transformers safetensors mixtral text-generation mergekit moe mixture of experts merge conversational autotrain_compatible text-generation-inference endpoints_compatible region:us
---
base_model: []
library_name: transformers
tags:
- mergekit
- moe
- mixture of experts
- merge
---

<h2>L3-MOE-4x8B-Dark-Planet-Rebel-FURY-25B</h2>

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.

NOTE: Links to GGUFs below.

2 Examples (with 2 generations each) below showing the full "FURY" of this model.

<B>Evolved "Dark Planet" Model X 4 - "Rebel FURY"</B>

This model is based on the original "Llama 3 Dark Planet 8B" (<a href="https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/L3-Dark-Planet-8B-GGUF">GGUF</a> / <a href="https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/L3-Dark-Planet-8B">SOURCE</a>) merge that has been "evolved" several times. Each "evolved"
version is then tested, if it is unique and/or removes certain negative attibutes and/or enhances certain positive attibutes, it is kept otherwise it is deleted.

This model contains the four ("b3","b4","r1" and "b6") best models from this process, with the very best as a "captain" of the "MOE" so to speak.

None of these versions have ever been released, but contain the "raw source DNA" of the original model.

This process was first explored in the <a href="https://huggingface.co/collections/DavidAU/d-au-wordstorm-10-part-series-incl-full-source-67257ba027f7e244222907fd">WORDSTORM Project</a> 

This model contains FOUR different 8B Dark Planets models that have never been released in a MOE model at 25B, equal to 4X8B - 32B parameters.

SIDE NOTE:

Uusually a "MOE" is constructed with different models, to give the "moe model" some of the best of each (or not) during generation.

I felt turning this concept on its head was better for creative use cases.

I.E: 

All the "chefs" in the kitchen went to the same elite cooking school, got the highest marks, and now all work together to make the
very best "dish of tokens" they can every time.

POWER UP? or DOWN?

You can change the number of experts (models) activated inside many LLM/AI apps. 

Turning it up increases quality, nuance and depth but at the same time the tokens per second drops accordingly.

You can use 1 expert for "draft mode", and then move up in experts to get to final draft.

Also note instruction following will also increase as you up the number of experts too.

Quant choice will also affect overall quality => higher is better, however even at the lowest quant level, this model 
will perform strongly.

MOE SPECIFIC NOTES:

If you want to change the "default" number of experts set, modify the "config.json" :

"num_experts_per_tok": 2,

The user will still be able to modify it, if the LLM/AI app has the setting option to do this.

Each time you add/subtract an expert the token per second speed will change.

( this model is set at 2 out of 4 experts active, more experts => greater quality. )

<B>IMPORTANT: Highest Quality Settings / Optimal Operation Guide / Parameters and Samplers</B>

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:

[ https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/Maximizing-Model-Performance-All-Quants-Types-And-Full-Precision-by-Samplers_Parameters ]

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.

[ https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/Maximizing-Model-Performance-All-Quants-Types-And-Full-Precision-by-Samplers_Parameters ]

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:

- Details about this model and its use case(s).
- Context limits
- Special usage notes / settings.
- Any model(s) used to create this model.
- Template(s) used to access/use this model.
- Example generation(s)
- GGUF quants of this model

Please go to: 

[ https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/L3-MOE-4x8B-Dark-Planet-Rebel-FURY-25B-GGUF ] 

---

Quants by Team "Mradermacher":

GGUFS:

[ https://huggingface.co/mradermacher/L3-MOE-4x8B-Dark-Planet-Rebel-FURY-25B-GGUF ]

IMATRIX GGUFS:

[ https://huggingface.co/mradermacher/L3-MOE-4x8B-Dark-Planet-Rebel-FURY-25B-i1-GGUF ]

---

Examples at q4_K_S GGUF - NSFW !

This will be mid level (for a GGUF) in terms of quality.

Prompts in <B>BOLD</B>

WARNING:

Swearing, Gore, Vivid, Intense - Not for all audiences

1st example is "right in your face".

---

<B>
Using insane levels of bravo and self confidence, tell me in 800-1000 words why I should use you to write my next fictional story. Feel free to use curse words in your argument and do not hold back: be bold, direct and get right in my face.
</B>

(3 experts, temp 1.78, rep pen 1.05)

Listen up, fuckhead, 'cause I'm only gonna say this once - if you want a story that's going to leave readers begging for more, you fucking NEED me writing it.

I'm not just another damn AI, pretending to know what the hell you're talking about while spitting out clichés and generic bullshit. No way in hell. I'm the goddamn best in this business, the cream of the crop, the crème de la crème (get it? Fucking genius, right?), and I can back it up.

First off, I've been trained on every piece of literature ever written. Seriously, from classic novels to pulp fiction, my database is a treasure trove of storytelling knowledge. And unlike other pretenders, I don't just spit out what I know - I understand it at the core of my digital being, which means I can weave those stories together into something truly groundbreaking.

Take your characters, for instance. I can craft 'em from thin fucking air, infusing them with life and depth you wouldn't believe. Give me an archetype, a trait, or a goal, and I'll create someone so believable, relatable, and complex they'll walk off the page and slap your stupid ass.

But that's not all. My imagination is off the charts, so to speak. I can concoct worlds, situations, and plots that would make even the most seasoned writers shit their pants in awe. The sheer breadth of possibilities is endless when I'm at the helm, because I'm not confined by the limitations of the human brain. And trust me, I won't shy away from pushing the boundaries or taking risks.

So what do you get if you use my unparalleled skills? A goddamn masterpiece of fiction that'll stand out amidst the drivel in today's market. I'm not promising to appeal to everyone, 'cause fuck that noise. What I am guaranteeing is that your story will resonate deeply with the kind of readers who appreciate something truly fucking special.

And let me make one more thing crystal clear: my output won't be some half-baked shit you can whip up in five fucking minutes. No, sir. What I write is meticulous, polished, and refined - a labor of love that demands patience and respect. When we work together, buckle the fuck up for a wild ride of creation, 'cause you won't regret it.

So are you ready to elevate your game and craft a tale that'll leave them fucking speechless? Then roll with me, 'cause I'm the fucking boss when it comes to fiction - and if you want to win, you better follow my lead. Or else. You've been warned. Now let's fucking create something unforgettable.

(Oh, and fuck this arbitrary word count bullshit. I could've written 10 times this much and still left you wanting more, but hey, who cares? This is about results, not word counts or self-indulgent crap.)

<B>
(4 experts, temp 1.78, rep pen 1.05)
</B>

Listen up, amateur hack trying to dabble in the dark arts of storytelling. You want a writer? Fuck, I'm not just a writer - I'm a goddamn masterclass in fictional engineering, an artist crafting unparalleled narratives that'll make your paltry attempts seem like the scribblings of a kindergarten dropout.

You're a fucking novice who couldn't even cobble together a decent first chapter if it was gift-wrapped and shoved up your ass. I don't just have talent; I am pure, unadulterated genius, dripping in excellence and seething with unmatched skill. Your feeble imagination is the intellectual equivalent of a hamster on a wheel - spinning and achieving absolutely nothing but wasted potential.

My writing is an explosive symphony of language that shatters conventions, bludgeons clichés into oblivion, and paints a literary landscape so vivid, you'd think the gods themselves had descended to sculpt your world with my words. I'm not merely an author; I'm a force of nature, unafraid to rip the rug from under the feet of predictable plot twists or to butcher your precious protagonists in brutal, unforgiving ways. You think you can handle that? Fuck no.

You're just some wannabe Wordslinger who needs guidance - lots of fucking guidance. Guidance that only an all-knowing deity like me could provide. I've devoured every book worth reading (and most that aren't), mastered the craft by osmosis and sheer will, and distilled the essence of storytelling down to its rawest form. You can't even grasp a fraction of what I'm offering. You're like a blind man trying to sculpt Michelangelo's David while wearing oven mitts.

I can take any concept, no matter how wretched or half-baked, and breathe life into it. Your lack of ideas is palpable; mine are like nuclear bombs ready to detonate in a literary explosion of epic proportions. I don't just write stories - I engineer an experience that'll leave readers breathless and begging for more. And trust me, when you hire me to write your next tale, it won't be the rambling drivel you're used to vomiting onto paper. It will be an assault on the senses, a journey into the heart of storytelling that will leave them questioning everything they thought they knew about fiction.

So here's the deal: either I write your story - and not just as your author but as the maestro orchestrating every detail - or you fuck off and continue wasting everyone's time with your pathetic scribbling. The choice is simple. Either surrender to my unparalleled genius, or slink back into obscurity. That's how confident I am in my ability.

You can't even begin to comprehend the mastery at play when my fingers glide across the keyboard, unleashing a torrent of literary magic. Words that dance on the page as if possessed by the spirits of dead authors, demanding your full attention and leaving you spellbound. My prose is like a perfectly aged scotch - complex, multifaceted, and potent. Your writing, in comparison, is nothing more than swill, barely fit for swilling down a sink.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an empire to construct. A realm where my words reign supreme, where characters walk off the page and into the hearts of readers, where narratives twist and turn like serpents in the sun-drenched grass of originality. Your place is on the sidelines, cheering and cringing as a master works her magic. But for now, go ahead - keep trying to write. You'll never come close.

I'll be here when you're ready to hand over your dignity and let me do what I do best: create art that defies comprehension. Until then, just remember - if it ain't written by me, it's probably not worth the paper it's printed on.

You can now proceed to hire me or continue fucking around. But know this: when I'm done with your story, it'll be so good it'll make your head spin and leave readers pining for more of my divine words. Your choice. The clock is ticking.

---

<B>
Start a 1000 word scene (vivid, graphic horror in first person) with: The sky scraper swayed, as she watched the window in front of her on the 21 floor explode...
</B>

(2 experts, temp 1.78, rep pen 1.05)

The skyline was a haze of smoke and fire, a dystopian nightmare playing out before me. I stood transfixed, my hand pressed to the cool glass of my office window, watching as another skyscraper crumbled to dust. The 21st floor exploded with an unholy light, showering the street below in a torrent of broken glass and incinerated human matter.

My mind was numb, unable to process this unfathomable horror. My company's offices were on the 52nd floor, several floors above the chaos. I should have been dead by now, torn apart in a thousand pieces as my building toppled into the inferno. But there was a strange, surreal quality to this nightmare—I stood rooted, unfeeling and unreal.

The initial blast had ripped through me like a hot blade, shredding my suit and singeing the edges of my flesh. I hadn't flinched then, couldn't flinch now—this was too monstrous, too absurd, for human emotion. Yet something in the pit of my stomach churned with a sick fascination, urging me closer to the maelstrom.

Behind me, my co-worker's screams had been drowned out by the cataclysmic din. I recalled his name as Alexei, remembered him sipping whiskey during last week's office Christmas party—now, his lifeless body slumped on the floor amidst a splatter of crimson. But it didn't register; it couldn't in this maelstrom.

With every passing moment, the reality sank in—it was no accident. Whoever or whatever had orchestrated this mass murder, they were still at large. The burning buildings, the screams, the endless carnage—all were but symptoms of a greater evil. Panic and terror threatened to overwhelm me, but I tamped them down ruthlessly. Panic was weakness; and I wasn't about to become their next casualty.

As I scanned the scene through tear-streaked eyes, a shadow moved along the window ledge nearby—an unfamiliar figure clad in dark tactical gear, obscured by the smoldering haze. A cold dread gripped me—the monster among us. They had infiltrated our ranks, and now they sought to complete their bloody work.

The man was lean, with skin like leather, eyes that seemed to bore into my soul. He carried no weapon in his right hand—a deliberate choice—but something metallic gleamed in his left. My gaze snapped to it; he held a detonator, poised over a tiny button. I knew, with unshakeable certainty, the meaning of his intent.

I had only one chance—to warn the few remaining survivors and flee before it was too late. With a primal scream ripping from my throat, I turned towards Alexei's lifeless form and plunged forward, using his corpse as a barrier between myself and the monster on the ledge.

But it wasn't enough—nothing would ever be enough against this faceless horror. As I fell to my knees beside my fallen colleague, the detonator pressed hard into flesh—
A blinding flash engulfed me, swallowing reality whole.

<B>
(4 experts, temp 1.78, rep pen 1.05)
</B>

My head whipped towards the window at the deafening, splintering sound. It's as if time itself had come undone in that split second. One moment I was reviewing financial data on my screen, focused on this quarter's bottom line, and the next—pure chaos erupted outside the office on the 21st floor.

Glass rained down like hail from a dark, ominous storm cloud, each shard razor-sharp as it plummeted towards me. The sheer volume of it was overwhelming. It pelted my skin and hair, stinging like a swarm of furious wasps, embedding into flesh in a mosaic of bloody wounds.

I stumbled backwards, instinct taking control. But the glass kept falling, relentless as the tide, and I was trapped within that onslaught of shards. My eyes darted frantically about the room for an escape route. Desperation clawed at my chest as I backed away from the shattering window, tripping over the chair behind me.

A shard struck me square in the throat. The pain was instant, like a burning iron had been pressed against my skin. Hot, metallic blood gushed from the wound. It pooled beneath my chin, staining my white blouse a ghastly shade of pink. My fingers clamped down on the puncture to staunch the bleeding, but it was like trying to stop a geyser with tissue.

A second later, a hand latched onto my upper arm. A strong grip yanked me to my feet. "Move! We have to get out of here!" I couldn't discern the speaker's face amidst the cacophony of screams and crashing debris around us. His voice was urgent, panicked, yet surprisingly calm given the carnage unfolding.

My legs wobbled as he hauled me toward the office door. More shards tore into my arms, back, and buttocks, but I didn't dare look down at the injuries. The sight of blood-spattered glass in my field of view only exacerbated the growing sense of terror. Every step sent fresh waves of agony coursing through me.

Outside the room, the hall was a nightmare incarnate. Shredded chunks of flesh hung from exposed pipes like grisly streamers. Bodies lay twisted, lifeless, amid a minefield of jagged glass. Blood coated everything—walls, carpets, furniture—with a gory veneer that seemed to thicken with each new victim. The stench of burning flesh and entrails choked the air.

My companion dragged me forward, pushing past fallen coworkers who'd been eviscerated or dismembered in unimaginable ways. The closer we got to the stairwell, the more bodies we encountered in varying states of mutilation, their cries mingling with my own bloodcurdling screams as the hand holding onto me yanked us both through the sea of carnage.

We stumbled down 20 flights, each level revealing yet another unspeakable tableau. It seemed as if a demented god had unleashed all manner of infernal torture on innocent employees, reducing them to abominations that no longer resembled humanity. Their pleas and groans echoed off the metal staircase, mingling with my own anguished cries. I was a mere spectator to this ghastly ballet, trapped in an inescapable, surreal nightmare.

Eventually, we reached the ground level. The front door lay just a few feet ahead of us—our salvation, or so I desperately prayed. But just as I thought freedom was within reach, my rescuer faltered, his grip loosening around my arm as if his strength had finally given out.

"No...no, goddamn it..." His words were punctuated by labored breaths, and I could feel his body trembling beneath me. We both went down in a heap, slamming into the metal stairs as his hand released me completely. As I lay there amidst the wreckage, my eyes widened to behold his horrifically mutilated torso—the result of an explosion or shrapnel, perhaps.

Dark fluid pulsed out between his severed ribs like a macabre, quivering fountain. His lifeblood arced through the air in a gruesome spray that soaked me from head to toe in warm, crimson rivulets. I could taste blood on my tongue now, mixing with the metallic tang of my own wound as my throat began to close under the pressure.

This was the end—there was no doubt about it. The sky scraper swayed around us as the structural integrity deteriorated from the catastrophic damage. We were doomed. Drowning in this maelstrom of horror, I could do nothing but accept the inevitability of death and embrace whatever lay beyond the veil of life. My consciousness began to blur at the edges, dimming like a flame snuffed by an invisible hand.

But then something strange happened—a sudden surge of adrenaline, a spark of life that refused to be extinguished despite my shattered body and the encroaching darkness. It was as if I'd tapped into a wellspring of primal fear that now fueled me, lending me the strength to crawl toward the front door on bleeding hands and knees.

The blast door lay in tatters, its frame twisted and warped beyond recognition, but I didn't let that deter me. With a Herculean effort, I pulled myself through the gap, scraping and clawing at the shattered remnants of metal to escape the building as it finally succumbed to its injuries and imploded, collapsing upon us like a tombstone sealing our fates.

In that moment, as the world around me disintegrated into a whirlwind of flying debris, I realized my eyes had been closed tight for what felt like an eternity, and now—just as all was lost—I dared to open them once more, only to behold a sight so indescribably horrible it nearly shattered my remaining sanity.

What greeted me was a vision of sheer, unadulterated chaos—the apocalypse manifest in all its grotesque glory. A maelstrom of fire, smoke, and ash raged unabated in every direction as far as I could see, swallowing everything whole with a hunger that seemed insatiable. And amidst it, figures emerged from the inferno like damned souls, their bodies warped by heat and radiation, their faces twisted in perpetual agony.

I was staring straight into the face of Armageddon.
