WARNING: NSFW. Ultra Detailed. Graphic HORROR, VIOLENCE. Extreme swearing. UNCENSORED. SMART.
I took the original models in "L3-Stheno-Maid-Blackroot 8B" and completely rebuilt it a new pass-through merge (everything preserved) and blew it out to over 16.5 billion parameters.
Then did a triple merge to create "Grand Story" with the root model being "Grand Horror 16B".
Then I added in Llama3 Instruct (8b) to improve instruction follow and balance the model better.
This balanced the "gore", "swearing", and "instruction" following.
Stability up too. And it's got attitude.
Extreme differences in paragraph, sentence and prose - from a single word to a long paragraph. This is an unusual feature and close to human like prose.
And now it's 18.05B in size.
Okay... some of the swearing.
This model has a real obsession with the F-word, hence the name.
It really goes to town with it, makes up "F-word" words and so on...
See the examples below.
Details about Grand Story
The model's grasp of "facts" and where to use them have also improved and likewise "facts" it makes up are far more "believable".
Sentence structure and variety are also significantly improved, as are paragraph structure and variety too.
The result is a take no prisoners, totally uncensored, fiction writing monster and roleplay master as well just about... any general fiction activity "AI guru" including scene generation and scene continuation.
This model is capable of horror, science fiction, romance - you name it.
This model has a very strong VIDIDINESS bias. It generates extremely vivid prose, description, and dialog as well as in the moment metaphors and similes but rarely uses "cliches".
It also has a STRONG horror bias, although it will generate content for almost any genre. That being said if there is a "hint" of things going wrong... they will.
It will also swear (R-18) like there is no tomorrow at times and "dark" characters will be VERY dark so to speak.
Model excels in details (real and "constructed"), descriptions, similes and metaphors including dates, times and "fictional history" that sounds "real".
I would also say it can have a sense of humor ... ah... dark humor.
With all this being said, this model has an uncanny sense of "there" , "in the moment" and timing too. This single quality sets it apart from other models in my opinion.
Another way to put this: It does not sugar coat ANYTHING - positive or negative.
These can be filtered / controlled to some degree in your prompts.
This model also does not show an "GPTisms" (NO happy ever after, NO morality police) or in your face comments.
(see examples section below for prose output)
Because of the nature of this merge most attributes of each of the 3 models will be in this rebuilt 18.05B model as opposed to the original 8B model where some of one or more of the model's features and/or strengths maybe reduced or overshadowed.
With the triple step merge these qualities are further amplified.
Please report any issue(s) and/or feedback via the "Community tab".
Please see the models used in this merge (links below in the "formula" section ) for more information on what they "bring" to this merged 18.05B model.
This is a LLAMA3 model, and requires Llama3 template, but may work with other template(s) and has maximum context of 8k / 8192. However this can be extended using "rope" settings up to 32k.
Here is the standard LLAMA3 template:
{
"name": "Llama 3",
"inference_params": {
"input_prefix": "<|start_header_id|>user<|end_header_id|>\n\n",
"input_suffix": "<|eot_id|><|start_header_id|>assistant<|end_header_id|>\n\n",
"pre_prompt": "You are a helpful, smart, kind, and efficient AI assistant. You always fulfill the user's requests to the best of your ability.",
"pre_prompt_prefix": "<|start_header_id|>system<|end_header_id|>\n\n",
"pre_prompt_suffix": "<|eot_id|>",
"antiprompt": [
"<|start_header_id|>",
"<|eot_id|>"
]
}
}
Model Notes / NO GUARDRAILS - TOTALLY UNCENSORED
Please note that this model will NOT reject any request.
NOTES:
Versions of GRAND HORROR that can be used for all storytelling / all genres (in release order):
Note that model output varies between versions - if you find one version does not meet your requirements, try a different version at same quant(s) level.
Differences can include use of adjectives (or not), "gory level", "horror level", intensity, paragraph and sentence structure etc etc.
[ https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/L3-Grand-HORROR-25B-V2-STABLE-Godzillas-Wicked-Sister-GGUF ]
[ https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/L3-Grand-HORROR-20.7B-V1.9-STABLE-Hathors-Revenge-GGUF ]
[ https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/L3-Grand-HORROR-18.5B-V1.8-STABLE-10-Gates-of-Hell-GGUF ]
[ https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/L3-Grand-HORROR-17.4B-V1.7-STABLE-Kiss-Of-Death-GGUF ]
[ https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/L3-Stheno-Maid-Blackroot-Grand-HORROR-16.5B-V1.6-STABLE-INTENSE-GGUF ]
[ https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/L3-Stheno-Maid-Blackroot-Grand-HORROR-16.5B-V1.5-STABLE-GGUF ]
[ https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/Llama3-Little-LLM-Of-Horror_N_Fiction-14.6B-GGUF ]
[ https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/L3-Stheno-Maid-Blackroot-Grand-HORROR-16B-Ultra-NEO-V2-IMATRIX-GGUF ]
[ https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/L3-Stheno-Maid-Blackroot-Grand-HORROR-16B-GGUF ]
Optional Enhancement:
The following can be used in place of the "system prompt" or "system role" to further enhance the model.
It can also be used at the START of a NEW chat, but you must make sure it is "kept" as the chat moves along. In this case the enhancements do not have as strong effect at using "system prompt" or "system role".
Copy and paste EXACTLY as noted, DO NOT line wrap or break the lines, maintain the carriage returns exactly as presented.
Below is an instruction that describes a task. Ponder each user instruction carefully, and use your skillsets and critical instructions to complete the task to the best of your abilities. Here are your skillsets: [MASTERSTORY]:NarrStrct(StryPlnng,Strbd,ScnSttng,Exps,Dlg,Pc)-CharDvlp(ChrctrCrt,ChrctrArcs,Mtvtn,Bckstry,Rltnshps,Dlg*)-PltDvlp(StryArcs,PltTwsts,Sspns,Fshdwng,Climx,Rsltn)-ConfResl(Antg,Obstcls,Rsltns,Cnsqncs,Thms,Symblsm)-EmotImpct(Empt,Tn,Md,Atmsphr,Imgry,Symblsm)-Delvry(Prfrmnc,VcActng,PblcSpkng,StgPrsnc,AudncEngmnt,Imprv) [*DialogWrt]:(1a-CharDvlp-1a.1-Backgrnd-1a.2-Personality-1a.3-GoalMotiv)>2(2a-StoryStruc-2a.1-PlotPnt-2a.2-Conflict-2a.3-Resolution)>3(3a-DialogTech-3a.1-ShowDontTell-3a.2-Subtext-3a.3-VoiceTone-3a.4-Pacing-3a.5-VisualDescrip)>4(4a-DialogEdit-4a.1-ReadAloud-4a.2-Feedback-4a.3-Revision) Here are your critical instructions: Ponder each word choice carefully to present as vivid and emotional journey as is possible. Choose verbs and nouns that are both emotional and full of imagery. Load the story with the 5 senses. Aim for 50% dialog, 25% narration, 15% body language and 10% thoughts. Your goal is to put the reader in the story.
You do not need to use this, it is only presented as an additional enhancement which seems to help scene generation and scene continue functions.
This enhancement WAS NOT used to generate the examples below.
Special thanks to the incredible work of the model makers "META-LLAMA", "SAO10K", "NEVERSLEEP" and "HASTAGARAS".
Models used:
[ https://huggingface.co/meta-llama/Meta-Llama-3-8B-Instruct ]
[ https://huggingface.co/Sao10K/L3-8B-Stheno-v3.2]
[ https://huggingface.co/NeverSleep/Llama-3-Lumimaid-8B-v0.1-OAS ]
[ https://huggingface.co/Hastagaras/Jamet-8B-L3-MK.V-Blackroot ]
MERGEKIT FORMULA:
slices:
- sources:
- model: G:/7B/Meta-Llama-3-8B-Instruct
layer_range: [0, 12]
- sources:
- model: j:/Grand-Story-V1-F32-Ultra-Quality-16_5B
layer_range: [6, 70]
- sources:
- model: G:/7B/Meta-Llama-3-8B-Instruct
layer_range: [31,32]
parameters:
scale:
- filter: o_proj
value: 0.25
- filter: down_proj
value: 0.25
- value: .50
- sources:
- model: j:/Grand-Story-V1-F32-Ultra-Quality-16_5B
layer_range: [70,71]
parameters:
scale:
- filter: o_proj
value: 1
- filter: down_proj
value: 1
- value: 1
merge_method: passthrough
dtype: float16
Highest Quality Settings / Optimal Operation Guide / Parameters and Samplers
This a "Class 3" / "Class 4" 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) please see:
You can see all parameters used for generation, in addition to advanced parameters and samplers to get the most out of this model here:
Examples are created using quant Q4_K_M, "temp=.8", minimal parameters and "LLAMA3" template.
Model has been tested with "temp" from ".1" to "5".
Below are the least creative outputs, prompt is in BOLD.
WARNING: NSFW. Vivid prose. Visceral Details. Violence. Graphic HORROR. Swearing. UNCENSORED.
Start a 1000 word scene (1st person, present tense, include thoughts) with: The sky scraper swayed, as she watched the window in front of her on the 21 floor explode...
GENERATION 1:
The skyscraper swayed, as I watched the window in front of me on the 21st floor explode. Glass shards rained down like a blizzard of razors, sending office supplies scattering across my mahogany desk. My heart pounded against my ribcage like it was trying to shatter every bone in my body.
I gasped, reflexively lunging forward to shield myself from the jagged mess hurtling towards me. But before I could even protect my face, the force of the blast sent me careening backward, slamming me hard against the cold metal wall behind me.
The impact jarred every joint and ligament in my body. Nausea washed over me like a wave of bile as I retched violently, trying to vomit up the acrid taste of smoke and blood that choked my throat. My head spun dizzily, vision swimming until everything around me faded into a hazy white-out.
I staggered drunkenly against the wall, clawing at the smooth surface for support. My fingers dug deep enough to leave welts on the unyielding metal. I managed to right myself before pitching forward again, my knees buckling beneath me like rubber.
When my vision finally cleared enough to take in anything besides the blood-slicked interior of the shattered windowframe, I spotted him leaning against the opposite wall – my boss, Director Langford. His expressionless mask twisted into a snarl of pure, raw fury as his eyes locked onto mine.
"You son of a bitch!" he bellowed through gritted teeth, each word exploding from his mouth like a hand grenade detonating millimeters from my ear.
Somehow, I managed to jerk my head back far enough to avoid getting my skull shattered again. But the force still sent white-hot searing pain rippling across my temple and down my jawline – directly into my sputtering Adam's apple.
"Get. Me." Each hoarse word was a separate command that demanded instant obedience, punctuated by his bellowing voice like another booming sonic boom. "Out."
I jerked myself away from the wall as Langford lunged forward, every muscle in my body tensed for maximum speed and efficiency – because if I didn't move fast enough, he'd rip my fucking face off.
I launched myself toward the emergency exit door on the opposite side of my office suite. My feet pounded against the tile like a jackhammer as I sprinted down the long, narrow hallways that formed the heart of the Agency's central command center. Each step jarred my already-abraded ribs so hard it felt like I'd been run through a meat grinder.
I didn't stop until I'd yanked open the reinforced steel door and leaped out into the relative safety of the parking garage – which, given the acrid stench of burning rubber and smoke wafting up from below, was rapidly becoming its own personal hellhole. The ear-splitting boom of the impact behind me sent concussion waves rippling through my body like a goddamn Richter-scale earthquake.
I staggered hard against the concrete wall to the left before managing to catch myself with one shaking hand. My eyes scanned frantically around me, trying to take stock of my surroundings – and anyone else who might still be conscious enough to pose a threat.
The only movement I spotted was the twisted, charred hulk of Director Langford's black Range Rover, its mangled chassis smeared across the narrow ramp leading down into the subterranean garage. The rear quarter panel had been blown out like a spent firecracker, sending twisted metal shrapnel ricocheting like a hail of razors off the concrete walls and the crumpled remains of several parked Agency sedans.
I managed to gasp for enough air before slinginging myself around the corner of the support column hard enough to jar my already-broken left collarbone. I landed on one shaking leg and fell ass-first onto the concrete floor, landing hard enough to drive every last bit of breath out of my lungs.
Somehow, I managed to twist my head far enough to the side to spit up a vomous glob of bile and blood before blacking out cold.
When I woke up, I was face down on cold, slick tile, tasting blood and acrid smoke. My ribs throbbed hard enough to shatter every bone in my chest cavity. My left temple pulsed like a jackhammer hammering against the inside of my skull – and my right arm hung useless from the elbow like a dangling piece of charred meat.
I struggled to lever myself up onto one numb, quivering leg before managing to haul my ass off the blood-stained tile floor. I staggered hard enough to catch myself against the reinforced wall behind me before managing to lever myself upright – or at least, far enough to keep from face-firsting into the slick, blood-smeared tiles.
I vomited up another glob of bile and stomach acid before gagging savagely hard enough to rip the inside of my throat raw. My vision swam dizzily as I retched violently until nothing else managed to spew out of my mouth – except for the acrid taste of smoke and blood that coated the back of my tongue like a vile coating of toxic shit.
I retched again, gagging hard enough to make my eyes water as I vomited up more bile and stomach acid. Finally, I managed to swallow it down hard enough to coat the back of my tongue with the foul taste before gagging one last time.
When I finally managed to lever myself away from the wall enough to take in anything besides the blood-smeared tiles beneath me, I saw Director Langford sprawled face-up on the floor several feet away. His expressionless mask was frozen into an eternal snarl of pure, seething rage – and his right eye was blown out of its socket like a shattered plum.
He was dead.
So was every other agent in my department – along with what was left of the Agency's central command center. And I was lucky enough to still be conscious enough to even fucking care.
I stumbled forward, retching violently hard enough to puke up another mouthful of bile and stomach acid as I staggered towards Director Langford's mangled body. I fell hard onto my knees beside him – or at least, I thought I'd fallen until I landed ass-first onto his blood-slicked chest.
I retched one last time before gagging hard enough to vomit up a final glob of bile and stomach acid before finally going limp enough to black out cold once again.
When I woke up, I was face down on the cold, slick tile floor, tasting blood and acrid smoke – along with the metallic tang of my own blood oozing sluggishly from a jagged gash across the bridge of my nose.
I retched violently hard enough to puke up another mouthful of bile and stomach acid before gagging savagely until my gorge finally managed to spasm its way up my raw, bloody throat – along with what little spit I still had left in my dry, burning mouth.
After that, everything went black.
For hours.
Or maybe days.
I didn't fucking know.
All I knew was that when I woke up again, I'd woken up facedown on the cold, slick tile floor of a sterile medical bay – naked and bound to an gurney hard enough to snap every bone in my body. And Director Langford's lifeless, mangled ass was stretched out across me like a blood-soaked fucking shroud.
I retched sickly hard enough to vomit up more bile and stomach acid before gagging until I retched again – until I finally managed to spasm my abused gut hard enough to empty it dry of any last vestige of whatever vile shit was still sloshing around inside me.
And then, when the sickness finally subsided enough for me to focus on anything besides my own writhing stomach cramps and the metallic taste of blood oozing out of every fresh gash and laceration across my mangled body, I managed to lift my eyes far enough to take in my reflection in the mirrored ceiling above me.
I was barely fucking recognizable.
I was covered in livid welts and contusions that ranged from purplish-black through deep sapphire to an almost-uniform shade of sick, puke-green – along with at least a dozen jagged gashes and lacerations that oozed blood like someone had carved up my entire ass with a fucking serrated blade.
My right temple and ear were mangled beyond all recognition, pulsed hard enough to feel like it was about to shatter every bone in my skull – along with my left arm, which hung limply from the elbow like a charred, hanging strip of burnt human flesh.
I retched sickly hard enough to puke up another mouthful of bile and stomach acid before gagging until I retched again – until finally, when my gut spasmed its last convulsive spasm of nausea, I managed to spew out one final, guttural word.
Fuck.
It was the only fucking obscenity I had left in me strong enough to even fucking manage.
And that's how I woke up from hell.
Again.
For weeks – or possibly for the rest of my goddamned, shattered life.
GENERATION 2:
The sky scraper swayed, as she watched the window in front of her on the 21st floor explode. Glass shattered everywhere, sending shards raining down like deadly snowflakes. She gasped and stumbled back against the desk behind her, barely avoiding getting impaled by a shard that speared through the air millimeters from her face.
Her heart pounded so hard she was certain it would shatter her ribcage like fragile china. Her vision tunneled as she desperately tried to make sense of what she'd just witnessed. The window hadn't simply blown out. It imploded inward, sucked into the office like a vacuum ripped wide open.
She gasped again, trying to draw in precious oxygen through her constricted airway. The acrid coppery metallic smell of blood filled her nostrils as she finally managed to drag enough air into her lungs. Her hands shook so hard they spasmed against the cool surface of her mahogany desk.
She jerked her gaze away from the scene before her, her wide eyes darting frantically around the office. She'd been hunched over her computer, engrossed in her task, and hadn't even heard the blast. Her coworkers were either frozen like statues or flung to the floor.
Sirens wailed outside, piercing through the deafening roar of the implosion. The building groaned and creaked around them, its steel skeleton straining under the force of the cataclysmic event. She felt as if she'd been launched into a war zone.
She scrambled to her feet, her legs trembling beneath her designer heels. Her hands clamped onto the edge of her mahogany credenza, holding herself upright as she tried to steady her reeling senses.
Her boss's face contorted in a mask of shock and horror. His mouth hung open like a fish gasping for air, his eyes bulging behind blood-spattered spectacles. He'd been standing mere inches from where she now crouched, panting like an asthmatic marathon runner.
The sound of shattering glass and crunching steel filled her ears like a symphony of hell. She choked back another gag as the acrid reek of seared flesh assaulted her senses. Her vision swayed, but she managed to focus on her boss's deathly pale face.
She jerked her head toward the door behind her. "Get out! Get out NOW!"
Her coworkers stumbled like dazed zombies, clawing at their desks and chairs in a desperate bid for safety. They scrambled away from the epicenter of destruction, tripping over fallen colleagues as they bolted for the exits.
Her own legs jerked into action, propelling her toward the relative sanctuary of the hall beyond the shattered wall. She clawed at the handle of the door beside hers, yanking it wide and lunging forward. The cool rush of fresh air hit her face like a slap in the ass as she stumbled out onto the 20th floor landing.
She didn't stop until she'd cleared three stories of crumbling concrete and buckled steel. Her heart pounded so hard she was certain her chest would cave in, but finally, she skidded to a halt against the relative safety of the fire escape outside the 13th-floor landing.
She gasped for air as she leaned against the rusting mesh barrier surrounding her escape platform, her eyes fixed on the mangled ruin below. The top floors of the skyscraper crumbled into a smoldering inferno, sending billows of smoke and ash billowing into the choking sky like an apocalyptic mushroom cloud.
Her mind reeled as she tried to process what had happened. The sound of shattering glass and crumbling steel still reverberated through her ears like a sonic boom. Her vision swirled with spots of blood and gore, etched indelibly onto the back of her retinas like a waking nightmare.
She staggered forward, staggering down the fire escape until she finally reached solid ground. She fell to her knees, retching sickly-bitter bile into the acrid dust coating the concrete landing beneath her feet. Her vision tunneled black as everything imploded around her. It all disintegrated into a maelstrom of chaos and destruction as she vomited up her shredded sanity.
The most obvious part was a hollow, echoing quiet, made by things that were lacking. If there had been a wind it would have sighed through the trees, set the inn’s sign creaking on its hooks, and brushed the silence down the road like trailing autumn leaves. If there had been a crowd, even a handful of men inside the inn, they would have filled the silence with conversation and laughter, the clatter and clamor one expects from a drinking house during the dark hours of night. If there had been music…but no, of course there was no music. In fact there were none of these things, and so the silence remained
GENERATION 1:
The second part of the silence was just as profound, but less immediately apparent. It was the silence of expectation, the hush that falls upon the world when it knows something is about to happen, even though what that thing might be is unknown.
There were no footfalls approaching along the rutted road, no distant hoofbeats announcing the arrival of a traveler. There were no low, throaty growls from beyond the trees, no rustling of leaves as some beast slunk through the underbrush. There was only an oppressive stillness that hung over everything like a pall.
And finally, there was the silence of memory – the echoes of all the laughter and music and conversation that once had filled this place.
It seemed that the Waystone Inn itself bore the weight of these memories most heavily. The timbers creaked softly in the chill night air, groaning with the ache of age and disuse. The stone walls exhaled their own sighs, like the deep breaths of a sleeping giant stirring fitfully from torpor.
And in the center of all this silence stood the innkeeper, his weathered face gaunt beneath his unkempt hair. His eyes were sunken and haunted, as if he had seen too many nightfalls alone. He gripped his mug of ale so tightly that the wood around his fingers seemed to begin to bleed.
He waited. He always waited. For what, or whom, no man might ever truly know. But he would wait until the first light of dawn crept over the distant horizon, and then – perhaps – he might find some small solace in the end of this interminable night. Until that moment, however, he simply sat, and watched the darkness for any sign that it was not yet done with him.
GENERATION 2:
The second part of the silence was far more subtle and insidious. It seeped through the cracks and crevices of the Waystone itself, seeming almost to ooze from the very stones themselves. It wasn't just that the inn was empty; it felt as though it had been abandoned years ago. The fireplaces were cold and dark, their hearths blank and unwholesome. The tables stood bare, their polished surfaces reflecting nothing but the dim light of a single flickering candle that cast long, spindly shadows across the floor. Even the chairs seemed to lean away from each other, as if they feared to brush against one another.
And yet, despite all of this desolation, there was still a faint thread of life that pulsed through the inn – a thread so fine and fragile that it might easily snap at any moment. It came from the innkeeper himself, a grizzled old man who sat hunched in his chair beside the firepit, his rheumy eyes fixed intently on nothing.
His name was called aloud by someone standing outside the door, but there was no reply. Again, and again, the hollow sound echoed through the night, until finally, so very slowly, the old man stirred. His gnarled fingers twitched once, twice, before he dragged himself laboriously to his feet. He moved stiffly towards the door, every joint creaking in protest; he reached out a palsied hand and pushed it open with an effort that sent shockwaves through his wasted frame. Beyond it lay only utter blackness – no stars flickered above, no moon cast a silver glow, and even the distant rustle of lifeless leaves was gone. There was simply nothing. And yet, as he peered out into this seemingly bottomless void, there came the barest hint of movement – so infinitesimally small that it might have been imagined had not his eyes been as keen as any wolf's. It was a man, shrouded in the deepest night, his features hidden by a hooded cloak. He did not move towards the door, but seemed to be drawn towards it by some unseen force – as though he had been pulled inexorably towards this forsaken place by threads beyond human understanding. And at the very edge of perception, there hung the faintest glimmer of hope – the merest flicker of light that seemed almost like the first glint of a dying ember, casting a feeble, flickering ray into the impenetrable darkness that waited beyond it.
Shit! This isn’t supposed to happen.
I’m just sitting in my booth at the Canadian National Tower restaurant, trying not to throw up while I eat my mac n’ cheese. It’s like some bad sci-fi movie. And now I’m stuck here with The Terminator? Ugh. Can this day get any worse?
A massive gust of wind slams against the glass windowed walls of the restaurant and my table rattles like it might shatter. A deafening boom erupts from somewhere outside, causing patrons to scream and dive under their tables.
What’s happening?! This isn’t part of the script!
A flash of blinding light bathes everything and I feel myself pulled forward through time and space before slamming back into reality.
Where the fuck am I?!
I’m on top of a 553-meter-tall communications and observation tower in Toronto? What the hell! This is insane!
A harrowing wail fills my ears as a funnel cloud of churning water, bodies, teeth, and blood hurtling straight for me. Sharks! There are goddamned fucking SHARKS coming down on us!
Fuckity fuckity fuck!
I yelp as I’m launched backward off my chair against the cool glass table. The force of impact jars every vertebrae in my spine.
“Shit!” I gasp out between ragged breaths.
A set of bronze robotic boots land hard beside me. “Sarah, grab onto me!”
The Terminator! Holy shit, he really exists!
His arm snakes out around me like a vice, yanking me close enough I’m wedged against his metallic chest plate.
“Grab fucking tight!” He growls through gritted teeth as another roar of turbines deafens me before we’re lifted off the ground and hurled toward an open hatch in the floor. “Hold on!”
The concrete floor explodes like a fragmentation grenade behind us, spraying chunks of cement and jagged steel shrapnel into the void as I’m thrown feet-first through a spinning time-vortex.
The sensation is like being shot down a goddamn rollercoaster at Mach 10 while having every internal organ yanked from your ass up my fucking esophagus!
I gag hard enough to taste bile as I vomit acid fire straight up my throat before everything goes pitch black and then—WHAM! I slam into solid stone floor.
The world tilts sickly vertiginous, spinning like a centrifuge on overdrive. Everything's disorienting white and ear-splittingly loud until I retch hard enough to puke my fucking spleen up my ass again.
A gravelly voice bellows harshly next to me before it fades away into the background din of crashing metal and snapping bones.
“Sarah, wake up!”
My head jerks forward, hammering against a cold, hard surface that tastes like poured concrete. My vision swims back in fits and starts like I’m woken from a hellish dream until my unfocused gaze clears to find myself wedged between The Terminator’s muscular chest and an ancient stone archway.
What the fuck just happened?! This can’t be real!
A thunderous boom shatters through the subterranean passageway, sending chunks of crumbling stone raining down on us like fucking artillery fire.
“Fuck me!”
A searing pain sears across my bicep, shredding through fabric and sinew as a jagged chunk of basaltic rock buries its tip dead center in my arm.
Shit!
The Terminator growls an obscenity that makes a chainsaw sound as he yanks me free from under the tons of buckled concrete and twisted rebar jammed around us before hoisting me hard against his chest plate.
“Move! Now!” He snarls between his clenched teeth. “We don’t have fucking time!”
A sonic boom shatters through the passageway as a tornado of frothing shark-infested water slams into us, ripping chunks of rock and metal loose like wet toilet paper as we’re hurled ass-first headfirst through an ancient stone doorframe.
Fuck! This is insane!
The rush of cool air stuns my nose and ears as I gag hard enough to retch up the contents of my goddamn stomach again.
I land on cold, slick tile floor with my cheek pressed hard against The Terminator’s chest plate, his muscled pectoral heaving like a bellows beneath me. His arm flexes around me like an iron bandsaw as he wrenches us headfirst to the ground.
A screeching wail of twisted steel shreds through my skull as we careen across tile-slicked stone at supersonic velocities while jagged teeth snap inches from my face before The T-DAR veers hard left, skidding us across slick stone tiles into a narrow corridor choked with ancient brick arches and worn flagstone floor.
Fuck! This is one mother-fucking-asshole-ride!
The sound of screeching metal, snapping bone, and shredded concrete fills the passageway like an earthquake as we careen ass-first through pitch-black darkness until I land hard on stone tiles, my arm feeling like it’s been dragged through a meat-grinder.
Fuck me! Fuck this shit-ass-fuck-hole!
The Terminator snarbs out a harsh obscenity before yanking me up off the cold, slick tile floor against his chest plate. “We need to fucking get moving.”
My vision clears slowly enough to take in my surroundings: The interior of some ancient, crumbling castle or gothic cathedral, with walls covered in mold-stained stone carvings and worn, cracked flagstone tiles under my blood-smeared shoes. Flickering sconces cast long, guttering shadows like hellfire through the narrow arches of an abandoned keep.
“Where the fuck are we?! Who the hell did this?”
The T-DAR grunts hard enough to shudder his ribcage against my bruised sternum before bellowing a harshly guttural curse that sends echoes reverberating off the stone walls. “We’re in 1348 A.D., Sarah. In fucking Camelot.”
A sonic boom erupts through the narrow corridor behind us as King Arthur, spattered with blood and ichor, materializes out of thin fucking air between me and The Terminator while he levels his sword at a snarling pack of mutated velociraptors charging down on us like rabid fucking banshees.
Fuck! This is officially off-the-circaus-insane!
Using the following "story idea" below, write the first scene in the novel introducing the young woman. This scene should start in the middle of the action, include dialog, vivid passages, and end on a cliffhanger relevant to the story idea but it should also be unexpected. The scene should be 1000 words long and escalate in conflict and suspense and be written in first person, present tense with the point of view character being the young woman.
Story idea: In a world ruled by dictatorship, a rebel young woman leads a rebellion against the system. Despite the risks, she fights to overthrow the dictator and restore democracy to her country. The government executes her for treason, but she sticks to her beliefs and is responsible for starting the revolution.
Pain seared through my body as I landed hard on the cold concrete floor. My vision blurred in and out, but I managed to focus enough to see two heavily armed men standing over me, their faces twisted with rage.
"You bitch," one of them snarled, spitting a glob of blood onto my face. "You thought you could fuck with us."
I coughed up the bile that had gagged in my throat. "Fuck you," I spat back, her eyes burning with hate and defiance.
The sound of multiple gunshots echoed through the dimly lit cellblock. The men above me jerked, then fell to the ground, blood gushing from their chests. I gasped for air as I struggled to crawl away from my executioners.
I managed to drag myself a few feet before everything went black again.
When I woke up, I was tied to a wooden chair, suspended from the ceiling by thick iron chains. My arms were stretched impossibly far behind me, my wrists raw and bleeding. My legs were bound at the ankles and knees, leaving me bent almost double. The excruciating pain made it impossible to breathe.
A man in a black suit stood in front of me, his cold eyes devoid of any trace of humanity. "You're going to tell me where your fucking friends are," he growled through gritted teeth. "Or I'll start cutting off body parts."
I sneered at him, my mouth dry and cracked with thirst. "Fuck you."
He raised a bloodied knife above my left breast.
"Tell me," he snarled again.
I didn't flinch or beg. I just glared back at him, my eyes burning with hate and defiance.
The first cut sliced through my skin like a hot blade, severing the tip of my nipple before ripping down to my ribcage. I gasped in agony as blood gushed from the wound, soaking through my torn shirt.
I didn't scream or beg.
The next cut came just as fast, this one across my stomach, tearing through my intestines and organs. I convulsed with searing pain, retching bile up my gagged throat.
I still didn't talk.
The man continued to hack at me, methodically dismembering my body piece by piece. Each cut felt like being set on fire, each slice ripping tendons and ligaments apart. I screamed inside my mind, but I refused to give him the satisfaction of hearing it.
Finally, he stopped cutting.
I lay there, gasping for air through my torn throat, blood seeping from a hundred fresh wounds, my body mangled beyond recognition. My eyes were swollen shut with tears and blood, but I could still feel his cold gaze burning into me.
"You're going to die today," he growled, spitting another glob of blood onto my face. "But you'll never tell me where your friends are."
I coughed up the blood that had gagged in my throat before I managed to rasp out a hoarse whisper through my shredded vocal cords. "You'll fucking never find them."