More prompts from Nebzy01

    A liminal space inspired by the Akatsuki, as seen in Naruto. The environment is dark, cold, and desolate, with an abandoned, eerie atmosphere. The setting is a large, empty cavern or underground hideout, dimly lit by faint, flickering lights from scattered torches. The stone walls are rough, covered with cracks, and the floor is uneven, with pools of stagnant water in some areas.
The iconic Akatsuki cloak and red cloud symbol are subtly referenced in the surroundings, with tattered banners and empty chairs scattered around, creating a sense of unsettling solitude. There is no sign of the members, only the remnants of their presence—their dark and oppressive aura hangs in the air. The place feels abandoned yet oddly alive, as if the weight of the Akatsuki’s actions still lingers in the shadows, creating a chilling sense of isolation and unresolved tension.
    A liminal space inspired by Itachi Uchiha from Naruto. The environment is dark, quiet, and emotionally heavy, filled with an air of intense solitude and sorrow. The setting is a dimly lit, abandoned landscape—perhaps a lone, secluded room or a desolate forest at dusk. The walls are cracked, and the ground is covered with fallen leaves, giving the scene an eerie, forsaken feel.
The haunting red glow of Itachi’s Sharingan subtly illuminates the scene, casting long, sharp shadows and adding a sense of tension to the atmosphere. There are no people, only remnants of past battles or memories. The place feels frozen in time, like a space where Itachi’s presence lingers, silent and unyielding. His connection to this space, filled with loss, pain, and regret, hangs in the air, creating a chilling, melancholic energy. The environment is both beautiful and heartbreaking, reflecting Itachi’s internal struggle and isolation.
    A liminal space in the Forest of Death, as seen in Naruto. The dense, overgrown trees are twisted and gnarled, their thick branches reaching out like fingers in the dim light. A dense mist hangs in the air, partially obscuring the thick vegetation and the dark shadows that stretch across the ground. The ground is muddy and uneven, with large pools of stagnant water reflecting the eerie stillness.
The forest is completely empty—no sounds of animals, no movement, only the oppressive silence and the occasional rustle of leaves. The once vibrant environment now feels still and abandoned, as if time itself has paused here. The ominous atmosphere of the Forest of Death is heightened by the absence of life, leaving behind only the shadowy, dangerous landscape. The trees form tight, oppressive walls, as if trapping anyone who dares to enter in a world of quiet, suffocating isolation.
    A liminal space inside Peach’s Castle from Super Mario 64. The grand hall is vast and empty, the walls adorned with faded tapestries and statues that seem to stare blankly into space. The floors are cold, the sound of footsteps echoing unnervingly through the stillness. The once vibrant and lively space feels abandoned, with no people, no sounds, and only the weight of silence hanging in the air. The grand staircase leads up into darkness, and the sense of solitude is overwhelming, as if time has stopped and the castle itself is forgotten.
    A liminal space in front of Peach’s Castle from Super Mario 64, where the familiar world feels unnervingly quiet and empty. The castle stands tall in the distance, its bright and colorful exterior contrasting with the vast, lifeless lawn that stretches endlessly before it. The lush green grass is too still, the bright blue sky above too perfect, creating an uncanny feeling that something is missing.
The landscape feels strangely artificial, as if frozen in time—perfectly symmetrical but devoid of life. There are no characters, no sound, only the occasional soft breeze that barely rustles the trees. The iconic wooden bridges and pathways leading to the castle are intact but deserted, their surfaces clean and untouched, creating an eerie sense of abandonment.
A soft mist lingers around the base of the castle, distorting the view, making it seem distant yet close at the same time. The space feels neither welcoming nor hostile, just a waiting place, caught in an endless loop, as if reality itself is suspended. It’s a world familiar yet alien—where the boundary between the game’s vibrant universe and a forgotten dream blurs.
    A nightmarish, endless hotel corridor, impossibly long and distorted, stretching into pitch-black nothingness. The air is thick, humid, and reeks of decay and something foul, like rotting meat left too long in the dark. The dim, flickering fluorescent lights overhead cast unnatural shadows that seem to move on their own. The stained, sagging carpet is damp, imprinted with footprints that shouldn’t exist—some human, some… not.
The numbered doors are all wrong—twisted, half-melted, some leading into infinite voids, others barely cracked open with a sickly, pulsating red glow leaking out. A distant, static-filled television flickers behind one, playing distorted images of screaming, faceless figures. The walls bulge and breathe, as if the entire structure is alive, watching.
A disfigured, elongated figure stands at the far end of the hall, too tall, too thin, its head crooked at an unnatural angle. It doesn't move, but you feel it staring. The security cameras in the corners are following your every step, the red lights blinking erratically. From the vents above, a thick, viscous black liquid drips down, pooling on the floor, and something inside them whispers your name in a voice that isn't yours.
The elevator doors further down are wide open, but the shaft is just… empty. No cables, no bottom, just infinite, swirling blackness. From deep within, something claws at the walls, climbing upward.
And then, behind you, a door clicks open.
    A liminal space within the Forest Temple from The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time—a place lost in time, abandoned yet strangely alive. Towering stone pillars, covered in moss and ivy, stretch into the shadows. A dim, greenish glow filters through cracks in the ceiling, casting soft, eerie light onto the damp stone floor. The air is thick with the scent of earth and ancient decay.
Faint particles of light float, drifting unnaturally. The only sound is the distant echo of dripping water. Twisting corridors lead into the unknown, their walls marked by faded carvings of forgotten legends. Vines creep along the surfaces, slowly reclaiming the temple.
A dense mist lingers in the main chamber, shifting as if it breathes. The temple feels frozen between worlds—neither truly real nor entirely a dream, a forgotten space where time has unraveled. Though no one is here, an unshakable presence lingers, just beyond sight.
    A liminal space in the Forest of Death, as seen in Naruto. The dense, overgrown trees are twisted and gnarled, their thick branches reaching out like fingers in the dim light. A dense mist hangs in the air, partially obscuring the thick vegetation and the dark shadows that stretch across the ground. The ground is muddy and uneven, with large pools of stagnant water reflecting the eerie stillness.
The forest is completely empty—no sounds of animals, no movement, only the oppressive silence and the occasional rustle of leaves. The once vibrant environment now feels still and abandoned, as if time itself has paused here. The ominous atmosphere of the Forest of Death is heightened by the absence of life, leaving behind only the shadowy, dangerous landscape. The trees form tight, oppressive walls, as if trapping anyone who dares to enter in a world of quiet, suffocating isolation.
    Un couloir interminable, baigné dans une lumière jaune maladive, s’étend dans un silence épais. Les néons bourdonnent faiblement, certains clignotent, projetant des ombres erratiques sur les murs délavés. Les carreaux blancs sont fissurés, tachés de moisissures qui s’étendent comme des veines mortes sous la peinture écaillée. Il n’y a pas de fenêtres. Il n’y a jamais eu de fenêtres.
Les portes des salles de classe sont entrouvertes, mais derrière, il n’y a rien. Rien d’identifiable. Juste des tableaux noirs où des traces de craie semblent s’effacer et réapparaître toutes seules. Des bureaux décalés, certains renversés, comme si quelque chose avait tenté de s’asseoir mais n’avait jamais su comment. L’odeur est atroce : un mélange de bois pourri, de papier brûlé et… quelque chose de plus ancien, de plus profond.
Parfois, au détour d’un couloir, un bruit résonne. Pas un cri. Pas un murmure. Juste… un raclement. Comme si quelque chose traînait sur le sol, lentement, sans jamais s’arrêter. Tu ne peux pas dire d’où ça vient. Ça ne semble pas se rapprocher. Ni s’éloigner.
Il n’y a pas d’horloge. Il n’y a pas d’issue. Juste ce labyrinthe de salles vides, de couloirs sans fin, de portes qui ne mènent nulle part. Un endroit oublié, mais pas abandonné.
Et au loin, un haut-parleur grésille. Une voix artificielle, déformée, déclame une annonce scolaire incompréhensible. Chaque syllabe résonne trop longtemps, comme si l’endroit lui-même refusait de la laisser s’éteindre.
    A liminal space in Konoha, the Hidden Leaf Village, from Naruto, captured in ultra-realistic 4K with high dynamic range lighting and subtle brilliance effects. The iconic wooden buildings with curved, tiled rooftops stretch along the deserted streets, their warm colors enhanced by the soft glow of the setting sun. Every detail—the cracks in the stone pathways, the gentle sway of banners, the faint reflections on the glass windows of empty shops—feels almost too vivid, as if the world is frozen in perfect clarity.
The Hokage Monument stands in the distance, its colossal faces illuminated by the golden hour, yet the village itself remains eerily still. The air carries a quiet warmth, but the silence is deep, as if time has momentarily stopped. The training grounds lie undisturbed, the swings at the playground unmoving, the paper lanterns glowing faintly in the absence of any footsteps. The entire scene is breathtakingly detailed yet unsettlingly empty, creating a paradox of beauty and solitude—a moment suspended in time, waiting for life to return.
    Le couloir s’étire à l’infini sous la lueur tremblotante des néons qui grésillent par intermittence. Les murs, autrefois recouverts de dessins d’enfants, ne sont plus que des vestiges décolorés, rongés par le temps et l’humidité. Le sol en linoléum est fissuré, par endroits arraché, laissant apparaître un béton froid et poussiéreux.
Des casiers entrouverts laissent échapper des papiers froissés, griffonnés de mots illisibles. L’odeur âcre de moisi et de vieille craie flotte dans l’air stagnant. À chaque pas, le silence s’épaissit, pesant, oppressant... Jusqu’à ce qu’un léger grincement brise l’immobilité. Une porte entrouverte oscille lentement, sans raison apparente.
Au fond du couloir, une salle de classe plongée dans la pénombre. Des chaises renversées, un tableau couvert de griffures, des ombres qui semblent s’étirer anormalement sur les murs. Et puis, ce murmure... Une voix d’enfant étouffée, impossible à localiser, qui récite une comptine oubliée.
Ici, personne n’a mis les pieds depuis des années. Pourtant, quelque chose n’a jamais cessé d’attendre.
    Inside a telephone booth, tucked away on a dimly lit street corner of a sprawling city, you anxiously watch through the first glass panel. It’s night, and the city is drowned in shadows. The flickering glow of streetlights casts long, distorted shadows on the ground.
In the distance, the figure of a creature appears. It’s humanoid, towering at least three meters tall, with unnaturally long arms and legs, too thin, stretching far beyond what should be possible. Its movements are fluid and unnerving as it searches the street. The creature's face is mostly hidden by the darkness, but you can feel its presence—its eyes scanning the surroundings.
And then, it sees you.
Its head turns sharply, its pale, hollow eyes locking onto yours through the small window of the booth. It knows you're there. The creature begins moving toward you, its form growing larger with every step.
You’re trapped. It’s getting closer. You can’t move. You know it won’t stop until it finds you.
    A massive, decayed underground laboratory stretches endlessly, dimly illuminated by flickering, sickly green fluorescent lights. The air is thick with the stench of antiseptic, rusted metal, and something rotten. The walls are lined with massive glass tanks filled with murky, yellowish liquid, where grotesque, half-formed humanoid figures twitch and convulse, their eyes vacant and mouths frozen in silent screams. Tubes and fleshy organic tendrils snake across the walls, pulsing as if alive, oozing a black, tar-like substance onto the cold, stained concrete floor.
Rows of operating tables, covered in dried blood and deep claw marks, sit abandoned, their restraints still fastened as if something had escaped. Surgical tools, rusted and jagged, lay scattered across the surfaces, some still dripping with a thick, viscous red fluid. Faint, distorted whispers echo through the empty corridors, as if the very walls remember the suffering that took place here.
At the far end of the hallway, a steel door marked "EXPERIMENTS: DO NOT OPEN" hangs slightly ajar, revealing only darkness beyond. Something wet and heavy drags itself across the floor inside. The ventilation shafts above rattle sporadically, as if something thin and fast were crawling through them, watching, waiting.
A flickering security monitor on the wall shows grainy, looping footage of a room you haven't entered yet—except the feed has a two-second delay, and in the corner of the screen, something is standing behind you.
    A haunting, abandoned corridor in an old building, dimly lit by flickering, malfunctioning lights. The walls are cracked, peeling, and stained with dark, uneven patches that give the impression of something decayed. The floor is covered with cracked tiles and faded, torn carpet, but some areas are unnervingly smooth, as though worn down by something unknown.
At the end of the corridor, a door stands ajar, revealing only darkness beyond, an oppressive void that seems to swallow up the light. Faint, distorted shadows seem to stretch unnaturally along the walls, casting eerie, warped shapes. The air is thick with an almost palpable tension, as if something might emerge from the darkness at any moment, yet there’s no sign of life.
A few abandoned objects—an overturned chair, a broken picture frame—lie scattered across the floor, abandoned carelessly, giving the room the feeling of a place left in haste. The atmosphere feels cold, suffocating, and wrong. There’s no noise, no movement, just an overwhelming sense of something being off, as though the space itself is alive, waiting.
The entire scene is bathed in dull, muted tones, with dark corners that seem to swallow up the light, giving it an overwhelming sense of emptiness and a deeply unsettling feeling of being watched.
    A liminal space within the Forest Temple from The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time—a place lost in time, abandoned yet strangely alive. Towering stone pillars, covered in moss and ivy, stretch into the shadows. A dim, greenish glow filters through cracks in the ceiling, casting soft, eerie light onto the damp stone floor. The air is thick with the scent of earth and ancient decay.
Faint particles of light float, drifting unnaturally. The only sound is the distant echo of dripping water. Twisting corridors lead into the unknown, their walls marked by faded carvings of forgotten legends. Vines creep along the surfaces, slowly reclaiming the temple.
A dense mist lingers in the main chamber, shifting as if it breathes. The temple feels frozen between worlds—neither truly real nor entirely a dream, a forgotten space where time has unraveled. Though no one is here, an unshakable presence lingers, just beyond sight.
    An abandoned children's playroom, illuminated only by the dim, flickering light of broken overhead bulbs. The walls are painted with faded, peeling murals of cartoon animals and playful shapes, now warped and distorted with time. The floor is covered in old, cracked foam tiles, some pieces missing, leaving jagged gaps in the colorful pattern. A thick layer of dust settles on everything, but there is something unsettling about the emptiness—it feels like this room has been abandoned in a hurry, as if something left without a trace.
The toys, once vibrant and inviting, are now neglected and broken. A deflated ball lies in one corner, partially hidden by a pile of decaying stuffed animals, their eyes sewn shut with thread that looks like it’s been torn out. A wooden rocking horse sits in the middle of the room, its paint chipped and peeling, the motionless frame casting long, strange shadows that distort across the walls.
The silence is oppressive, heavy. Every creak of the building as it shifts under its own weight seems unnaturally loud in this dead space. The door to the room is slightly ajar, but beyond it, there is nothing but more empty corridors, endless and unreachable. No sound, no movement—only the stillness, and the deep unease that the room evokes
    An abandoned children's playroom, illuminated only by the dim, flickering light of broken overhead bulbs. The walls are painted with faded, peeling murals of cartoon animals and playful shapes, now warped and distorted with time. The floor is covered in old, cracked foam tiles, some pieces missing, leaving jagged gaps in the colorful pattern. A thick layer of dust settles on everything, but there is something unsettling about the emptiness—it feels like this room has been abandoned in a hurry, as if something left without a trace.
The toys, once vibrant and inviting, are now neglected and broken. A deflated ball lies in one corner, partially hidden by a pile of decaying stuffed animals, their eyes sewn shut with thread that looks like it’s been torn out. A wooden rocking horse sits in the middle of the room, its paint chipped and peeling, the motionless frame casting long, strange shadows that distort across the walls.
The silence is oppressive, heavy. Every creak of the building as it shifts under its own weight seems unnaturally loud in this dead space. The door to the room is slightly ajar, but beyond it, there is nothing but more empty corridors, endless and unreachable. No sound, no movement—only the stillness, and the deep unease that the room evokes
    A nightmarish, endless hotel corridor, impossibly long and distorted, stretching into pitch-black nothingness. The air is thick, humid, and reeks of decay and something foul, like rotting meat left too long in the dark. The dim, flickering fluorescent lights overhead cast unnatural shadows that seem to move on their own. The stained, sagging carpet is damp, imprinted with footprints that shouldn’t exist—some human, some… not.
The numbered doors are all wrong—twisted, half-melted, some leading into infinite voids, others barely cracked open with a sickly, pulsating red glow leaking out. A distant, static-filled television flickers behind one, playing distorted images of screaming, faceless figures. The walls bulge and breathe, as if the entire structure is alive, watching.
A disfigured, elongated figure stands at the far end of the hall, too tall, too thin, its head crooked at an unnatural angle. It doesn't move, but you feel it staring. The security cameras in the corners are following your every step, the red lights blinking erratically. From the vents above, a thick, viscous black liquid drips down, pooling on the floor, and something inside them whispers your name in a voice that isn't yours.
The elevator doors further down are wide open, but the shaft is just… empty. No cables, no bottom, just infinite, swirling blackness. From deep within, something claws at the walls, climbing upward.
And then, behind you, a door clicks open.
    An abandoned children's playroom, illuminated only by the dim, flickering light of broken overhead bulbs. The walls are painted with faded, peeling murals of cartoon animals and playful shapes, now warped and distorted with time. The floor is covered in old, cracked foam tiles, some pieces missing, leaving jagged gaps in the colorful pattern. A thick layer of dust settles on everything, but there is something unsettling about the emptiness—it feels like this room has been abandoned in a hurry, as if something left without a trace.
The toys, once vibrant and inviting, are now neglected and broken. A deflated ball lies in one corner, partially hidden by a pile of decaying stuffed animals, their eyes sewn shut with thread that looks like it’s been torn out. A wooden rocking horse sits in the middle of the room, its paint chipped and peeling, the motionless frame casting long, strange shadows that distort across the walls.
The silence is oppressive, heavy. Every creak of the building as it shifts under its own weight seems unnaturally loud in this dead space. The door to the room is slightly ajar, but beyond it, there is nothing but more empty corridors, endless and unreachable. No sound, no movement—only the stillness, and the deep unease that the room evokes
    L’Hôtel Sans Fin
Le hall d’entrée est… trop grand. Beaucoup trop grand. Son plafond disparaît dans une obscurité floue, où de faibles lampes projettent une lumière jaunâtre et insuffisante. Le comptoir d’accueil est vide. Il a peut-être toujours été vide. Derrière, un panneau lumineux clignote lentement : "BIENVENUE". Mais il n’y a pas de nom d’hôtel. Juste ce mot, en boucle.
Le tapis sous tes pieds est épais, mais poussiéreux, comme si personne n’avait marché ici depuis une éternité. L’air sent le renfermé, mêlé à un parfum indéfinissable qui flotte sans source visible.
À ta gauche, un ascenseur. L’écran digital affiche des étages qui n’ont aucun sens : -3, 0, 2, 14, 99, B… Il monte et descend au hasard. Les portes s’ouvrent une fraction de seconde, révélant un intérieur sombre et étrangement profond, puis se referment brusquement.
Un couloir s’étire devant toi. Ses murs sont couverts de papier peint à motifs floraux défraîchis. Les lumières, espacées irrégulièrement, laissent des zones entières plongées dans l’ombre. Les numéros des chambres sont aléatoires : 104, 617, 3, A, puis plus rien. Certaines portes sont entrouvertes, laissant entrevoir des chambres identiques… ou presque.
Un lit défait, une télévision allumée sur une chaîne qui n’existe pas, diffusant un écran de neige ponctué de murmures incompréhensibles.
Puis, un bruit. Un raclement, loin derrière toi. Comme si quelque chose venait d’ouvrir une porte.
Une chose est sûre : tu es seul.
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