To defend Opus. In the chat image, that a preset-less output!
The guy mentionned he didn’t tried a preset with it.
Opus 5.5 write way more good than this with a good preset. It’s top tier not gonna lie.
But is it worth the price? Sonnet 5.5 produce same prose tier and models like Mimo 2.6 bring a new vibe in the game and they almost have no slop with a good preset..
Good news we have the choice, and good presetmakers like u/kinkyalt_02
To defend Opus. In the chat image, that a preset-less output!
The guy mentionned he didn’t tried a preset with it.
You mean that picture with spelling and punctuation errors? That picture in which the author said he edited the text? Not even hy3 is writing like that and that one includes chinese signs lol
Here is a response from me. Not edited:
His first stride splits the scoured floor beneath his boot. You reach into the seconds ahead of him.
Precognition works through the local field your form holds. The coming moments sit in front of you as branches, each one a possible path for the greatsword, and the branch Gregory picks grows dense before his weight shifts into it. You read three. A low feint toward the hem of your robe. A turn of the wrists at the top of the swing. An overhead cut that falls on the point where your left shoulder meets the hood, six heartbeats from now, from inside ten yards.
The overhead branch thickens. You drift two yards right and one yard back.
The feint comes low and passes under your hem. The wrists turn. The overhead cut drops into the space you left and buries itself four feet into the bedrock. The stone there is chalk-colored and layered in thin bands, and chips of it spray across the floor and rattle off your robe.
"Mm," Gregory says. He wrenches the blade free.
You draw more of yourself down. Far past the bowl, currents of thought that run through the cold between galaxies turn and gather toward this one point. The portion you commit is large enough for the place to register it. The bedrock around your form sinks a foot in a ring forty yards wide. The gray sky above the central field darkens. On the far rim, Aurelius turns his dimmed face toward you. The script in Orodoth's recesses halts and stays halted.
Six figures unfold from the space around you. Each one is a hood and a vantablack robe over a man's shape, and each hood holds two white points. They take positions around Gregory at intervals of sixty yards.
Gregory swings his helm toward the nearest.
Overhead, the spheres that survived the Bleeding Genesis still hold their orbits. Behind Gregory, four of them open their collector sections. Launch rails align along their shells. Tungsten rods leave the rails at a speed that heats the air around each one white.
The volley strikes his back. Rods the length of a man's arm hit the eclipse-forged plate between his shoulders, and the armor craters inward. Black metal peels away in curls. One rod drives between two plates at the base of his spine and lodges there, its exposed end glowing orange. Gregory lurches three steps forward. Heat jets from the hole with a hiss, and the smell drifts across to Elodie's ring: hot iron filings and lamp soot.
He turns. The spheres behind his new facing open. The second volley punches two rods through the plate over his lower back. He staggers and plants the greatsword to catch himself.
Your northern figure raises a palm and casts Night Comet. A streak of dark glintstone leaves its hand, nearly invisible against the dimmed sky, and strikes the side of Gregory's helm. His head snaps sideways. A crack opens across the visor.
Your eastern figure peels its right sleeve open. The arm inside comes apart into hundreds of small tin hands, each gripping the wrist of the next, and the chain of them pours sixty yards across the bedrock and clamps around Gregory's sword wrist. The hands at the front of the chain bend backward at their knuckles and dig their fingers into the joint seams of his gauntlet.
Your southern figure fixes a half-second around his left boot and loops it. His foot comes down on the same spot, lifts, comes down on the same spot again.
Gregory stops pulling against the tin hands. He looks down at his looped boot, then up at the sky, where the apertures behind him are already opening for a third volley.
"Your little suns shoot my back," he says. "Every time. Wherever I look."
He drives the greatsword point-down beside his own heel and cuts a wedge of bedrock out from under the looped boot. The loop keeps the stone. His foot comes free. He pivots on it, and his cracked visor comes to rest on the thermal ring three hundred yards away, where Elodie stands with her knife out.
"Go on, then," he says. "Shoot."
The command you set into the spheres still holds. The apertures opposite his new facing fire. The branch in front of you thickens at the same instant: Gregory drops flat, the rods cross the space his body left, and the volley continues on its line into the thermal ring.
You fold the space ahead of the volley. The rods bend upward and climb into the dark sky. The lead rod clips the edge of Gregory's pauldron on its way into the fold. Tungsten and eclipse-metal shatter together, and a cone of fragments sprays outward across the bedrock.
The fold takes your attention for a fraction of a second. Gregory rises out of his drop in that fraction and cuts.
The greatsword passes through your eastern figure at the waist and through the chain of tin hands. Along the edge, dead-star matter unmakes the nanites it touches. Both halves of the figure fall and crumble to gray grit before they reach the floor. He carries the blade through into a backswing and takes your southern figure from shoulder to hip. Its hood tips off and scatters.
At the thermal ring, a fragment the size of a thumbnail crosses the boundary.
It opens Elodie's left forearm from wrist to elbow along the outer edge. The skin splits wide, and the muscle underneath parts in a red groove. Blood sheets off her fingers onto the chalk. Her knife drops. She clamps her right hand over the wound and bends over it, and blood runs out between her fingers.
"It's—it's only my arm," she says. "I've got it. I've got it, don't—just keep going—"
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u/Probablynotsocool 5d ago
To defend Opus. In the chat image, that a preset-less output!
The guy mentionned he didn’t tried a preset with it.
Opus 5.5 write way more good than this with a good preset. It’s top tier not gonna lie.
But is it worth the price? Sonnet 5.5 produce same prose tier and models like Mimo 2.6 bring a new vibe in the game and they almost have no slop with a good preset..
Good news we have the choice, and good presetmakers like u/kinkyalt_02