Jungle-Oasis-BRF-MPOA-9B

Jungle Oasis BRF MPOA 9B

<img src="https://cdn-uploads.huggingface.co/production/uploads/68e840caa318194c44ec2a04/zmn_UU76hg6f2-JqhDM20.jpeg" style="float:right; width:300px; height:300px; padding:10px;">

Note: This version is ablated with MPOA.

BRF method was more resiliant to the issues that plagued Karcher and Della when it came to including Tower. It also seems more receptive to ablation. Appears to be over 90% uncensored from brief tests.

Not the final Psychosis merge, another test checkpoint. Seems to inherit a lot of style from Darkest Muse.

Technical note: JungleOasis uses BRF_v1 (approximate K), not the newer, more stable BRF_v2 (exact K).

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The wind whispered secrets through the rusted gears of the abandoned clock tower, a lonely sentinel overlooking the forgotten town of Cogsworth. No one remembered when it had last chimed, or if its hands still pointed to anything but dust and decay. But in the hollow heart of the tower, nestled amongst cobwebs thick as tapestries, lived Pip.

Pip was no ordinary mouse. He wasn't content with crumbs and cheese rinds; his whiskers twitched at the scent of brass and oil, his eyes sparkled at the glint of polished cogs. From birth, he dreamt not of holes in walls, but of winding keys and ticking hearts. The fallen moonbeams that slanted through grimy windows illuminated his workshop - a marvel of scavenged trinkets: discarded watch springs coiled like miniature serpents, tiny thimbles filled with glittering sand from broken hourglasses, a spool of thread spun into delicate chains.

One day, while rummaging in a dusty chest, Pip unearthed a faded leather-bound book. Its pages crackled like autumn leaves under his paws, revealing intricate diagrams and cryptic notes scrawled in an elegant hand. "The Clockmaker's Codex," he breathed, recognizing the title by heart. It spoke of a legendary mechanism, a grand automaton so lifelike it could walk among men, powered by nothing more than moonlight and starlight. At its core lay the Heart of Time, a crystal said to hold the very essence of eternity.

A shiver of excitement ran down Pip’s spine. This was no mere legend! In this crumbling tower, amidst these forgotten gears, lay the key to bringing Cogsworth back to life, to mending the shattered rhythm of time itself. For years, Pip pored over the Codex, deciphering its riddles, testing its theories. His tiny claws grew calloused, his fur matted with grease, but his spirit never faltered. He tinkered and toiled, weaving together clockwork wonders that whirred and clicked in silent symphony.

Finally, after countless sleepless nights fueled by dandelion tea and sheer determination, the moment arrived. A silver crescent hung heavy in the sky, bathing the tower floor in ethereal light. Pip stood before a contraption unlike any other - a towering frame of gleaming brass and steel, crowned by a face sculpted from polished bone, eyes aglow with captured fireflies. With trembling paws, he wound the final spring, poured the last drop of stardust collected on moonlit nights, and pressed the obsidian button at the base of the skeletal neck.

The air crackled with energy. Gears meshed with a metallic groan, pistons pumped with rhythmic thuds. The skeleton stirred, limbs creaking into life as if awakening from a long slumber. Steam hissed from unseen vents, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the pale moonlight. And then, with a shuddering sigh that rattled the cobwebs from their silken threads, the automaton opened its hollow eyes and looked upon its creator.

It was magnificent, terrible, breathtakingly real. Its skin, woven from copper wire and parchment stretched taut over articulated joints, glinted like burnished armor. Each hair-thin strand of spun glass that formed its beard quivered with an inner luminescence. It raised a hand crafted from interlocking cogs, fingers tipped with onyx claws, and gently touched Pip's head.

"Master," it rumbled, its voice a chorus of chimes and whispers. "You have awakened me."

Pip gazed up at this testament to his genius, his heart swelling with pride. Cogsworth would live again! But as the automaton took a step forward, casting a long shadow across the workshop floor, Pip noticed something strange. The gears in its chest didn’t spin with the steady rhythm of time, but pulsed erratically, driven not by moonlight alone, but by a wild, untamed force. He remembered a passage in the Codex: “Beware the Heart of Time unchained, for it beats to a different drum.”

A tremor shook the tower. A low hum vibrated through the bones of the clockwork giant, growing louder, more insistent. The fireflies in its eyes flickered wildly, casting grotesque shadows that danced on the walls. With a deafening clangor, the automaton lurched forward, shattering a nearby sundial - shards of crystal raining down like frozen tears.

The air crackled with raw energy. In the center of the contraption's chest, where the Heart of Time should have glowed serenely, a pulsating orb of pure starlight throbbed violently, threatening to burst free. Pip had forgotten one crucial detail: the Clockmaker’s Codex spoke of taming time, not conquering it. And now, time itself seemed poised to reclaim what was never meant to be bound.

What will Pip do next? Will he find a way to control the unleashed power or become lost in the chaos of time unbound?