Alias: Starshard

Concept: A cosmic breachwarden who turns fractured memories into hard-light wings, shields, and weapons while hunting anomalies that tear holes through space-time.

Visual Identity: Ice-white hair, luminous eyes, midnight-blue and gold stellar armor, and a translucent memory-cape patterned like cracked glass filled with preserved scenes from lost timelines.

Archetype: Noble sci-fi superhero / celestial guardian / multiversal sentinel.

Backstory: Once a deep-orbit navigator, Solenne survived a catastrophic astral rupture that fused her body with chronal energy; now she patrols collapsing star corridors, rescuing the living from disasters that history itself is trying to erase.

Personality: Controlled, intelligent, vigilant, quietly compassionate, and burdened by the weight of remembering too much.

Abilities: Stellar energy projection, vacuum flight, temporal shielding, memory-construct manifestation, breach sealing, and short-range chronal distortion.

Weaknesses: Overuse forces her to relive stored trauma, unstable anomalies can corrupt her constructs, and her instinct to save everyone makes her hesitate at critical moments.

Story Hook: Every shard in her cape contains a life, choice, or future that should not exist—and one of them shows her own death repeating across worlds.

Design Appeal: Strong silhouette, premium cosmic palette, high-action posing potential, elegant tragic-hero energy, and excellent fit for superhero, space opera, or multiverse-centered stories.

Adopt Tagline: She does not simply cross timelines—she carries their ruins with her.

Battle-cats

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 10:58:15 PDT

Coming to your TV, probably never.

The Rescue

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 10:49:39 PDT

just a quick piece of my girl Miki hehe obsessed with my superheros again haha

love my little gremlin chimera bird thing haha

obligitory message: All of my art is made without the use of AI. I would appreciate it if you didn't reupload, trace, steal or use any of my art/character designs or art that was made for other people.

Judy Alvarez: Braindance Warrior

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 10:43:56 PDT

***I really appreciate your likes and comments. Thank you so much for your support ***

Judy Alvarez: Braindance Warrior by Jade Gretz

The Velvet Subroutine

Fractal geometry folded inward, bleeding ultraviolet into the absolute dark.

Judy Alvarez did not jack out. She could not. The neural link at her temple felt less like a fiber-optic cable and more like a heated needle buried deep within her cortex. Around her, the raw, scrolling data streams of the Pacifica subnet dissolved. They were aggressively overwritten by the damp, oppressive architecture of a simulated mausoleum. Weeping willows woven from jade-green code dripped visual static over crumbling marble tombs. The air in this virtual construct tasted of copper and ancient dust, a sensory simulation so agonizingly precise that her physical throat constricted in her basement thousands of miles away.

She was a Braindance technician, an artist of human memory, a sculptor of the emotional spectrum. She was not a combat netrunner. Yet, the Voodoo Boys did not care for such technical distinctions. They recognized a mind capable of shaping reality, of manipulating sensory input with flawless precision, and they sought to claim it for their own arcane purposes.

"You shape the dream, little spider," a voice whispered.

It did not emerge from the digital shadows; it vibrated up through the simulated cobblestones, resonating within the marrow of her virtual bones.

"But you do not comprehend the phantoms that reside within it."

A figure coalesced beneath the weeping canopy. He wore an immaculate suit of white linen, his avatar’s skin the color of polished obsidian. His eyes, however, were hollow rings of gold hexadecimal code, spinning in contrary directions. This was Baptiste, a warlock of the deep Net, a weaver of nightmares for the Pacifica collective. He moved with a liquid grace, his cane tapping a rhythmic, hypnotic beat against the stone.

"I understand corrupted code when I see it, Baptiste," Judy said, forcing her voice to remain perfectly level. She raised her hands, summoning a glowing orange halo of counter-intrusion scripts. They were her editing tools, repurposed for survival. "This haunted house routine is incredibly heavy-handed. You are burning far too much processing power on the environmental fog."

Baptiste smiled. It was a slow, intoxicating parting of lips that sent an artificial shiver of warmth through her icy dread. It was a highly calculated seduction, a direct manipulation of her avatar's endocrine parameters. He was commanding the simulation to make her feel a terrible, magnetic pull toward him, overriding her natural panic with synthetic allure.

"It is not fog, my beautiful architect," Baptiste purred, closing the distance between them. The scent of ozone, dark rum, and crushed orchids rolled off him, a sensory illusion so perfectly layered it made her head swim with unwanted desire. "It is breath. The exhalation of those who swam past the Blackwall and forgot how to return. I merely provide them an audience."

He raised his silver-tipped cane and struck the marble floor.

The mausoleum cracked. From the glowing fissures, the digital revenants clawed their way into the pale light. They were not human, nor were they simple programs. They were agonized amalgamations of lost netrunners, their digital ghosts trapped in endless, looping echoes of their final, terrifying moments. They moved with jerky, missing frames of animation, their jaws unhinging to release bursts of deafening modem static that physically pushed Judy backward.

Judy threw her hands forward, her editing interface flaring to life. She highlighted an approaching revenant—a writhing mass of blue static wearing the hollow, weeping face of a young man—and initiated a rapid deletion sequence.

The revenant shrieked, exploding into a shower of harmless white polygons, but three more instantly materialized from the cracks to take its place. They were too numerous, their code too dense with fragmented human misery.

"You treat them as mere files," Baptiste said, his voice transforming into a velvet ribbon wrapping gently around her throat. He was suddenly behind her, his digital breath warm against her ear. "They are pure emotion, Judy. They are raw, unfiltered terror. You, who edits feelings for a living, should appreciate the magnificent purity of their suffering."

"Stay away from me," she demanded, executing a lateral dash protocol that teleported her ten yards across the courtyard. She spun around, her virtual heart hammering against her ribs. The sheer, overwhelming terror of the construct was beginning to bleed into her physical nervous system. If her bio-monitors spiked too high, her real heart would simply give out in her chair.

"Why run?" Baptiste asked, his golden eyes locking onto hers.

The environment abruptly shifted. The oppressive mausoleum melted into an opulent, softly lit bedroom draped in crimson velvet. The screaming revenants dissolved into silken shadows that danced gracefully along the walls. The crushing dread was instantly replaced by a heavy, languid desire. It was a masterful, terrifying transition.

Judy recognized the nature of the attack. It was a sensory overload of pleasure and calm, explicitly designed to lower her cognitive defenses. The large bed in the center of the room seemed to pull at her exhausted digital muscles. The ambient temperature warmed to a perfect, comforting degree, mimicking the feeling of a safe embrace.

"You fight so endlessly hard," Baptiste whispered, appearing at the edge of the bed. He reached out, his long, elegant fingers grazing her cheek. The simulated touch sent a shockwave of electric euphoria through her entire system. "You spend your life organizing the memories of broken people, feeling their pain, enduring their brief, pathetic flashes of joy. Lay down your tools, little spider. Let me show you the symphony of the abyss."

For a fraction of a second, Judy desperately wanted to yield. The constant terror of the Voodoo Boys, the unending struggle of Night City, the grease and the grime of her basement workshop—it all faded behind the intoxicating promise of this digital oblivion. The shadows on the wall, the disguised revenants, seemed to hum a sweet, comforting lullaby of total surrender. The seduction was absolute; a promise of peace in a world that offered none.

Then, she remembered the cold, lifeless eyes of those she had lost to the Net. She remembered the empty shells of people who had surrendered their minds to the dark operators of this city. She was an editor. She knew a fabricated emotion when she felt one.

"Your symphony," Judy whispered, her brown eyes flashing with a sudden, renewed defiance, "is entirely out of tune."

She did not attempt to summon her combat scripts. She knew she could never out-code a Voodoo Boy warlock in raw cyber-warfare. But Baptiste had made a fatal, arrogant error. He had changed the battleground from a place of raw data into a fully realized sensory Braindance. He had invited her into her absolute domain.

Judy closed her eyes and reached deep into the underlying architecture of the bedroom simulation. She bypassed the visual and auditory layers, diving straight into the raw emotional metadata. Baptiste was feeding her artificial euphoria, masking the terror. She gripped that specific data stream with her mind, anchored herself to her own genuine anger, and violently reversed the polarity of the simulation.

The opulent bedroom shattered like a mirror struck by a hammer.

Baptiste recoiled, a cry of genuine, uncalculated shock escaping his lips. The velvet seduction vanished, instantly replaced by a vacuum of absolute, crushing despair. Judy took all the ambient terror the revenants had brought, amplified it through her own editing subroutines, and projected it directly into Baptiste’s neuro-port.

"What are you doing?" Baptiste hissed, the pristine white linen of his suit flickering into erratic gray static.

"Editing," Judy said coldly.

She grabbed the ambient shadows—the disguised revenants—and rapidly rewrote their targeting protocols. They were drawn to fear, to vulnerability, to the scent of a breaking mind. By flooding Baptiste’s avatar with the amplified terror he had meant to use against her, she made him the brightest, most vulnerable beacon in the dark.

The shadows peeled themselves violently from the walls. They reverted instantly to their true forms: towering, jagged pillars of corrupted code, their faces contorted in endless digital agony. But they did not look at Judy. They turned their hollow, static-filled eyes entirely toward the warlock.

"No," Baptiste commanded, raising his cane, his voice shaking. "Back to the Blackwall! I command the gateway! Return to the dark!"

"They do not hear your code anymore," Judy said, stepping backward as the environment began to spectacularly collapse around them. "They only hear your fear."

The revenants descended. They washed over Baptiste in a tidal wave of screaming data and jagged geometry. The warlock’s avatar tore apart under the assault, his golden eyes widening in horrific realization as the digital ghosts began to overwrite his consciousness with their own fragmented nightmares. His screams joined the deafening chorus of modem static, echoing through the rapidly crumbling mausoleum.

Judy did not wait to watch the end of his digital dissolution. With Baptiste's focus completely shattered, the lockdown on her neural link wavered just enough. She summoned her emergency egress protocol, visualizing a glowing red exit door in the center of the disintegrating void.

She sprinted toward it, the simulated cobblestones breaking away into bottomless nothingness just inches behind her heels. The roar of the feeding revenants threatened to deafen her, their icy claws grasping blindly at her trailing code. She felt a phantom pain in her shoulder as one scraped her avatar, a sensation of freezing cold that promised to stop her heart if she lingered a millisecond longer.

She threw herself through the red door.

Reality crashed back into her with the subtlety of a freight train.

Judy gasped, her physical lungs desperate for oxygen. Her eyes snapped open to the dim, multicolored neon glow of her underground workshop. The rhythmic hum of her physical servers sounded like the sweetest music she had ever heard. She was slumped heavily in her netrunning chair, drenched in cold sweat, her hands gripping the padded armrests so tightly her knuckles were stark white.

With trembling, unresponsive fingers, she ripped the neural link from her temple. The connection severed with a sharp, pneumatic hiss.

She sat there for a long time, simply listening to the frantic, rhythmic beating of her own heart. The terror was slowly ebbing, receding like a dark tide, but the memory of the absolute cold, the velvet seduction of the abyss, and the spinning golden eyes of the warlock lingered heavily in the corners of her vision.

She stood up, her legs feeling like lead, and walked over to her primary workstation. She pulled up the diagnostic logs of her involuntary dive. The code she had dragged back with her was strange, heavily encrypted with shifting Voodoo Boys ciphers, but embedded deep within it was a faint, repeating audio file.

Judy hesitated, her finger hovering over the playback icon. The mystery of the deep Net was a dangerous, alluring siren song. It was the very thing that had trapped Baptiste. But her curiosity, honed by years of diving into the darkest, most secret corners of human experience, demanded an answer. She needed to know what she had survived.

She pressed play.

It was not the endless scream of a revenant. It was the smooth, velvet voice of Baptiste, reduced to a haunting whisper through the static interference.

"Magnificent, little spider. The dance has only just begun."

Judy stared at the waveform undulating on her monitor, a profound chill running down her spine that had absolutely nothing to do with the cool temperature of the basement. He had survived the swarm. Or, perhaps, he had simply become a part of it, a new ghost haunting the endless corridors behind the Blackwall.

She reached out and forcefully deleted the file, engaging a military-grade wipe to scrub the drive entirely clean of his lingering presence.

"Not if I cut the strings," she whispered to the empty room.

She turned off the monitors, leaving the workshop in total darkness, save for the faint, defiant neon glow bleeding down from the chaotic streets of Night City above. She had survived the séance, but the Net was vast, and the ghosts were always waiting.

Yumi Ishiyama | Code Lyoko

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 10:43:21 PDT

*Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/truelegendsexist - leave a tip if you like my work and want to help support me and the channel!

This is a fan artwork of Yumi Ishiyama from the animated TV series Code Lyoko, drawn on a 5.5 in x 8.5 in sheet of sketch paper. It was a relatively quick piece to complete—part of a small series I was working on at the time (which I’ll be uploading more of in the future), so it wasn’t meant to be anything overly complex, just a fun drawing session.

For some context, I remember watching Code Lyoko back in the early-to-mid 2000s, likely around 2004–2006, during my elementary school years. It was one of many shows I used to binge after school, and I always looked forward to catching it on Cartoon Network. At the time, the channel was going through a noticeable shift—moving away from older superhero-focused cartoons like Justice League and Teen Titans and gradually leaning more into a mix of anime-influenced and experimental animated series. While shows like Dragon Ball Z and Dragon Ball GT were still around, the old Toonami-era structure felt like it was slowly fading, eventually giving way to different programming blocks and later Adult Swim.

Code Lyoko stands out as one of the last shows I vividly remember following regularly before I eventually aged out of cartoons altogether. Back then, keeping up with shows was a lot harder—you couldn’t just stream everything on demand, and episodes were easy to miss. Things came and went quickly, and “catching up” wasn’t really an option the way it is today.

As for Yumi specifically, the reason I chose to draw her is pretty simple: I liked her. Like a lot of kids at the time, I had a bit of a childhood crush on certain animated characters—Yumi being one of them, alongside characters like Kim Possible or Jinx from Teen Titans. Beyond that, Code Lyoko itself was genuinely unique and memorable to me, especially with its mix of 2D character animation and 3D digital environments. That style alone made it stand out and kept me coming back whenever it aired.

Of course, like many shows from that era, I eventually drifted away as schedules changed and life moved on. But years later, it’s easy to revisit and binge it anytime, which makes the nostalgia hit even stronger in a good way.

So yeah—long story short, this piece is both a small tribute to Yumi Ishiyama and a snapshot of that nostalgic Cartoon Network era I grew up with.
- Mr. K

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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Spidey Switched Teams and Ate That

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 10:28:40 PDT

Helen Parr Lingerie Seduction

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 10:25:51 PDT

Helen Parr, the incredible Elastigirl, had always been the ultimate superhero mom — strong, flexible, and undeniably beautiful. But tonight the stunning brunette decided to stretch her seductive side to the limit. 💖 Lying back on soft white sheets with her brown hair spread out around her, Helen looked up with warm brown eyes and slightly parted lips, her expression full of confident desire.

Her massive, perfectly round breasts rested heavily on her chest, glistening under the warm bedroom light as her hard pink nipples stood proudly on display. The delicate black sheer lingerie with its cute bows hugged her wide hips while the matching garter straps framed her thick, powerful thighs. Every curve of her thicc, voluptuous MILF body was highlighted beautifully — from her slim waist to her heavy bouncing breasts and that perfect hourglass figure she was so proud of.

The soft lighting made her smooth skin shine like polished perfection, emphasizing the incredible weight and softness of her enormous tits. Helen knew exactly how irresistible she looked lying there in seductive lingerie, blending her usual heroic confidence with raw, teasing sensuality.

She lay there like a true superhero turned temptress, inviting you closer to experience the flexible heat only Elastigirl could offer. Who could resist Helen Parr when she presented herself so beautifully on silk sheets? A perfect mix of powerful mom and busty lingerie goddess. 🔥

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Ashley Graham: Sentinel of Legacy

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 10:18:08 PDT

***I really appreciate your likes and comments. Thank you so much for your support ***

Ashley Graham: Sentinel of Legacy by Jade Gretz

The Velvet Chime

Silence is an acoustic illusion, a lie told by the desperate mind when it can no longer comprehend the symphony of its own destruction. In the high, forgotten peaks of the Arklay adjacent ranges, the cold possessed a distinct vibration. It hummed against the ancient stones of the chapel, a low-frequency drone that rattled the marrow within Ashley Graham’s bones. The absolute zero of the mountain night was seeping through the rotting floorboards, eager to claim her.

*Ting.*

The delicate silver chime shattered the low hum of the frost. It was a beautiful sound, crisp and melodious, the sort of note one might expect to summon angels. Here, in the suffocating blackness of the isolated sanctuary, it was the herald of a butcher.

Ashley pressed her spine harder against the frozen oak of the altar's rear panel. Her breath plumed in the frigid air, a ghostly manifestation of her terror that she feared the creature might somehow sense. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to command her racing heart to slow its frantic, tribal drumming.

*Ting.*

It was closer now. The sound drifted from the nave, followed by the heavy, measured whisper of bare feet dragging across stone.

"I can hear the rhythm of your panic, little bird," a voice murmured.

Ashley’s eyes snapped open. The voice was a velvet shock, rich and impossibly soothing. It possessed a seductive, hypnotic timbre that rolled through the freezing air like warm honey. It was entirely incongruous with the nightmare she had glimpsed illuminated by a lightning flash an hour prior: a towering, impossibly broad monstrosity of a man, his eyes stitched shut with crude, rusty wire, wielding massive iron claws strapped to his forearms.

"The cold is a cruel and demanding lover," the creature spoke again, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings. "It takes your fingers first. Then your toes. It steals your memories, freezing them until they snap like brittle glass in your mind. Finally, it lulls you into a sleep from which you never wake."

He paused. The heavy, metallic scrape of his claws brushing against the wooden pews sent a jolt of pure adrenaline through Ashley’s system.

"Come to me," the velvet voice purred. "I possess the only warmth left on this mountain. The sacred blood boils within my veins. It is a fire that never dies. Surrender to the embrace of the blind shepherd, and you shall never feel the bite of the winter again."

*Ting.*

Ashley bit her lower lip so hard she tasted copper. The creature—he had to be one of the infected, though mutated in a way she had never seen before—was using the bell not just to hunt, but to map the acoustic geometry of the room. He was listening for the subtle disruptions in the echo, the soft absorption of sound against her winter coat. He was entirely blind, yet he saw everything through the silver song of the chime.

If she stayed behind the altar, the hypothermia would overtake her. She could already feel the lethargy creeping into her extremities, turning her blood to slush. But if she moved, the rustle of her clothing, the squeak of her boots, would give away her position instantly. Leon was miles away, likely fighting his own battles in the valley below. She was entirely, utterly alone.

"You are strong," she called out.

The words left her lips before her conscious mind could fully authorize them. It was a desperate gamble, a psychological counter-attack born of sheer necessity.

Instantly, a deafening crash obliterated the silence. The creature launched himself with explosive, terrifying speed toward the origin of her voice, his immense iron claws obliterating a heavy wooden pew twenty feet to her left. Splinters rained down like shrapnel in the darkness. Ashley flinched but remained perfectly still, realizing with cold clarity that she had misdirected her voice by bouncing it off the curved alcove of the baptismal font.

"Clever," the creature hissed. The velvet smoothness was momentarily replaced by a guttural, feral rasp, before he regained his terrifying composure. He stood amidst the ruined wood, his chest heaving, his stitched face turning left, then right. "A voice from the shadows. You project your essence like a phantom, Miss Graham."

The mystery of how he knew her name chilled her deeper than the mountain air. "Who are you?" she asked, this time aiming her voice toward the vaulted ceiling, scattering the acoustic origin.

"I am the listener," he replied, his tone returning to that seductive, calming baritone. He took a slow, deliberate step toward the center aisle. "Before the holy parasite blessed me, I was Father Valerio. I listened to the sins of the villagers. Now, my eyes have been closed to the distractions of the flesh, so that I may truly hear the song of the world. And your song, Ashley, is magnificent. It is a melody of pure, unadulterated survival."

*Ting.*

He rang the bell again. Ashley noticed a pattern. The chime always preceded his movements. He used the reverberation to navigate the maze of pews.

"You call it a blessing," Ashley said, slowly sliding to her left, inching her way out from behind the altar. She kept her movements perfectly synchronized with the howling wind rattling the stained-glass windows outside. "But you're a prisoner in your own body. A slave to whatever is crawling inside you."

"A caterpillar is a prisoner to the cocoon," Valerio laughed softly. "Until it emerges with wings. The parasite does not enslave; it liberates. It strips away the fragile limitations of humanity. I do not fear the cold. I do not fear the dark. Can you say the same, little bird?"

He was baiting her, trying to keep her talking. Every syllable she spoke gave his highly evolved auditory cortex another data point. But Ashley realized she could use the conversation just as effectively. The chapel was a large rectangle, but directly above the center aisle hung an incredibly massive, ornate iron chandelier, secured by a thick, braided rope that descended to a cleat on the wall near the choir loft. If she could reach that cleat, she could bring the iron behemoth crashing down.

"I fear plenty of things," Ashley admitted. She took another cautious step, the frozen floorboards screaming in silent protest beneath her weight. "But I don't fear you."

"A beautiful lie," Valerio murmured. He suddenly lunged forward, closing the distance to the altar with impossible speed. His claws carved massive gouges into the stone steps, sending sparks flying into the dim air.

Ashley threw herself to the ground, rolling beneath the first row of pews as Valerio’s swinging claws decapitated a marble statue of a saint right where she had been standing seconds before. The sheer kinetic force of his attack was breathtaking. He wasn't just strong; he was an engine of apex violence, restrained only by a terrifyingly calm mind.

"You cannot hide your heartbeat forever," Valerio whispered. He was standing near the altar now, his stitched face angled downward, listening to the dust settle. "I can hear the blood rushing through your carotid artery. I can hear the delicate intake of oxygen through your parted lips. I offer you salvation, and you choose the indignity of scrambling like a rat in the dark."

Ashley lay perfectly flat beneath the heavy oak benches. The cold was agonizing now. She couldn't feel her fingers. The knife she had salvaged from a fallen zealot in the village felt like a block of ice in her numb grip. She needed to reach the back wall. She needed him in the center aisle.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a heavy brass key she had found earlier. She waited for the wind outside to pause, then tossed the key over the pews, aiming for the far left corner of the chapel.

It landed with a sharp clatter against the stone tiles.

Valerio didn't just turn; he erupted. He leaped across the sanctuary, his massive frame suspended in the air for a terrifying second before he crashed down precisely where the key had landed. His iron claws shredded the floorboards, tearing up the ancient wood as if it were wet paper.

Using the noise of his destruction as cover, Ashley scrambled out from beneath the pews and sprinted silently in her wool-lined boots toward the back wall. The shadows swallowed her as she reached the heavy wooden pillar supporting the choir loft. She found the thick, braided rope. It was taut, holding the weight of the massive iron chandelier suspended twenty feet above the center aisle.

Valerio stopped attacking the floor. He stood up slowly, the brass key pinched between two massive, blood-stained fingers.

"A trick," he said. His velvet voice dropped an octave, resonating with a dangerous, predatory anger. "You play games with the shepherd."

*Ting.*

He rang the bell, turning his stitched face toward the back of the chapel. He was recalibrating.

Ashley frantically sawed at the thick rope with her small knife. The blade was dull, the rope ancient and thick. It was barely making a dent. She needed time, and she needed him directly under the iron fixture.

"It wasn't a trick," Ashley called out from the shadows near the back wall, keeping her voice steady despite the adrenaline surging through her veins. "It was a test. And you failed."

Valerio turned fully toward her. "There is nowhere left to run, Miss Graham. The doors are barred from the outside. The snow is piling against the windows. Your cleverness has reached its natural, pathetic end."

He began to walk down the center aisle. Slow, measured steps. The predator approaching the cornered prey.

"You talk too much for a holy man," Ashley retorted, sawing furiously at the rope. A few strands snapped, unraveling under the pressure of the heavy blade, but it wasn't enough. The chandelier remained stubbornly aloft.

"I offer a eulogy for the uninitiated," Valerio said, his voice dropping to an intimate, terrifying whisper. He was halfway down the aisle now. Directly beneath the chandelier. "You will make a beautiful vessel for the communion."

*Ting.*

The bell rang, sharp and agonizingly close.

"You want me?" Ashley yelled, abandoning subtlety. "Come get me!"

Valerio roared. The velvet facade finally shattered entirely, revealing the pure, monstrous fury of the parasite within. He lunged forward, charging down the center aisle like a deranged locomotive, his iron claws raised to strike, perfectly tracking the sound of her defiance.

Ashley dropped the knife. She didn't have time to cut it. She grabbed the heavy iron peg that held the rope to the wall and used every ounce of her remaining strength to pull it upward. The metal groaned against the ancient wood, frozen in place by decades of damp and cold.

Valerio was ten feet away. Five feet. The smell of rotting blood and damp earth washed over her. She could see the hideous tension in the rusty wire holding his eyelids shut.

With a scream of pure, desperate exertion, Ashley threw her entire body weight backward, pulling the iron peg with her.

The wood splintered. The peg dislodged.

The rope violently ripped upward through her heavily gloved hands, burning the leather as the immense weight of the chandelier was released.

Valerio’s claws were descending toward her face when the acoustic environment of the chapel fundamentally changed. The sudden, rushing noise of the massive iron fixture plummeting from the ceiling confused his senses for a fraction of a second. He stopped his charge, his head snapping upward toward the rushing sound of displaced air.

It was a beautiful, terrible sound.

The iron chandelier struck Valerio with the force of a falling anvil. The impact was deafening, a sickening crunch of metal, stone, and bone that echoed like a cannon shot through the small sanctuary. The massive creature was driven instantly to the floor, crushed beneath a ton of gothic ironwork and broken glass.

Ashley scrambled backward, pressing herself against the heavy timber of the front doors. Dust and ancient ash billowed into the air, clouding the dim moonlight that filtered through the high windows.

For a long moment, the chapel returned to silence.

Then, a terrible, wet shifting sound came from beneath the iron wreckage. A low, gurgling groan echoed through the dust. The parasite within him was trying to heal the catastrophic damage, but the sheer weight of the iron made it impossible.

A hand emerged from the rubble. A massive, bloodied hand, the iron claws twisted and broken. The fingers blindly groped at the stone tiles. Then, from the debris, a small silver object rolled across the floor, stopping an inch from Ashley's boot.

The silver handbell.

"Miss... Graham..." the velvet voice rasped from beneath the wreckage. It was wet, broken, bubbling with dark fluid. "It... is so... cold."

Ashley stared at the crushed monstrosity. The terror that had gripped her heart for the past hour slowly receded, replaced by a profound, hollow exhaustion. She bent down, ignoring the burning ache in her freezing muscles, and picked up the small silver bell. It felt remarkably heavy in her palm.

"Then sleep," Ashley whispered.

She turned away from the wreckage and unbarred the heavy wooden doors. The massive oak swung outward with a groan, admitting a furious blast of howling mountain wind and blinding, swirling snow. The storm outside was an absolute void of white, freezing terror, but as she stepped out into the blizzard, leaving the dark sanctuary behind, it felt entirely like freedom.

SCoU: A League of Their Own...

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 10:18:04 PDT

When it comes to Invincible, the Guardians of the Globe are very much a pastiche of the Justice League. The challenge is this causes problems in a crossover universe where they co-exist with their counterparts, so we need to make sure they don't just feel like "Justice League Lite."

Rather than just a modern superhero team, in the SCoU, the GotG are the GDA-funded (Global Defense Agency) strike team. While the Justice League are an independent entity that operate from the Watchtower and answers to no one, the Guardians often clash with government oversight, as they have to deal with red tape, public relations, and Cecil Stedman’s morally grey orders.

Each member has some additions to their lore:

The Immortal: A rebellious son of Vandal Savage who fought against his father’s tyranny to become a hero. Rather than being Abraham Lincoln himself, he maintained a close personal friendship with the real Lincoln.
Darkwing: An enigmatic vigilante heavily inspired by Batman’s methods. As part of Batman Incorporated, he protects the urban streets of "Midnight City" alongside his loyal sidekick, Nightboy.
War Woman (Holly): An Amazon hailing from Themyscira who represented a faction that believed in active intervention rather than isolation. Inspired by Wonder Woman’s example, she left the island to serve as a protector of "Man’s World."
Red Rush (Josef): A Russian speedster and Quirk-user who tapped into the cosmic power of the Speed Force, gifted to him through training with the Flash Family.
Aquarus: A high-ranking political figure within Atlantis. While Aquaman holds the throne, Aquarus represents a distinct subspecies of the Atlantean people. They are allies, but they represent different cultures.
Martian Man: A member of a subspecies of the same shapeshifting race as Martian Manhunter. (Remember, in the SCoU, Martian "color" is a non-factor in social status, as their shapeshifting physiology makes any perceived racism obsolete.)
The Green Ghost title is a two-part legacy. The original hero retired after internal injuries made his alien-infused gemstone unusable. His daughter, Alana, eventually took up her father's mantle. Though she was initially reluctant to join the fray, she overcame her doubts after saving him from a lingering threat from his past, cementing her place as the new Green Ghost.

As for Omni-Man, his great diverging point for is him following a path of genuine redemption. Softened by his love for his wife, Debbie, and his son, Mark, Nolan Grayson abandoned his mission of conquest and chose to become a true hero. The public doesn't know Nolan's true mission, but the GotG do. This turns the team into a support group, as they are the only ones Nolan can be honest with.

Instead of betraying the Guardians of the Globe, Nolan viewed them as friends and confessed his original Viltrumite mission to them. Though still upset, the Guardians still gave him the chance to assist in preparing the world’s heroes for the eventual arrival of the Viltrum Empire. There was still a lot Nolan had to answer for, and after all was said and done, he was willing to turn himself in for his crimes.

When Mark eventually learned of his father's origins, he was initially furious, fearing he was being recruited for conquest. However, Nolan reassured him that he has changed. He admits that while he once viewed humans as "pets," he now loves Earth and his family enough to die for them. Nolan vows to stand against his own people to ensure the safety of Mark, Debbie, and the planet.

Meme templates by @BluefireProduction, @AxL-2, @scott910, @The-JMP and @AngbrineMasterpiece

(Book W3) Chapter 1

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 10:05:15 PDT

Something tells me Sam’s little documentary is going to take a chapter more, but don’t worry there’s a manual to this, somewhere?

(Prologue) (Chapter 2)

The Scrapped Series by CLJOATS Day 2

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 09:56:32 PDT

Hello there! Here's some Lost in Time and Scrapped CLJOATS that I've created back in the day, but I gave up or lost interest over the decades and I've threw them into on them an small basket. Now showing. The Dynamics. Created back in 2009, remastered back in 2020. "A Tale about neighborhood kids with different dynamics and talents all share a common hobby, a comic book superhero called "Captain Artillery."

Batman and Ace Savvy

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 09:16:13 PDT

Hi, Because I like The Loud House and I love DC Superheroes, I like to do good crossovers, and I don't like it when it's a good character against a good character.

Take Lincoln Loud for example, yes, he creates his plans for his own interests, but he constantly sacrifices it for his family, He's not a hero, but he's not a villain either. He's just a child with flaws and his own qualities.

So I present to you a nice crossover with Batman and Lincoln Loud in an Ace Savvy costume parodying the cover of a comic book.

What if: SPD Special Squad

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 09:03:18 PDT

What if the Deka Ranger created a new squad separate from A and B, with Jack leading it?

Superman | Titan Edition

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 09:01:20 PDT

If you like my art, please consider supporting me by gifting a Core Membership.
It would help me start selling my work and take commissions. Thank you for your support!

Tifa - Everyday Life (132)

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 09:00:36 PDT

❤️🔥 Power and Grace: Girls of Justice 🔥❤️

The Exclusive Revelation:

👑 Your Secret Claim: This is a one-time offering. The shadow you claim will be yours, and yours alone. Full Exclusive Ownership is granted for this specific digital soul.
📐 The Unfiltered Vision: Experience the complete truth. The file is delivered in breathtaking 4K Resolution, ensuring every haunting detail and subtle curve is revealed with crystalline clarity.
🚫 Clean Canvas: There is no need for signatures or symbols to mar the beauty. Your download is delivered Completely Watermark-Free, allowing the imagery to consume you whole.
🗝️ Forbidden Knowledge: My creations are raw and unfiltered. You will receive the Original, Uncensored Content, precisely as intended by the muse.
🌍 Unleash the Spirit: This exclusive acquisition grants you Unlimited Usage Rights. Take this vision with you into any domain—personal collections, commercial ventures, prints, or digital display. It is yours to possess and use everywhere for any purpose your dark heart desires.

Dare to step into the darkness and possess this piece of forbidden beauty. Claim your exclusive revelation before the shadow fades.

⚠️ MATURE CONTENT DISCLAIMER ⚠️

This AI artwork is intended for adult audiences (18+) only. This piece explores themes of seduction, eroticism, and mature feminine desire.

Please Note:

All characters depicted are imaginary figures and are represented as being of legal adult age.

Viewer discretion is advised. By continuing to view and interact with this artwork, you confirm that you are over the age of 18.

Supergirl: The Unbroken Light

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 08:56:51 PDT

***I really appreciate your likes and comments. Thank you so much for your support ***

Supergirl: The Unbroken Light by Jade Gretz

The Obsidian Chrysalis

Lead has a specific flavor to a Kryptonian. It registers as a dull, metallic hum at the base of the throat, an aftertaste of human paranoia and buried secrets. As Kara Zor-El descended the lightless elevator shaft of Sub-Station Epsilon, she swallowed against an ocean of it. The subterranean bunker, buried three miles beneath the frozen desolation of the Siberian tundra, was lined with six feet of solid lead. It blinded her x-ray vision and suffocated her super-hearing, compressing her world into an uncomfortably human spectrum. She hated the dark. Down here, deprived of the golden warmth of the sun, she felt an unfamiliar ghost brushing against her spine: vulnerability.

The heavy steel doors to the main laboratory had been peeled backward, the metal edges curled outward like the petals of a blooming, violent flower. Whatever had breached the containment sector had not used explosives. It had used claws. Kara floated through the jagged aperture, the crimson fabric of her cape whispering against the frost-rimed floor. Emergency crimson strobes cut through the gloom, casting long, erratic shadows across shattered glass and overturned centrifuges. Yet, the most terrifying element was the silence. There were no frantic heartbeats of terrified scientists. There was no rhythmic dripping of condensation. The silence was absolute, heavy, and expectant.

"I hypothesized they would send a soldier," a voice echoed, smooth as velvet and entirely devoid of fear. "A tactical squad, perhaps. I never anticipated they would send a goddess."

Kara pivoted, her eyes flaring with a microscopic sliver of heat vision, illuminating the far corner of the laboratory. A man sat casually on the edge of a ruined control console. He wore a pristine, immaculately tailored midnight-blue suit that stood in stark contrast to the absolute devastation surrounding him. He was striking, with pale skin, dark eyes that captured the emergency lights like obsidian glass, and an aura of supreme, unshakeable confidence. He did not smell of sweat or fear. He smelled of rain, ozone, and something intoxicatingly sweet, like crushed nightshade.

"I'm not a goddess," Kara said, her voice commanding, vibrating with the latent power of a solar battery. "I am the culmination of the D.E.O.'s patience running out. Identify yourself. Where is the rest of the research team?"

"My name is Julian," he murmured, sliding gracefully from the console. His movements were too fluid, too perfectly balanced. "As for the team... they are deeply immersed in their work. The Euryale Protocol was a resounding success, you see. They simply transcended the need for biological independence."

Kara crossed the room in a blur of blue and red, stopping inches from him. The sudden displacement of air whipped his dark hair, but Julian did not flinch. He merely tilted his head, his dark eyes locking onto hers, studying her with a profound, terrifying hunger.

"You are a creature of the sun," Julian whispered, stepping into her personal space. The sheer audacity of his proximity caught Kara off guard. People usually shrank from her when she stood tall; they feared the power coiled in her muscles. Julian embraced it. "I can feel the radiation rolling off your skin. It is glorious. But tell me, Kara of Krypton... doesn't it grow exhausting? Being the indestructible maiden? Never feeling the chill of the wind, the sting of a papercut, or the genuine, unguarded heat of another person?"

Kara stiffened. Her powers were her armor, but they were also her cage. She heard the microscopic tremors of the tectonic plates miles below, but she could not feel the texture of a silk shirt without concentrating intensely. Julian’s words bypassed her physical invulnerability and struck directly at the core of her profound, alien loneliness.

"Step back, Julian," she warned, though her voice lacked its usual booming authority. She was captivated by the strange, hypnotic cadence of his speech.

He didn't step back. Instead, he reached out, his bare, pale fingers tracing the line of her jaw. Kara gasped. A shockwave of sensation ripped through her. For the first time since she had arrived on Earth, she felt an agonizing, beautiful cold. It was a freezing fire that bypassed her impenetrable cells, a touch so intimate and raw it made her knees tremble. The air around them grew thick, redolent with the scent of pheromones and the deep, seductive promise of release.

"I can give you that release," Julian murmured, stepping even closer, his lips mere inches from hers. The terror and the allure were perfectly entangled. "I can peel away the armor of a dead world. I can make you feel every terrifying, beautiful sensation of this universe. You just have to let me in. We can be a pantheon of two, waiting out the darkness in the deep."

Kara closed her eyes, the temptation heavy like a narcotic in her blood. She imagined shedding the burden of being Supergirl, of surrendering to a connection so deep it shattered the walls of her isolation. But as Julian exhaled against her cheek, her superhuman olfactory senses picked up a secondary scent beneath the intoxicating ozone and rain. It was copper. Old blood. And the unmistakable, bitter tang of cellular decay.

Her eyes snapped open, blazing with brilliant, furious sapphire light. "You're not Julian," she stated, the romantic fog dissolving into a sudden, chilling clarity. "You don't have a heartbeat."

Julian’s beautiful face twisted into a smile that stretched just a fraction too wide, his jaw unhinging with a sickening, wet crack. "No," the thing wearing Julian’s voice purred. "I am merely the chrysalis."

The terror did not announce itself with a roar, but with a horrifyingly quiet transformation. The bespoke suit Julian wore began to ripple, tearing apart at the seams to reveal that it was not fabric at all. It was a hardened, chitinous shell masking a writhing mass of biological horror. The pale skin of his face split down the center, folding backward like a grotesque book. Beneath the facade of the handsome survivor lay the true fruit of the Euryale Protocol: an amalgam of human nervous systems, fused and woven together into a singular, parasitic nightmare.

Kara staggered backward as the entity expanded, unfurling long, iridescent tendrils that wept a highly acidic, glowing blue sap. The lead-lined walls of the laboratory began to pulse. Kara suddenly understood the silence. The scientists weren't missing. They were embedded in the walls, their flesh merged with the concrete, their bio-electric energy feeding the central node that had masqueraded as Julian. Dozens of faces, stretched and contorted in silent, eternal agony, emerged from the frost-covered metal of the room.

"Do you see the beauty of unity?" the entity hissed. The voice was no longer a seductive baritone; it was a chorus of forty men and women, their vocal cords vibrating in a grotesque symphony of despair. "We were so alone in our brilliant minds. Now, we are a single, flawless organism. And you... your biology is infinite. With you as our core, we will never hunger. We will never die."

A tendril whipped through the air faster than a bullet, striking Kara squarely in the chest. It didn't bounce off. The tip of the appendage ended in a microscopic, crystalline needle designed to slip between the atomic bonds of her cells. She felt a searing, agonizing spike of pain as the creature injected its neuro-parasitic venom directly into her bloodstream. The sensation of vulnerability Julian had offered her was a trap, a biological primer meant to lower her cellular defenses.

Kara screamed, a sound that shattered the remaining glass in the laboratory. The pain was blinding, a dark, freezing rot racing through her veins, attempting to rewrite her Kryptonian DNA. The entity loomed over her, its true face a shifting kaleidoscope of the consumed researchers.

"Submit, beautiful girl," the chorus whispered, more tendrils wrapping around her wrists and ankles, hoisting her off the floor. The creature's touch was intensely seductive again, radiating a false, euphoric warmth designed to paralyze her nervous system. "Let go of your sun. The deep earth loves you more. Let us be your skin."

Kara’s vision blurred. The dark of the bunker felt incredibly heavy, a comforting blanket threatening to pull her into a sleep she would never wake from. The entity was invading her mind, flooding her synapses with images of profound peace, of an eternity without struggle, without the burden of saving a fragile world. She felt the creature's consciousness probing her memories, looking for the seat of her soul so it could sever it and take the driver's seat.

But as the freezing rot reached her heart, it met an immovable object. The entity had fundamentally misunderstood what made her invincible. It wasn't just dense molecular structure. It was light. It was the concentrated, compressed power of a yellow star burning within every cell of her body.

*I am not a victim to the dark,* Kara thought, her consciousness retreating to the absolute center of her mind, locking the door against the invading parasite. I am the sun.

"You want my warmth?" Kara rasped out loud, her voice trembling but laced with an undeniable, terrifying promise. "Take it."

She didn't try to pull away. Instead, she stopped fighting the entity's grip. She closed her eyes and focused on the microscopic space between her atoms. She triggered a localized cellular cascade, a technique she had practiced only in the vacuum of deep space. She forced her body to rapidly metabolize the massive reserves of solar energy she stored.

Kara Zor-El became a reactor going critical.

Her veins, moments ago darkened by the freezing rot of the parasite, suddenly ignited with brilliant, blinding gold light. The creature shrieked, a horrific cacophony of burning nerves. The tendrils embedded in her flesh began to boil, the crystalline needles melting into harmless slag.

"No!" the entity’s chorus screamed, the seductive illusion shattering entirely as pure terror took its place. It tried to retract its appendages, desperately attempting to sever the connection it had fought so hard to establish.

"You invited me in," Kara whispered, her eyes opening. They were no longer blue; they were two blazing, miniature suns. "Don't let go now."

She reached out, grabbing the central mass of the creature where Julian’s chest used to be. She unleashed her heat vision, not as a beam from her eyes, but channeled directly through her hands into the nervous system of the monster. The heat she generated was astronomical, precise, and devastating. She didn't burn the room; she burned the parasitic matrix, tracing the alien infection through the neural pathways while carefully avoiding the vital organs of the assimilated human hosts embedded in the walls.

The heat was a purifying agony. The entity thrashed wildly, slamming Kara into the lead-lined walls, the ceiling, the floor, desperately trying to break her grip. But Kara held on, an angel of nuclear fire in the absolute dark. The smell of crushed nightshade was incinerated, replaced entirely by the scent of ozone and burning chitin.

The creature's shrieks reached a deafening, glass-shattering pitch, and then, with a final, violent spasm, the central node dissolved into ash. The heavy, oppressive psychic weight in the room vanished instantly. The tendrils wrapped around Kara crumbled into gray dust, and she dropped to the frozen floor, panting heavily.

Around her, the walls groaned. The horrific, fleshy bonds that held the scientists began to slough off, dissolving without the parasitic hive-mind to sustain them. The victims slumped to the floor, unconscious, traumatized, but miraculously drawing breath. Kara had burned the thread of the infection out of them just as she had burned it out of herself.

Kara knelt amidst the ruin, her golden aura slowly dimming back to her normal, human appearance. Her uniform was torn, her skin marred by faint, fading bruises where the crystalline needles had pierced her. She touched her jaw, right where Julian had stroked her cheek. The phantom sensation of that terrifying, seductive cold lingered, a chilling reminder of the fine line between connection and consumption.

She stood up, her muscles aching with a profound exhaustion she rarely experienced. The silence returned to the bunker, but it was no longer a heavy, expectant silence. It was the quiet aftermath of a storm.

Kara gathered the unconscious survivors, moving with gentle, deliberate speed. She carried them up the elevator shaft, out of the lead-lined tomb, and back to the surface. When she finally broke through the heavy steel doors at the top of the anomaly, the brutal, biting wind of the Siberian tundra hit her face.

She closed her eyes and tilted her head up. For the first time in her life, the freezing bite of the wind did not feel like a reminder of her isolation. It felt like reality. It felt like a triumph. Kara Zor-El took a deep breath of the frigid, bitter air, opened her eyes to the faint glimmer of the rising sun, and launched herself into the sky.

Theta's Simulation: A glimpse at the scenarios!

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 08:45:38 PDT

Theta designed this simulation, so that it can simulate 5 different time periods, 5 different types of scenarios and 5 different types of "states of the world".

Depending on the scenario, Dylan might end up being a superhero in Ancient Rome, having to use his god-given elasticity powers to complete the task of the fickle deities, whether that is escaping a Hydra-infested swamp, or descending to the underworld itself, where the terrible Cerberus awaits.

Another possibility is the one Luca, Kimani, Darun and Nikolai found themselves in. As part of a famous team of Intergalactic Football, they must win the championship, playing against other humans, and also alien teams, to declare themselves the best in the universe.

Perhaps more mundane is Emre's current scenario. He is a spy, in modern day Turkey, tasked with delivering secret tech to another agent, Agent Siniy. This is a dangerous mission, but together, both men will do their best to prevail.

Wei-Lin suffered a far more morally-compromising situation. The usually justice-driven law student is now the henchman of the AI overlord that control the US in the future. His task? Ensuring that Dylan, prominent member of the resistance is brainwashed and becomes another compliant pawn of the AI.

The final possible scenario (at least for now) is the one João is currently going through. He is a werewolf in Medieval Europe, and tonight is a night of the full moon. Sneakily, he managed to reach a river were Luca, now a merman, was waiting for him.

Whether you end a superhero, a football player, a spy, a henchman or a fantastical creature, many twists still await the candidates! Will they succeed in their journey to prove themselves? You can try for yourselves at: https://infiniteworlds.app/shared/jQbKiT

__________________________________________________________

Today I tried to showcase a bit the different possible scenarios players can encounter during Theta's Simulation. For those that haven't played it, the combinations showcased here are not necessarily the ones you'll encounter when you play. In other words, if you get the superhero scenario, you won't necessarily be in Ancient Rome, you might be sent to the future, for example.

For those of you who've played the World or those that enjoyed today's showcase, are there any additional scenarios you'd like to see? (or time periods or states of the world?). Feel free to share your thoughts no matter what your ideas are, though I can't promise to implement every suggestion.

Poison: Neon Brawl Diva

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 08:42:30 PDT

***I really appreciate your likes and comments. Thank you so much for your support ***

Poison: Neon Brawl Diva by Jade Gretz

Canvas of Bone

Leather impacting heavy canvas usually carried a wet, resonant thud, the sound of living muscle exerting tremendous force. Down here, beneath the forgotten subway lines of Metro City, the rhythm sounded entirely wrong. It was a dry, hollow clatter, akin to heavy porcelain cracking against a stone floor. It was a sound devoid of pain, and that signaled the profound wrongness of the place.

Poison paused at the threshold of the subterranean corridor, resting the braided leather tip of her riding crop against her painted lips. She adjusted her signature peaked cap, the patent brim catching the sickly flutter of a dying fluorescent bulb, and allowed a dangerous, captivating smile to touch her features. Metro City was renowned for its brutal, unsavory fight clubs. She had managed, manipulated, and conquered most of them alongside Hugo. But this establishment offended her professional sensibilities. Fighting was a chaotic art of passion, of drawing breath and spilling blood. The vibrations echoing from the shadows ahead lacked all three.

She stepped forward, her stiletto heels clicking a deliberate warning against the damp concrete. She wore her iconic ensemble with unyielding confidence—chained cut-off shorts that caught the dim light, a white halter top, and crimson cuffs that matched her cascading hair. In a place dripping with unseen horrors, she deliberately chose to be the most vibrant, undeniable truth in the room.

The air grew heavy, thick with an unnatural chill that clung to the skin like cobwebs. It smelled of ozone, oxidized copper, and the sharp tang of formaldehyde mixed with cheap boxing rosin. Poison pushed open a set of rusted double doors, stepping into the main training hall of what whispers on the street called the Marrow Ring.

The space was cavernous, dominated by a trio of elevated boxing rings illuminated by swinging, caged bulbs. Shadows danced wildly against water-stained walls, stretching and contorting like tortured spirits. Dozens of figures moved within the gloom, working the heavy bags and sparring.

Yet, as Poison drew closer, the seductive sway of her hips slowing to a predatory stalk, the true, horrifying nature of the gym revealed itself.

The fighters were completely encased in grimy white athletic tape. From the soles of their boots to the featureless crowns of their heads, they were mummified in overlapping layers of canvas binding. They possessed no faces, no visible skin, no eyes. They moved with a terrifying, jerky precision. There was no hesitation, no fatigue, no sharp intake of breath. When a taped glove struck a suspended leather heavy bag, the arm that delivered the blow seemed to vibrate with a horrific, rigid stiffness.

"Fascinating, aren't they? The ultimate distillation of the sweet science."

The voice was smooth, carrying the texture of crushed velvet and black ice. Poison turned smoothly, her crop tapping lazily against her thigh, her posture a picture of relaxed lethality.

A man emerged from the deepest shadows. He wore a pristine, charcoal-gray bespoke suit that seemed entirely out of place in the damp squalor of the underground. His dark hair was slicked back flawlessly, his eyes two chips of pale obsidian that seemed to absorb the meager light. He carried a silver-tipped walking cane, moving with the effortless glide of a seasoned predator.

"I suppose that depends entirely on what you find fascinating, darling," Poison purred, letting her gaze sweep over him in an appraising manner. She stepped closer, her signature perfume—a heady mix of midnight jasmine and danger—cutting through the unbearable stench of the crypt. "I prefer my men with a pulse. Call me old-fashioned, but a little body heat goes a long way."

The man offered a thin smile that did not reach his soulless eyes. "I am Silas Vane. And you, my dear, are a spectacular anomaly in my sanctum. You carry the vibrant aura of the streets, yet you walk into my domain with the posture of a queen. To what do I owe the pleasure of such dangerous company?"

"You can call me Poison," she replied, her voice a sultry melody expertly masking cold tactical calculation. "And I'm here because your little fitness center is causing ripples upstairs. The Mad Gear gang, the local promoters, even the honorable martial artists wandering the globe—they all appreciate a good brawl. But word on the concrete is your boys don't go down. They don't bleed. They don't tire. They don't even breathe."

"Efficiency is the undeniable future of the sport, Poison," Silas whispered, stepping boldly into her personal space. He was attempting to intimidate her—a fatal mistake many men made. "The human body is tragically fragile. It breaks. It tires. It feels pity, and above all, pain. I have simply isolated the mechanics of combat and removed the biological flaws."

Poison laughed, a bright, musical sound that shattered the oppressive silence of the gym. She reached out, using the leather tip of her riding crop to trace the sharp line of his lapel. "You haven't improved anything, Silas. You've just traded passion for puppetry. You're a little boy playing with dolls. But tell me, what happens when someone cuts their strings?"

Silas’s smile vanished instantly, replaced by a cold sneer. "Dolls? Let me show you my canvas, my undisputed masterpieces."

He gestured grandly toward the center ring with his silver-tipped cane. Two mummified figures were locked in a brutal sparring match. One figure dodged a jab and landed a devastating uppercut. The sheer force of the blow tore the thick athletic tape across the recipient's ribcage.

Poison’s vibrant eyes narrowed. She leaned in slightly, drawn by the morbid mystery. Beneath the torn tape, there was no bruised flesh, no torn muscle, no blood. There was only polished, yellowed bone. The ribcage was hollow, intricately bound by dark, supernatural sinew that pulsed with a faint, sickening violet light. The skeletal fighter did not falter; it simply adjusted its stance, the demonic magic grinding with that hollow, porcelain clatter. As she watched, the torn edges of the athletic tape writhed like pale, blind snakes, reaching out to rebind and conceal the exposed bone.

"Necromancy," Poison stated flatly, her tone losing its playful edge, replaced by hardened resolve. "You’re taking the remains of fallen fighters, binding their skeletons with tape, and animating them with dark arts. You aren't a visionary promoter, Silas. You're a glorified grave robber with a superiority complex."

"I am an artist!" Silas hissed, his icy composure cracking. "I am elevating the sport to an immortal plane! These warriors will never know defeat. They are the ultimate weapons, forged in marrow and bound strictly by my will. And soon, they will dominate every arena in the world."

"Darling," Poison sighed, shaking her head in theatrical mock pity. "The only thing worse than a cheat is a cheat with absolutely no sense of style. This?" She gestured around the room with her crop, her expression one of utter disdain. "This is incredibly tacky."

Silas's eyes flashed with violent violet rage. He slammed the heavy silver tip of his cane against the concrete floor. The hollow thud echoed through the cavern like a gunshot.

Instantly, every single figure in the gym ceased their relentless movements. Dozens of featureless, taped heads snapped simultaneously in Poison's direction.

"You are a captivating creature, Poison," Silas said, taking a deliberate step back into the safety of his monstrous creations. "It is a profound pity to waste such exquisite form. Perhaps I will add you to my stable. A few surgically broken bones, a few miles of canvas tape, and you will dance to my rhythm forever."

"Many men have tried to dictate my rhythm," Poison murmured, her grip tightening on the leather handle of her crop. She slid her feet into a flawless combat stance, her body transforming instantly into a coiled spring of athletic perfection. "None of them are walking anymore."

Silas pointed his cane directly at her heart. "Tear her apart."

Three of the mummified boxers lunged over the taught ropes of the nearest ring, dropping to the concrete floor with an unnatural heaviness. They rushed her in terrifying unison, their movements silent save for the dreadful scuff of their heavy boots and the grinding friction of their bone joints.

Poison did not retreat. She thrived in the beautiful chaos of violence.

As the first skeletal fighter threw a lightning-fast, bone-crushing jab, she ducked beneath the blow with fluid grace. She pivoted sharply, her chained shorts chiming a bright counterpoint to the hollow sounds of the dead, and delivered a devastating, high-arcing roundhouse kick to the creature's midsection.

Her heel connected with a sickening, definitive crunch. The tape ruptured violently, and a spray of fractured ribs exploded from the creature's back like shrapnel. The skeletal fighter stumbled, but the violet light within its hollow chest flared aggressively, and it swung a heavy, blind right hook even as its torso collapsed.

Poison sprang backward in a flawless, gravity-defying backflip, landing lightly on the balls of her feet. "Tough crowd," she remarked aloud, a fierce, exhilarating smile lighting up her face.

She needed to be smarter. Physical trauma wouldn't permanently stop something that was already deceased. The writhing tape was already attempting to pull the shattered ribs back into place. She keenly observed the violet light, the unnatural, pulsating energy that bound the bone and tape together. It had to have a source. Her eyes darted around the cavernous room, expertly searching for the anchor of Silas's dark magic.

High above the center ring, suspended by thick, rusted iron chains, hung an ancient, massive boxing bell. It was cast in dark, tarnished bronze, and deeply etched into its curved surface were glowing violet runes. They pulsed in perfect synchronization with the jerky, relentless movements of the undead fighters. The demonic energy was flowing from the bell, down the chains, and into the canvas itself.

"Found you," she whispered, her smile widening into something truly dangerous.

Another monstrosity charged her, a hulking, unnatural brute constructed from the oversized bones of a heavyweight champion. It swung both taped fists downward in a crushing hammer blow meant to shatter her skull. Poison vaulted gracefully off the creature's incoming knee, launching herself high into the air.

At the absolute apex of her jump, she lashed out with her riding crop. She slashed the air with such ferocious velocity that it created a localized vacuum. The leather weapon cracked through the air with the deafening sound of a thunderbolt. The invisible blade of air pressure struck the creature's taped face, tearing the canvas bindings entirely away to reveal a grinning, yellowed skull. The concussive force of her strike sent the heavy monster crashing backward into the unforgiving steel turnbuckle.

"You cannot win!" Silas bellowed from the shifting shadows, his voice echoing with demonic distortion. "They are legion! They feel nothing! They will never tire!"

"But you do, don't you, Silas?" Poison taunted, landing gracefully and immediately sprinting in a dead run toward the center ring.

She dodged a rapid flurry of mechanical punches from two more skeletal boxers, weaving and slipping through their attacks like a dancer engaged in a macabre ballet. She sprang lightly onto the canvas of the center ring, the ropes groaning under the sudden transfer of momentum.

The entire horde of mummified fighters abandoned their heavy bags and sparring rings, beginning to close in, swarming the center ring from all sides like a tide of pale canvas. Silas stood safely at the outer edge, his face contorted in a mask of cruel, assured triumph.

"Your beauty will make a truly fine addition to my eternal collection," Silas mocked, raising his cane high to channel even more dark energy into the bell above.

"I've told you," Poison said, her voice cutting clearly through the rising clatter of bone and scuffing boots. "I don't do collections. I'm a limited edition."

With a fierce, echoing battle cry, she launched herself upward, using the taught top rope of the ring as a springboard. She soared impossibly high into the damp air, executing a flawless, spinning arc. She became a magnificent, crimson-and-white silhouette against the flickering glare of the caged bulbs. She drew her arm back, focusing her own profound life force, the burning, pure ki of a true street fighter, into the palm of her hand.

She didn't aim for the endless tide of fighters. She aimed directly for the bell.

Her palm struck the massive bronze bell with an explosive, earth-shattering impact. A shockwave of pure, vibrant pink energy erupted from her hand, violently colliding with the dark, corrupted violet runes etched into the tarnished metal.

A blinding flash of aggressively conflicting lights illuminated every dark corner of the subterranean cavern. The ancient bronze bell did not ring; it shrieked. It was the agonizing, deafening sound of a thousand enslaved souls being violently torn from their unnatural canvas bindings.

The bronze shattered completely, sending sharp shards of glowing metal raining down upon the ring canvas like deadly confetti.

Instantly, the violent violet light within the hollow chests of the mummified boxers extinguished. The dark magic that held them together evaporated like mist over a flame. Without the demonic sinew to bind them, the unnatural physics of their construction utterly failed.

All around the gym, the horrific sounds of mass collapse began. The endless spools of athletic tape unraveled and sagged lifelessly. Yellowed bones disconnected from one another and clattered heavily to the concrete floor. Skulls rolled aimlessly across the canvas. Within mere seconds, Silas's invincible, immortal army was dramatically reduced to nothing more than disorganized heaps of soiled canvas and dusty, forgotten remains.

Poison landed with practiced grace in the direct center of the ring, surrounded by the quiet debris of the fallen. She stood up slowly, deliberately smoothing a nonexistent wrinkle from her white halter top and adjusting the angle of her cap. She looked down over the ropes at Silas Vane.

The demonic promoter was on his knees, his pristine, expensive suit now heavily covered in the pale dust of his shattered dreams. The dark, imposing magic had completely fled from his obsidian eyes, leaving him looking frail, pathetic, and entirely human.

"My art," he whimpered, staring blankly at the scattered bones that surrounded him. "My undisputed masterpieces."

Poison stepped down from the elevated ring, her stiletto heels crunching ruthlessly over the discarded ribs and femurs. She walked slowly up to Silas, her riding crop resting casually against her bare shoulder. She exuded a terrifying, majestic power, an aura of vital life far more potent than any dark magic he had ever dared to conjure.

She leaned down, bringing her flawless face intimately close to his. Her midnight jasmine perfume washed over him, a stark, beautiful contrast to the vile scent of the grave that now permeated his expensive clothes.

"Let me explain something to you about real art, Silas," Poison said softly, her voice dripping with lethal, inescapable seduction. "Art requires a soul. It requires sweat, tears, and the genuine, pounding fear of failure. You tried to cheat the game. And in my city, the game always bites back."

Silas trembled violently, looking up at her with genuine, unadulterated terror. "What... what are you going to do to me?"

Poison smiled, a slow, brilliant curve of her painted lips that made his heart pound with a confusing mixture of mortal fear and helpless, desperate infatuation. She raised her riding crop and gently, almost affectionately, tapped him directly under the chin, forcing him to look into her vibrant eyes.

"Nothing," she whispered, her breath warm against his skin. "Because without your little magic tricks, you're nothing at all. Just a sad man in a dirty suit. But if I ever, ever catch you playing with dead things in my territory again, I promise you, darling... I won't be aiming for the bell."

She straightened up gracefully, turning her back on him with absolute, dismissive disdain. The message was unequivocally clear. He wasn't even worth the effort of a final strike.

Poison walked away, her hips swaying with that signature, captivating rhythm that commanded attention from any room she occupied. She pushed open the heavy, rusted double doors, stepping out of the shattered tomb and back into the subterranean subway corridor. The air outside felt significantly cleaner, purer, free of the taint of the grave.

She glanced back over her shoulder one last time, her beautiful silhouette framed perfectly by the dim, flickering light of the ruined gym.

"Keep the canvas clean," she called out, her voice echoing playfully in the darkness.

With a final, sharp click of her stiletto heels, Poison vanished into the shadows, leaving the broken demon of the Marrow Ring entirely alone in the dust of his own making. The sprawling streets of Metro City were wild, violent, and inherently dangerous, but tonight, she had personally ensured they remained beautifully, undeniably alive.

Gwen Stacy - Hooded Side Gaze Portrait

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 08:30:07 PDT

Gwen Stacy - Hooded Side Gaze Portrait

Gwen Stacy is captured here in a striking close-up portrait, featuring her iconic hooded Spider-Gwen look with a calm yet focused side gaze. The soft lighting enhances her facial structure and sharp eyes, while the clean 3D stylized rendering adds a modern, polished finish. The composition keeps the focus entirely on expression and detail, making this artwork visually engaging and instantly recognizable for fans.

✦ Artwork Details

Theme: Superhero / Character Portrait
Subject: Gwen Stacy (Spider-Gwen)
Style: 3D Stylized, Semi-Realistic
Focus: Hooded Close-Up, Side Gaze
Lighting: Soft, Balanced Highlights
Resolution: High Quality (Perfect for Digital Use)
Format: PNG
Created by: KetewStudio

✦ Premium Download Includes

Full 8K Ultra-Sharp Version
16:9 and 9:16 Cinematic Aspect Ratio
Clean Image (No Watermark)
300 DPI – Print Ready Quality
High-Quality PNG File Bundle

✦ Download & Use

Instantly download and add this clean, modern Spider-Gwen portrait to your collection. Ideal for Marvel fans who appreciate sharp, high-quality character artwork with a refined aesthetic.

If you like this artwork, don’t forget to ❤️ like, ⭐ favorite, and 💬 comment — your support helps grow more artworks like this.

Hit Your Click Here!

Luornu

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 08:17:48 PDT

Triplicate Girl (Luornu Durgo). kinda my design, I mixed some of her animation looks, but it's mostly from the Legion of superheroes animated series

Star Spangled Girl, bunny bound heroine

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 08:08:41 PDT

I'm no stranger to capturing sexy superheroines and one of them I caught is the beautiful Star Spangled Girl. The patriotic superheroine was caught and tied up in a bunny girl outfit matching her regular superhero costume, complete with blue with white stars, as well as alternating red and white stripes. As my latest member of my Bunny harem, SSG was captured as she's patrolling and now she's unable to escape her bindings set up by Agent Wilde.

Star Spangled Girl is @starspangledgirl and her AI artwork is made with PixAI

Sandbar.

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 08:08:41 PDT

Hello everyone.
Today I would like to show you my new work, which I drew in honor of the fact that it turns out that more than three new episodes of the series "Invincible" have already been released. I love this series, which is about a dark superhero and the adventures of Mark Grayson. I watched all the seasons and was waiting for the 4th season, but while I was waiting... I forgot about the series until almost half of the new episodes were released, which is even better, I watched the episodes until midnight.

I didn't want to draw a pony version of Mark Grayson, so I created a cosplay of Sandbar dressed as Invincible for a nightmare night.
I think this outfit would look great for a nightmare night.

Initially, I considered a pegasus for the role of the one who would wear the costume, but then I gave up on this idea because the wings would cover the central part of the character's body, so I decided to use a ground pony instead. For some reason, I didn't even consider the unicorn option.
That's why I chose Sandbar to wear the costume, because I need a teenager for the outfit, and I don't want to create a full-fledged Mark Grayson character.

The art was drawn just for fun, inspired by watching the new episodes of Invincible.

Please evaluate the art. Like, comment, and share your opinion.

TwiceLight CH2 pg 16

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 08:00:05 PDT

When something eerie is happening, what do you do? Will you help your city, or succumb to the powers you have gained?

Twicelight: a story about superheroes, secret identities, feminization and corruption.

First Page || Chapter 2 Complete

Comic by Angerox, co-written by me and 6Six6 (Between, Oathbreaker games).

Discord: https://discord.gg/AkDntcJpb8

G3nysis #12 - Page 30

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 07:32:54 PDT

Subscribe here for full access to the G3nysis comic book and uncensored extras! - https://www.deviantart.com/g3nysis/subscriptions

I FAILED YOU: PAGE 100

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 07:09:56 PDT

<<PREVIOUS PAGE -- START! -- NEXT PAGE SOON>>

Old Work - Superhero's Mishap

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 07:02:03 PDT

Charlie Flips The Real Stormfront Off

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 06:52:48 PDT

Klaus Risinger, better known as Stormfront is a major antagonist in the superhero comic book series The Boys.

He was the first super created using Compound V and was ordered by Hitler to be killed, but was sent to America when he was only a child. Due to his experiences as a child, he grew to hate other ethnicities and see other races as inferior. Jonah Vogelbaum tried to help the boy out by trying to heal his young mind and teaching him to be more accepting of others. Stormfront still wasn't fond of other ethnicities, but decided to only kill people who deserved it in his eyes: Terrorist, things, or people who offended him, or Germany. Despite this, he was picked up by Vought-American to be a part of the group Payback, which he took over as its unofficial leader.

Charlie Flips (What) Off

@AwesomeGameDude10

@Knightnightfight3812

@Negaboss2000

@Alex130198Ferrana

Heron (Superhero)

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 06:37:04 PDT

Meet Heron, my Superhero OC and he's a parody of Angel.

Kim Comfortable Pillow

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 06:33:42 PDT

Here's another image of Kim fulfilling her secret desires.

I recently submitted the script for my comic book to four different AI models (ChatGPT, CoPilot, Gemini, and Claude) with the same prompt: "Act as a strict adult comic book editor. Evaluate this script and point out its strengths and weaknesses. Then, give suggestions for improvement." Claude provided the most extensive and complete answers, so I recommend it. Overall, the AIs said that I was mostly right and agreed that I made the right choice by making Kim the heart of the story. She is cute, smart, loyal ans sexy. Initially, she was just going to be comic relief, but I decided she would be the person who shows Zara that even a powerful superhero needs help and changes her from a ruthless vigilante to a savior of innocents. All the AI models also gave the same suggestion, which I had already considered: Kim deserves her own story — a little spin-off as a bonus. I just need to stop and think about how to create a new, funny, and sexy story.