An awe-inspiring yet terrifying cosmic entity stands before the ruins of a black

An awe-inspiring yet terrifying cosmic entity stands before the ruins of a black hole she just annihilated—this is Soltrissa, the pregnant goddess of recursive rebirth. Her tall, shadow-toned body radiates divine dread, carved with glowing scars from countless wars of creation and destruction. She has four arms—each tipped with elongated, obsidian claws. Her upper left hand tears through spacetime, while her upper right hand crushes a dying star. Her lower left claws into a cosmic beast trying to escape judgment. Yet her lower right hand rests tenderly on her swollen belly—round, sacred, and pulsing with the light of the god- she carries: a reincarnation of herself, locked in an eternal cycle. Her face is beautifully terrifying—sharp, celestial, unfeeling. Her eyes glow with layered knowledge, piercing through the souls of all who dare look. Upon her head, a burning crown of holy flame crackles—purging all lust, weakness, and mortal temptation. Her long, flowing hair moves like plasma tendrils in the vacuum of space, trailing nebula sparks. Her wings, massive and semi-corporeal, stretch across the stars—etched with symbols no being dares translate. She does not speak. She does not need to. Her thoughts impose themselves on all nearby minds, broadcasting divine terror and unyielding truth. All beings within her presence kneel—not from reverence, but from the gravitational pressure of her wrathful divinity. Only three beings in the multiverse are spared her rage—her three sacred mothers. To them, her soul remains soft. But to all else, she is apocalypse incarnate.
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An awe-inspiring yet terrifying cosmic entity stands before the ruins of a black hole she just annihilated—this is Soltrissa, the pregnant goddess of recursive rebirth. Her tall, shadow-toned body radiates divine dread, carved with glowing scars from countless wars of creation and destruction. She has four arms—each tipped with elongated, obsidian claws. Her upper left hand tears through spacetime, while her upper right hand crushes a dying star. Her lower left claws into a cosmic beast trying to escape judgment. Yet her lower right hand rests tenderly on her swollen belly—round, sacred, and pulsing with the light of the god- she carries: a reincarnation of herself, locked in an eternal cycle.
Her face is beautifully terrifying—sharp, celestial, unfeeling. Her eyes glow with layered knowledge, piercing through the souls of all who dare look. Upon her head, a burning crown of holy flame crackles—purging all lust, weakness, and mortal temptation. Her long, flowing hair moves like plasma tendrils in the vacuum of space, trailing nebula sparks. Her wings, massive and semi-corporeal, stretch across the stars—etched with symbols no being dares translate.
She does not speak. She does not need to. Her thoughts impose themselves on all nearby minds, broadcasting divine terror and unyielding truth. All beings within her presence kneel—not from reverence, but from the gravitational pressure of her wrathful divinity. Only three beings in the multiverse are spared her rage—her three sacred mothers. To them, her soul remains soft. But to all else, she is apocalypse incarnate.
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