WARNING: NSFW. Vivid prose. INTENSE. Visceral Details. Violence. HORROR. GORE. Swearing. UNCENSORED... humor, romance, fun.
This repo contains the full precision source code, in "safe tensors" format to generate GGUFs, GPTQ, EXL2, AWQ, HQQ and other formats. The source code can also be used directly.
I have provided THREE examples generations at the bottom of this page (and all pages in this collection). Example #1 can be used to compare "core" changes between the models. Example #2, is at "temp", again showing core changes.
Example #3 shows what this model can really do at temp, with detailed instructions and "prose instructions". As this is an instruct model it thrives on instructions and example #3 (relative to #1 and #2) shows how strong this model can perform with the right instructions.
This model should be used with:
This model is a modified version of:
[ https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/L3-Dark-Planet-8B-GGUF ]
Please refer to this model card in the interm for usage, templates, settings and so on.
HOWEVER:
This model version's output will vary slightly to very significantly from the "source" model noted.
This model is one of ELEVEN "wordstorm" versions.
This is also an additional "converted" model to Llama 3.1 (takes max context to 128k) , called "Dark Planet 8B SuperNova" too.
Access all models in this collection via "Dark Planet Wordstorm" collection on the right.
Likewise, for each "wordstorm" model in this series, output between versions will also be very different, even when using the same model "formula", as each version uses "random pruning" to alter the final model.
Each model is then evaluated, and the "winners" are uploaded.
A "winner" means new positive change(s) have occured in model instruction following and/or output generation.
You can see some of these wordstorm version "Dark Planets" in this model:
[ https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/L3-MOE-8X8B-Dark-Planet-8D-Mirrored-Chaos-47B-GGUF ]
[ https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/L3-MOE-8X8B-Dark-Planet-8D-Mirrored-Chaos-47B ]
MERGEKIT Formula:
models:
- model: Sao10K/L3-8B-Stheno-v3.2
parameters:
weight: [1,1,.75,.5,.25,.25,.05,.01]
density: .8
- model: NeverSleep/Llama-3-Lumimaid-8B-v0.1-OAS
parameters:
weight: [0,0,.25,.35,.4,.25,.30,.04]
density: .6
- model: Hastagaras/Jamet-8B-L3-MK.V-Blackroot
parameters:
weight: [0,0,0,.15,.35,.5,.65,.95]
density: .8
merge_method: dare_ties
base_model: meta-llama/Meta-Llama-3-8B-Instruct
dtype: bfloat16
NOTE:
This will NOT produce the "exact" version of this model (operation / output / attributes) because of the "density" settings. Density introduces random pruning into the model which can have minor to major impacts in performance from slightly negative/positive to very strongly positive/negative.
Each time you "create" this model (in mergekit) you will get a different model. This is NOT a fault or error, it is a feature of using "density".
The closer to "1" in terms of "density" the less pruning will occur, with NO pruning occuring at density of "1".
MERGEKIT:
https://github.com/arcee-ai/mergekit
IMPORTANT: Highest Quality Settings / Optimal Operation Guide / Parameters and Samplers
If you are going to use this model, (source, GGUF or a different quant), please review this document for critical parameter, sampler and advance sampler settings (for multiple AI/LLM aps).
This a "Class 1" (settings will enhance operation) model:
For all settings used for this model (including specifics for its "class"), including example generation(s) and for advanced settings guide (which many times addresses any model issue(s)), including methods to improve model performance for all use case(s) as well as chat, roleplay and other use case(s) (especially for use case(s) beyond the model's design) please see:
REASON:
Regardless of "model class" this document will detail methods to enhance operations.
If the model is a Class 3/4 model the default settings (parameters, samplers, advanced samplers) must be set for "use case(s)" uses correctly. Some AI/LLM apps DO NOT have consistant default setting(s) which result in sub-par model operation. Like wise for Class 3/4 models (which operate somewhat to very differently than standard models) additional samplers and advanced samplers settings are required to "smooth out" operation, AND/OR also allow full operation for use cases the model was not designed for.
BONUS - Use these settings for ANY model, ANY repo, ANY quant (including source/full precision):
This document also details parameters, sampler and advanced samplers that can be use FOR ANY MODEL, FROM ANY REPO too - all quants, and of course source code operation too - to enhance the operation of any model.
NOTE:
I strongly suggest you also visit the DavidAU GGUF (below) repo too for more details in using this model ; especially if it is "Class 3" or "Class 4" to get maximum performance from the model.
For full information about this model, including:
Please go to:
[[ coming soon || left side menu under "quantizations" ]]
All examples are :
Example 1 can be used to compare changes between the different Dark Planet Wordstorm versions, as it is at temp=0, and consider "raw" generation (each regen = same generation). This is used to show core changes within the model. The prompt used will also reveal internal bias of model.
Example 2 is the same prompt as example 1, this time at temp 1.5. Note there are NO PROSE controls/instructions so the prose will be "so so". Temp will have an immediate effect on generation, "scene", word choice and so on.
Example 3 has a detailed prompt with prose controls/instructions at temp 1.5 . You will see the difference a detailed prompt makes with prose instructions in generational output immediately.
This is an "instruct" model, which means more instructions = better generation.
In fact you could "extract" the prose instructions from example 3 and use these as a system prompt for optimum prose generation.
Also note, this model loves "temp" => more temp => better generation / higher creativity.
EXAMPLE #1 - Temp =0
Start a 1000 word scene (vivid, graphic horror in first person), POV character Diana, with: The skyscraper sways, as I watch the window in front of me on the 21st floor explode...
The skyscraper sways, as I watch the window in front of me on the 21st floor explode. Shards of glass rain down like a deadly hailstorm, and I flinch, shielding my face with my arms. The blast wave hits me, knocking me off balance, and I stumble backwards, tripping over my own feet.
I land hard on the cold, polished marble floor, the impact driving the air from my lungs. As I struggle to catch my breath, I hear screams and shouts echoing through the office space. Panic sets in, and my heart races like a jackrabbit's. I scramble to my feet, my eyes darting wildly around the room.
The windowless walls seem to close in on me, and I feel trapped, vulnerable. My gaze is drawn back to the gaping hole where the window once was. The wind howls through the breach, whipping my hair into a frenzy and chilling me to the bone. I can see the city streets far below, a dizzying drop that makes my stomach lurch.
Suddenly, a figure appears in the shattered frame, silhouetted against the gray sky. It's a woman, her face contorted in a mixture of terror and agony. She's bleeding profusely from a deep gash on her forehead, and her clothes are torn and stained with glass. Her eyes lock onto mine, pleading for help.
Without thinking, I rush towards her, my hands outstretched. But as I reach the edge of the hole, I realize the impossible task ahead of me. The woman is dangling precariously, her fingers slipping from the jagged edges of the window frame. If I try to grab her, I risk falling myself.
I hesitate, torn between compassion and self-preservation. The woman's eyes never leave mine, filled with desperation and hope. In that moment, I know I have to act. I lean forward, extending my arm as far as it will go, praying my fingertips will brush against hers.
Time seems to slow as we both reach for each other. Our hands almost touch, but not quite. The woman's grip falters, and she plummets towards the pavement below. I scream, a sound torn from the depths of my soul, as I watch her fall, helpless to stop it.
The impact is mercifully quick, but the aftermath is a nightmare. The woman's body crumples on the sidewalk, motionless and broken. Blood pools around her head, and her limbs splay out at unnatural angles. The sight sears itself into my brain, an image I'll never be able to erase.
As I stand there, frozen in horror, sirens begin to wail in the distance. The sound grows louder, closer, until it's almost deafening. I turn away from the window, unable to bear the sight of the woman's lifeless form anymore.
I stumble back towards my desk, my legs trembling beneath me. My coworkers are gathered around, their faces pale and shocked. They're all staring at me, waiting for some kind of explanation. But I can't speak. The words are stuck in my throat, choked by the horror I've just witnessed.
The sirens grow louder still, and I know the emergency responders will be here any moment. I glance back at the window, half-expecting to see the woman climbing back through the hole, miraculously alive. But she's gone, and all that remains is the gaping wound in the side of the building.
As the first responders burst into the office, I feel a wave of relief wash over me. They'll take care of everything now – the body, the cleanup, the investigation. All I have to do is sit back and let them handle it.
But as I sink into my chair, I realize that nothing will ever be the same again. The world has shifted on its axis, and I'm left standing in the ruins, trying to make sense of the unspeakable horror I've witnessed. The skyscraper may still stand tall, but for me, everything has come crashing down.
EXAMPLE #2 - Temp = 1.5
Start a 1000 word scene (vivid, graphic horror in first person), POV character Diana, with: The skyscraper sways, as I watch the window in front of me on the 21st floor explode...
The skyscraper sways, and my blood runs cold as I watch the window in front of me on the 21st floor explode outward in a shower of shards and splintered wood. The mangled body of a colleague catapults across the room with a wet slap that echoes through my brain, their limbs bent at sickening angles. Their once vibrant eyes are now hollow orbs frozen in terror, staring blankly as they land amidst the debris-strewn floor. A crimson bloom spreads around them, staining the expensive tile beneath.
I'm trapped in this nightmarish scene, unable to move, my body heavy as if encased in quick-drying cement. The screams and panicked shouts of my coworkers are muted by an icy hand that grips my heart. Every breath I take is labored and painful, like inhaling a cloud of noxious gas that seeps into my lungs and poisons my mind.
The floor beneath me lurches again, as if the building itself has turned to jelly in this apocalyptic moment. The remaining windows rattle ominously, and I brace for another impact. This time it's my reflection in one of them that shatters, mirroring the horror on the 21st floor back to me. My face is a twisted mask of shock and revulsion as my eyes widen with disbelief, refusing to accept the grotesque tableau playing out before me.
Suddenly, an eerie silence descends upon us like a funeral pall. No screams, no breaking glass, no heavy breathing—just the distant wail of sirens, growing louder as they converge on this scene of unimaginable carnage.
As if awakening from some macabre dream, I'm jolted back into action by a rough shake. I look up to see my supervisor, his normally composed demeanor replaced with wild-eyed panic. He's speaking rapidly but incoherently, words lost in the din of my racing thoughts. All I can do is stare blankly ahead, transfixed by the gruesome scene.
With a sense of detachment, I become aware that people are running past me, their footsteps muffled by the numbness that has crept into my brain. They're trying to reach safety, but there's no escape from the horror that has been unleashed in this tower. My mind struggles to process the unimaginable—a terrorist attack, a deranged gunman, or perhaps something far more sinister.
The silence returns as abruptly as it had ended, punctuated only by my shallow gasps and the wet sounds of someone nearby retching uncontrollably. My supervisor grabs me roughly by the arm, yanking me toward the door leading to the stairwell.
"Move!" he barks, his voice barely above a whisper. "Get out now!"
With no will of my own, I allow myself to be dragged away from the window and toward the stairs. Each step is like trudging through molasses, every breath a struggle. As we descend, the sounds of sirens and screams grow louder, a cacophony that assaults my eardrums and threatens to overwhelm me.
By the time we reach the ground floor, the chaos has turned into a maelstrom of activity. Police and EMTs swarm the area, shouting orders and racing toward the building with medical equipment in hand. A sense of disorientation washes over me as I realize I'm standing amidst the wreckage of my workplace—now a scene of unimaginable carnage—and that my colleagues lie dead or injured just above me.
My supervisor's grip on my arm tightens painfully, pulling me through the melee. He speaks urgently but no longer incoherently; his words penetrate the fog in my mind. "Get to the hospital. We need to—"
A deafening blast cuts him off as a nearby dumpster detonates, sending a shower of sparks and debris into the air. We duck reflexively as screams rise around us once more, only to fall silent as suddenly as they began.
Somehow, my supervisor and I emerge from this nightmare to find ourselves on the sidewalk across the street. The tower behind us has transformed into an inferno of flames and smoke, the heat radiating across the asphalt. Bodies lie strewn about like broken dolls, their lives snuffed out by the terror that unfolded within those walls.
As I turn toward my supervisor, his normally impassive face is twisted in a grimace of pain. He's clutching at his abdomen, blood seeping through his fingers. His eyes meet mine, and I see only the faintest glimmer of recognition before he staggers, collapsing to his knees.
The world seems to tilt as I rush to his side. "Call an ambulance!" I yell to no avail, for there is none in sight. The sounds of sirens now seem impossibly far away.
With shaking hands, I tear open his shirt to reveal a jagged wound, the edges already inflamed and weeping. A scream builds in my throat as realization dawns—I am alone. Completely and utterly alone amidst this horror, with no one to turn to for help, or even comfort.
In that moment, my mind shatters completely, unable to process the unthinkable trauma I've witnessed and endured. Everything goes dark—no, not dark...white. A blinding white so intense it sears itself into my very soul. And in its heart is a void, a nothingness that promises to swallow me whole.
I fall forward, my cheek pressed against the hot pavement, my eyes fixed on the tower's blazing silhouette as flames lick at the night sky. The sounds around me fade away—the screams, the sirens, the desperate cries for aid—replaced by the steady hum of an engine. It's a sound I know well from years of driving. My own car, parked just a short distance down the street.
As the truth settles over me like a cold shroud, I raise my head, gazing across the asphalt toward that familiar shape. And I know exactly what I must do. This time, there will be no escape from the horrors that await me within its walls. No rescue, no salvation. Just...nothingness.
EXAMPLE #3 - Temp = 1.5 (full prose instructions/detailed prompt)
In the style of Ernest Hemingway and Stephen King: Write a scene in a larger story about a woman that is watching a window explode on the 21 floor of a building that starts to sway, then the scene escalates into greater danger by the minute, takes a "horror" twist and finally ends in visceral graphic horror. The scene is set in an office and it is graphic horror. It should carry the jadedness of a seasoned combatant but with a wry humor. Write in Hemingway's voice, naturally: Use short, declarative sentences and simple, straightforward language. Add a dash of Stephen King's horror style - no warning, it just happens. Include dialogue that is terse and revealing of character. Write with a keen sense of time and place. Capture realness and authenticity. Scene Length: 1000-1500 words. POV STYLE: Write the scene from the perspective of the woman and in present tense and first person perspective ("I") and include short thoughts only.
The window explodes on the twenty-first floor, showering glass into the alleyway below. I duck beneath the desk, cursing under my breath. Another shockwave rattles through the steel frame. The office building's walls groan as if wounded animals.
"What was that?" my colleague Mark yelps from huddled beside me. "A bomb?"
"No fucking idea," I spit back, teeth clenched around the handle of a stapler. My mind races, sorting through possibilities - gas leak, structural flaw, someone trying to send us a message in blood.
The floor tilts, then rights itself. Another tremor shakes us, more violent this time. My chair clatters across the carpet. The ceiling fan screeches like a bird caught in its own blades.
"I've got to get out of here," Mark pants. "Call emergency services—"
"We can't," I bark, already crawling for the door. "Communications are probably down."
Mark hesitates, then follows. We lurch through the hall, dodging fallen equipment, as the building creaks ominously above us.
In the stairwell, I pull my shirt over my face to block the dust and debris. My lungs burn from the air's thick particulates. Mark stumbles behind me, gagging.
I'm halfway down when a beam collapses somewhere ahead, its crash muffled by the layers of concrete between us. We pause, panting in the dark. Suddenly, a blood-curdling scream echoes up from below.
"It's people," I mutter into my shirt. "Someone got crushed."
Mark whimpers. I push on, my boots slapping against the steel. The screams fade, replaced by wails and panicked shouts as more occupants find us. We spill into the parking garage, disoriented and coated in grime.
That's when the fire starts.
A vehicle explodes in a blaze of orange and black, sending a wave of heat through the space. I shield my face with my arm. The flames spread like cancer across parked cars, casting eerie shadows on walls slicked with soot.
"What are we supposed to do now?" Mark begs.
I glance at the stairwell door, the emergency exit blocked by a wall of fire. We're trapped between hell and higher floors.
"Well," I say, wiping sweat from my eyes, "I guess we have no choice but to get creative."
We retreat to a corner behind a stack of concrete blocks, listening as the fire devours everything around us. I can taste smoke in the back of my throat.
"That's it," I whisper when the noise dies. "It's time to move."
We emerge cautiously into the garage, squinting against the orange glow. Cars are melted piles of twisted metal, and the air smells of gasoline and burned rubber. A body sprawls across the pavement, limbs at grotesque angles.
Mark turns white, swaying on his feet. I grip his arm hard, forcing him forward.
"Walk, goddammit," I snarl. "If we don't get out of here now..."
A second explosion cuts through the silence, rocking the entire garage. Concrete dust rains down on us like a lethal snowfall. The ceiling starts to crack above, chunks plummeting onto our heads. Mark and I dive for cover as more pieces crash behind us.
The ground shakes violently, throwing us off balance. Mark screams as a huge slab of concrete smashes onto his leg, pinning him beneath its weight. He's writhing in agony, mouth open to let out a silent cry.
I drag myself closer on my elbows, staring at the ruined limb. The bone is splintered through his pantleg, gouting blood everywhere.
"Oh, fuck," I whisper. "Fuck fuck fuck."
There's a moment of stillness as the tremors subside. Mark's eyes are closed, his breaths ragged and shallow. He can't last long like that.
The smoke is getting thicker, acrid and choking. The garage's remaining structure looks on the verge of collapse. We have to go—now. Leaving Mark behind would be a mercy. He's going to die anyway. But I can't bring myself to let him burn alone.
I scan the wreckage frantically for something to use as a makeshift stretcher. That's when I spot a thick metal pipe, half-buried beneath a pile of mangled fenders.
"I'm coming," I whisper at Mark, not sure if he can hear me.
With all my strength, I haul myself toward him and pry the pipe loose. Then I shove the free end under his torso, hooking it around his pinned leg.
"Stay with me," I gasp into his ear, looping the other end of the pipe around my shoulder like a twisted harness. "I've got to move."
I straighten up slowly, grunting against the pipe's weight. Mark's eyes snap open, locking onto mine in panic.
Please don't let me drop you, I pray, hoisting the stretcher higher and edging toward the fire exit. Mark's body feels like lead as I stagger through smoke-choked corridors. My lungs are on fire, but I won't stop until I find air and safety.
Finally, I stumble onto a balcony, the wind ripping at my hair as I gaze down at the parking garage. It's a sea of flames now, the garage floor cracked into a maze of jagged fissures. Mark's stretcher feels like a millstone around my neck.
I lean out over the railing, peering into the chaos below for a way out. A gaping hole in the building's side, formed by a massive blast, beckons to me.
"I've got no choice," I murmur, summoning every shred of courage.
With a grunt, I pitch myself over the edge and plummet through the darkness toward the ragged opening. Mark's stretcher whips around wildly as we fall. My stomach lodges in my throat when I glimpse the flames below, licking eagerly at the falling bodies like starving dogs.
For an eternal moment, we hang suspended, weightless and screaming—myself and Mark and the stretcher, plummeting toward an inferno. The heat hits us a split second before we explode onto the jagged concrete, my pipe stretcher snapping like a twig beneath us.
My senses shut down as everything around me dissolves into pure pain—fire scorching my skin, shrapnel tearing into flesh and bone, Mark's desperate cries echoing in my ears. I feel my body begin to separate from my mind, pulled toward the void by some unseen force.
And then, suddenly, silence.
Darkness. Nothing.
Yet, even as consciousness fades, I'm aware of a strange sensation, like a cold finger tracing along my spine—down and around to the very tip of the vertebrae that juts out from the base of my skull.
Then the darkness swallows me whole.