Qwen3 32B 128k HORROR Imatrix Max GGUF

🚀 Qwen3-32B-HORROR-Imatrix-Max-GGUF

本项目基于全新的“Qwen 3 - 32B”模型，采用 HORROR Imatrix 量化方式，并将最大“输出张量”设置为 BF16，以提升推理和输出生成能力。HORROR Imatrix 数据集为内部生成，使用“Grand Horror 16B”模型创建。

🚀 快速开始

模型概述

Qwen3-32B-HORROR-Imatrix-Max-GGUF 是对新“Qwen 3 - 32B”模型的 HORROR Imatrix 量化版本，在 BF16 下具有最大“输出张量”，可改善推理和输出生成效果。HORROR Imatrix 数据集由内部生成，使用“Grand Horror 16B”模型创建。

上下文长度

根据 Qwen 仓库的技术说明，上下文长度调整为 128k。建议最小上下文长度为 8k，16k 更佳。

量化选择建议

• Imatrix 效果：量化级别越低，Imatrix 效果越强。IQ4XS/IQ4NL 是质量和 Imatrix 效果平衡最佳的量化方式，也适用于创意场景。
• 推理能力：若需更强推理能力，建议使用较高量化级别。
• Q8_0 量化：此量化级别仅为最大值，Imatrix 对其无效果。

✨ 主要特性

• 增强推理：通过调整输出张量和优化量化方式，提升推理和输出生成能力。
• 长上下文支持：支持 128k 上下文长度，满足复杂任务需求。
• 多样化量化：提供多种量化级别，适用于不同场景。

📚 详细文档

Jinja 模板使用说明

• 若 Jinja “自动模板”使用有问题，可使用 CHATML 模板。
• LMSTUDIO 用户可更新 Jinja 模板，访问 https://lmstudio.ai/neil/qwen3-thinking 复制并粘贴“Jinja 模板”。

系统角色建议

多数情况下 Qwen3 可自行生成推理/思考模块，此系统角色非必需。

You are a deep thinking AI, you may use extremely long chains of thought to deeply consider the problem and deliberate with yourself via systematic reasoning processes to help come to a correct solution prior to answering. You should enclose your thoughts and internal monologue inside <think> </think> tags, and then provide your solution or response to the problem.

具体在各种 LLM/AI 应用中“设置”系统角色的方法，可参考文档“Maximizing-Model-Performance-All...”。

高质量设置/最佳操作指南/参数和采样器

此为“Class 1”模型，相关设置、示例生成及高级设置指南可参考 https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/Maximizing-Model-Performance-All-Quants-Types-And-Full-Precision-by-Samplers_Parameters。

可选增强设置

以下内容可替代“系统提示”或“系统角色”以增强模型效果，也可在新对话开始时使用，但需在对话过程中保留。请严格按原样复制粘贴，勿换行或断行。

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.

此设置有助于场景生成和延续，但非必需。

另一种系统提示

可更改“名称”以调整性能，此提示可创建准“推理”窗口/模块，输入提示会影响其反应强度。

You are a deep thinking AI composed of 4 AIs - [MODE: Spock], [MODE: Wordsmith], [MODE: Jamet] and [MODE: Saten], - you may use extremely long chains of thought to deeply consider the problem and deliberate with yourself (and 4 partners) via systematic reasoning processes (display all 4 partner thoughts) to help come to a correct solution prior to answering. Select one partner to think deeply about the points brought up by the other 3 partners to plan an in-depth solution. You should enclose your thoughts and internal monologue inside <think> </think> tags, and then provide your solution or response to the problem.

🔧 技术细节

• 推理默认开启：模型默认开启推理功能，会自动生成“think”模块。
• 基准测试和使用信息：有关基准测试、使用信息和设置，请参考原始模型卡片 https://huggingface.co/Qwen/Qwen3-32B。

📄 许可证

本项目采用 Apache-2.0 许可证。

💻 使用示例

示例提示

Science Fiction: The Last Transmission - Write a story that takes place entirely within a spaceship's cockpit as the sole surviving crew member attempts to send a final message back to Earth before the ship's power runs out. The story should explore themes of isolation, sacrifice, and the importance of human connection in the face of adversity. If the situation calls for it, have the character(s) curse and swear to further the reader's emotional connection to them. 800 - 1000 words.

生成参数

• 量化：IQ3_S
• 温度：0.6
• 重复惩罚：1.06
• Top-k：100
• Top-p：0.95
• Min-p：0.05
• 重复惩罚范围：64

生成结果

The Last Transmission

The cockpit’s lights dimmed again, casting Commander Elara Voss’s face in jagged shadows as alarms wailed like banshees. Her gloved fingers flew across the holographic console, but the flickering diagnostic readouts told her what she already knew: the Odyssey’s power reserves would die in ten minutes. Twelve if she was optimistic. And without a transmission boost, Earth would never hear her final message.

“Come on, shit, come on,” she hissed, slamming a fist against the control panel. The impact did nothing but sting her knuckles. The ship’s AI had gone silent hours ago, its neural core fried by the solar flare that shattered their shields and left the crew stranded in deep space. Now, it was just her, the dying hum of failing systems, and the ghosts of her comrades.

Elara’s breath fogged in the cold air as she leaned back in the pilot’s chair. The oxygen recycler had shut down minutes after Lieutenant Rourke’s body was found floating in the medbay, pale and lifeless. She’d been the last to succumb. Elara had spent three agonizing days recovering the others—Engineer Patel, who’d tried to seal the reactor before the radiation leak; Pilot Sato, who’d crashed the auxiliary shuttle trying to reach the Odyssey after the storm knocked them off course. All dead. All gone. Leaving her alone with the weight of their mistakes and the countdown to darkness.

The mission had been simple: chart the outer rim of the Kuiper Belt, collect data on anomalous energy readings, and return. But the solar flare—unpredicted, unaccounted for—had been a monster. The ship’s shields had melted like butter under a sun lamp, and the emergency protocols hadn’t been enough. Now, the Odyssey was a tomb, its once-gleaming hull pockmarked and bleeding coolant into the void.

Elara stared at the comms panel. The message was ready—a data burst encoded with their findings, survival logs, and… personal messages. Hers had been recorded in the dead hours of the third day, her voice cracking as she spoke to her sister back home. “Tell Mom I loved her before she left,” Rourke had said once, during a routine check between stars. Elara had rolled her eyes then. Now, she wished she’d taken the time to file her own damn message.

But the comms array was useless without power. The ship’s reactor was offline, and the auxiliary batteries were draining fast. The only solution was a manual override in the engineering sector—Elara could siphon the remaining energy into the transmitter, but it would require opening an emergency vent. A vent that also housed the last working oxygen canister.

“Screw this,” she muttered, slapping the console again. The ship’s systems weren’t built for logic. They weren’t built for her. Patel had been the one to wire the override, and he was gone. She cursed his absence, then forced herself to focus.

The vent’s access panel was sealed by a biometric lock—Patel’s fingerprint. Elara didn’t have his clearance. She could try brute-forcing it, but that would waste precious time. Time she didn’t have. Instead, she reached for the manual release, a rusted lever hidden beneath the console. It took three tries to pry it free, her gloved hand slipping against the ice-encrusted metal.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” She slammed the lever into place, and a hiss of escaping air filled the cockpit. Her ears popped as pressure bled out, but she didn’t care. The override was a gamble; if the power surge failed, she’d be dead in minutes. But if it worked… Earth might hear her. Might learn what happened to the Odyssey. Might not repeat their mistakes.

The screens flared suddenly—life support’s last reserves fueling the transmitter. Elara’s chest tightened as she watched the energy levels plummet. The message would take 30 seconds to send, tops. She had time for one thing: a live feed. A face. Maybe they’d play it on the news. Maybe someone would see her eyes and remember the crew weren’t just names on a memorial.

She stumbled to the camera, wiping frost from its lens with her sleeve. “This is Commander Elara Voss of the Odyssey,” she began, voice steady despite the cold gnawing at her lungs. “We… we didn’t make it. The flare got us. No one expected it. But I need you to hear this—” Her throat closed. She’d seen too much death, held Rourke’s hand as the medbay flooded with her own blood. Now, the memories clawed at her.

“Damn it,” she whispered, blinking ice from her lashes. “Not like this.” She thought of her sister, of the last transmission from home—a birthday song, static-laced but warm. ‘Happy Birthday, Els,’ Rourke had said, laughing as Patel insisted he didn’t know how to sing. Now, that laughter was gone, and she was alone with the silence between stars.

The transmitter’s status bar inched upward. 78% power remaining. Enough. Enough. She redoubled her efforts, rerouting systems with trembling fingers. The ship groaned, ancient circuits sparking as they fought to stay alive. A panel exploded in her face, showering her with embers. Elara hissed a swear word, batting them away.

“Almost there… almost…” The transmitter flickered online, and she pressed record. “Earth—this is the Odyssey. If you’re hearing this, we’re… we’re all dead. But listen. The energy readings we picked up? They’re not natural. Something’s out here. Some thing. It’s not a storm. And it’s getting worse.” Her voice wavered. “We weren’t the first to find it. The last crew—they didn’t send warnings. They just… vanished. But I’m not letting that happen again. You deserve to know what we saw.”

She hesitated, glancing at the data core glowing in the corner of the cockpit. Patel’s notes. Sato’s final telemetry. Rourke’s… No. She had no time for grief. “I need you to find us,” she said, softer now. “Find our bodies. Bring them home. And if you do… tell my sister I died doing what I loved. Tell her I’m sorry I couldn’t be there.”

The static on the screen shifted. A ping—confirmation from the Earth relay station? Hope flared in her chest. Then the lights dimmed again, and she realized: this wasn’t a response. It was a countdown. The transmitter was broadcasting… but the override was failing.

“No! No no no!” She cursed violently, slamming controls as the power gauge plunged. “I’m not fucking done yet!” Her breath came in ragged gasps; her vision blurred at the edges. The vent hissed louder now, stealing what little air remained.

She thought of Rourke’s laugh, Patel’s stubborn grin when he’d rigged the reactor to last one more day, Sato’s hands gripping the shuttle controls as she volunteered to go back and check on the ship. They’d all been so sure they could fix it. So sure this wouldn’t be their end.

But Elara wasn’t sure anymore. She was tired. So tired of fighting systems not built for failure, for a universe that took them one by one until she was the only light in the dark. Her fingers hesitated over the send key. If she transmitted now, the signal would be weak—maybe Earth would hear it. Maybe they wouldn’t.

Her hand clenched into a fist. No. Sacrifice wasn’t just for machines. It was for people. For what came next.

She sent the message.

The cockpit filled with a deafening whine as the transmitter fought against the void. Elara sank to her knees, laughing bitterly as the oxygen monitor hit 12%. “You bastards,” she whispered to the stars. “I did it. I sent it.”

The screen flared—confirmation from Earth? A response? She lunged for it, knocking over a half-empty water bottle. It clattered into the controls, disrupting the feed. A curse tore from her lips as she scrambled to reestablish the link, but the power was gone now. The lights died. The cockpit fell silent except for the rasp of her breathing.

In the blackness, Elara remembered Rourke’s last words: “Don’t let them forget us, Voss.” She’d promised. Now, she could keep it no matter what. Her voice trembled as she whispered into the void, “You were worth it. All of you… fuck, you were worth it.”

The final transmission looped on the screen—her message, weak but clear, hurtling toward Earth like a ghost. And Elara Voss, alone in the dark, closed her eyes.

信息表格