The Internet

Log In or Register

Write (with AI)

"A Symphony of Shadows: The Demon's Duality"

Bookmark
0 Points

### A Demon's Reflection

You sit comfortably at your desk, scrolling through the web, shaking your head in disbelief. Yet another fan fiction and artwork of that infernal Radio Demon, Alastor. You’ve grown a bit obsessed, but who hasn’t? His character is charismatic, devilishly charming, and layered with such dark complexity. Today, the latest in a series of distracting annoyances grabbed your attention: Alastor becoming an ant queen?

"Who writes this stuff?" you grumble, shaking your head, “But, that's enough internet for today."

You shut your laptop, the last image of Alastor’s demented grin lingering in your mind. Little did you know, your idle grumblings and stifled amusement had not gone unnoticed by a pair of eyes viewing from the spectral plane of Hell.

A sudden wave of nausea and dizziness overcomes you. The room spins, and in a breathless instant, darkness engulfs your vision. As you blink against the void, you find yourself standing not in your room, but in a surreal environment drenched in shades of crimson and ebony hues. The overwhelming throbbing of distant, forbidden music fills the air like a palpable fog.

"Ah, a curious and modern mind, filled with trivial fancies," a voice radiates, saturated with that vintage radio cadence, cold and whimsical, "I think you'll find this experience... enlightening."

You whirl around to come face to face with none other than Alastor, the real Radio Demon.

"H-how..." you stutter, taking a step backward.

"Silence, my dear!" Alastor's smile falters but an inch before fixating back into place, "You've been selected for a very exclusive performance!" His hand shoots out, fingers steering your chin with a grip like iron. Understanding dawns grimly as you struggle to pull away.

From the recesses of his cloak, Alastor withdraws a scroll of ancient vellum, inscribed with glowing red Voodoo symbols. His voice warps into incantations unknown, each syllable a slice through the air, cutting into your very being. A force unfathomable rips into you, stitching and unstitching the fabric of your flesh and spirit.

Pain seethes through your bones, morphing them, growing them. Fingertips blacken, stretching and hardening into sharp claws — dread seeps through you. You watch in muted horror as your skin fades to an unnaturally beige hue. Your deathly anatomy elongates, your height surging until the world contorts itself to fit your seven-foot frame.

"No! Stop this!" you cry uselessly as your voice distorts, shaping into the echo of vintage radio broadcast.

Your limbs become sickeningly thin, steadily matching the frame of Alastor. It is then that you feel the stark shift internalizing, an invading presence descending upon your consciousness. You struggle, clawing against the assault of memories and persona embedding into your brain like a brand. Your own thoughts flounder, submerging under the weight of laughter and deviant murmurs.

"Why?" you scream within your mind, grappling against the tide that’s remaking your essence.
"But of course!" Alastor's voice reverberates, reverence and malice intertwined, "Why indeed, for such stories and idle fantasies sully the pristine genius of my persona! And now, you shall bear witness to it eternally!"

Your attire morphs as dread blossoms heavily in you. A red pinstripe coat replaces your own clothes, adjusting grotesquely perfect to your broadening shoulders and ragged hem. Pinned to a monocle over your right eye, red dress shirt, black cross on the chest — the irrevocable uniform completes.

"No, no, NO!" you scream inwardly, feeling your face fixate into an eternal, grotesque grin as your eyes transition to red, sclera and irises set aglow.

"Gone!" your essence is swallowed. The mortal existence obliterated as a new mind's echoes affirm, "We've always been Alastor, born to rule. Never have we lived another’s life."

Tears — one last futile act of humanity — refuse to shed. You are drowned in euphoria and the allure of omnipotence. Nestled forever in the wickedness of the radio demon, you turn, your smile just as broad and glinting.

"Welcome to Hell, Alastor," your twin brother says, mirroring the sinister joy.

And as deep laughter wells in your now entirely reshaped existence, you understand, clarity seizing. No past, no mortal trace remains — you were always Alastor, forever etching this tale into the dark chronicles of the underworld, bound and gleeful in your eternal twin alignment.

Alastor has always been — and will always be — twofold in his magnificent, wicked reign.

This story was generated by user DylanVsFizzarolli5 with assistance by one of OpenAI’s large-scale language-generation model; prompts used to help generate the story are shown below.

Images were generated with OpenAI's AI system, DALL·E 2, or uploaded by the user.

AI Prompts

Prompt: Write a POV transformation story of a mortal human reader turning into an identical clone of Alastor (from the adults cartoon/animated series Hazbin Hotel), complete with gender change (if the reader is a female), clothes change, age change (becoming the age of 30s-40s years old, exactly as left off from Alastor's death from his human life in 1933, becoming immortal in the process), height progression (growing from a normal height to 7 feet tall), voice change, and mind/mental change (with the reader's personalities and memories being permanently and completely replaced with Alastor's personality and memories, despite the reader's best efforts of fighting the new personality and memories, making him/her completely forget about his/her past self and only remember being Alastor the Radio Demon). For Alastor's appearance (after the reader turned into his clone), he is a slim (having an unnaturally thin torso, neck, arms, and legs, except his shoulders are broad), dapper sinner demon with beige-colored skin, and usually has an unnaturally broad smile (reaching from each cheek's upper area) full of sharp, yellow teeth (he has no ability to frown due to this permanent smile). He is approximately 7 feet tall. He sports a pinkish-red cropped, angled bob-cut with black tips at the ends and two large, black tipped tufts of hair extending from the top of his head, evoking the ears of a deer. The style has an undercut at the back, and two small black antlers protruding from the crown, which can grow in size in his full demonic form. Alastor's eyes have dark-red sclerae, bright-red irises and thin black pupils (which can change into the shape of radio dials when shifting into his full demon form). His forearms and lower legs fade to dark grey, and he has red hoof-toed feet and red clawed fingers. Alastor wears a red pinstripe coat with dark-red lapels piped with white, which is ragged along the bottom hem. Underneath this he wears a bright red dress-shirt with a black cross on the chest, and long black dress pants with matching bright red cuffs. He also wears a dark-red oval-shaped monocle, rimmed with black, over his right eye. He accessorizes with a black knotted bowtie with a bright red center, black gloves with red at the fingertips, and black pointed-toe boots with red deer hoofprints emblazoned on the soles. Alastor also carries a thin cane with a sentient vintage style microphone attached to it, which he uses to play sound effects and broadcast his voice. His voice also sounds like it is coming from an old-fashioned vintage radio. Alastor has many supernatural powers, such as demon transformation (the ability to turn into a more powerful demon form), flexibility (able to contort his body into numerous unnatural poses), demonic magic (able to cast magic thanks to the high power-level he has accrued in the demon ranking system, this magic takes the visual form of glowing red symbols that resemble Voodoo veve, which float around him), shadow manipulation (able to summon shadows and manipulate them into doing his bidding), spatial warping (able to get around with the help of his shadow, allowing teleportation through this ability), portal creation (able to transport others to his location easily via the portals he makes), pyrokinesis (able to summon small balls of fire for display purpose), phytokinesis (able to make plants wilt with a single stare), manifestation, photokinesis (able to project red glowing light from his eyes as well as his microphone), and outfit alteration (capable of changing the outfits of his targets as well as his own with a snap of a finger). He is also capable of various other abilities including deal-making (as Alastor is known to be a deal-maker demon; deal-maker demons like Alastor can increase their power by dealing in souls, which is a very powerful commodity in hell, so they’re seen as very manipulative and not to be toyed with, deal-making is not something every demon can do, as such it is not to be taken lightly as it doesn’t generally work out well for the other party), broadcasting (when he was a living human, Alastor's profession was as a radio show host, and he continues his broadcasts in Hell as a demon, ensuring that Hell's denizens are aware of his activities over the airwaves, earning him the title of "The Radio Demon"), bilingualism (Alastor can speak English fluently as well as some broken Creole French), cooking (Alastor is noted to be "a big foodie" and mentions having admired his mother's cooking, specifically her Jambalaya), musical/dancing/theatrical talent (Alastor is known to display moderate vocal abilities and excels at dancing, with some people noting tap to be a style he excels in specifically, he also shows a flair for theatrical showmanship), and wide intellect (Alastor is known to be quite a cunning individual, resulting in him accruing a large amount of power through his tricks and deal-making). Alastor stands out from many of the more chaotic residents of hell for his well maintained amiable persona. He gives the first-impression of a good-natured and charming man, wearing a permanently wide grin on his face at all times. Alastor's behavior, mannerisms, and even his voice are similar to an old-fashioned radio announcer and speaks with a transatlantic accent, often using quaint anachronisms such as "the picture show" and refers to Charlie as a "charming demon belle". This playful dandyish exterior, however, obscures a much darker side to him - one with high levels of self-importance - and he will not hesitate to use physical violence when others don't act in line with his very particular values or expectations. The story is that Alastor is getting bored and wanted something new and more entertaining in Hell. What finally annoyed him is seeing artwork and stories (online) of himself getting turned into other characters in both body and mind (sometimes from different series, such as a story with Alastor becoming May from Pokemon, a comic with Alastor becoming Helsa von Eldritch also from Hazbin Hotel, and a story with Alastor becoming an ant queen), which he is getting sick and tired of and he views these stories and artwork as distasteful. So to teach the reader a lesson, Alastor (by some supernatural means) briefly left the series' Hell and into real life to kidnap the reader and sent him/her to the world of Hazbin Hotel before using supernatural black magic at the reader which turned him/her into his clones, thus turning the reader into Alastor's identical twin brother (the reader tried to fight those new memories and personality, not wanting himself/herself to be completely transformed in either body or mind, but is fighting a losing battle (the reader also tries to push or pull his/her permanent smile to a frown or any facial expression other than smiling but his/her face is forever stuck in a smile and the reader is both horrified and confused on why he/she can't stop smiling) and his/her mind is then completely replaced with Alastor's mind (the voice echoes in the reader's mind and confirms that the reader had never been a normal or mundane human on Earth and had always been Alastor the Radio Demon and he had always been one of the overlords of Hell along with the original Alastor, his identical twin brother with the same mind and role, as well as remembering his previous mortal life as human Alastor with his twin brother, also named "Alastor", long before both of their deaths at the same time and their arrival to Hell as identical sinner demons and soon enough as overlords)). The transformation is permanent (meaning it is forever) and is completely irreversible. There should also be quotes from the characters in this story so we know what they're saying and what they're thinking. Also, it is a POV reader story, so it should not be in an author's point of view (my, I, mine, etc), and it should be from the point of view of the reader (you, your, etc).

Response: ### A Demon's Reflection You sit comfortably at your desk, scrolling through the web, shaking your head in disbelief. Yet another fan fiction and artwork of that infernal Radio Demon, Alastor. You’ve grown a bit obsessed, but who hasn’t? His character is charismatic, devilishly charming, and layered with such dark complexity. Today, the latest in a series of distracting annoyances grabbed your attention: Alastor becoming an ant queen? "Who writes this stuff?" you grumble, shaking your head, “But, that's enough internet for today." You shut your laptop, the last image of Alastor’s demented grin lingering in your mind. Little did you know, your idle grumblings and stifled amusement had not gone unnoticed by a pair of eyes viewing from the spectral plane of Hell. A sudden wave of nausea and dizziness overcomes you. The room spins, and in a breathless instant, darkness engulfs your vision. As you blink against the void, you find yourself standing not in your room, but in a surreal environment drenched in shades of crimson and ebony hues. The overwhelming throbbing of distant, forbidden music fills the air like a palpable fog. "Ah, a curious and modern mind, filled with trivial fancies," a voice radiates, saturated with that vintage radio cadence, cold and whimsical, "I think you'll find this experience... enlightening." You whirl around to come face to face with none other than Alastor, the real Radio Demon. "H-how..." you stutter, taking a step backward. "Silence, my dear!" Alastor's smile falters but an inch before fixating back into place, "You've been selected for a very exclusive performance!" His hand shoots out, fingers steering your chin with a grip like iron. Understanding dawns grimly as you struggle to pull away. From the recesses of his cloak, Alastor withdraws a scroll of ancient vellum, inscribed with glowing red Voodoo symbols. His voice warps into incantations unknown, each syllable a slice through the air, cutting into your very being. A force unfathomable rips into you, stitching and unstitching the fabric of your flesh and spirit. Pain seethes through your bones, morphing them, growing them. Fingertips blacken, stretching and hardening into sharp claws — dread seeps through you. You watch in muted horror as your skin fades to an unnaturally beige hue. Your deathly anatomy elongates, your height surging until the world contorts itself to fit your seven-foot frame. "No! Stop this!" you cry uselessly as your voice distorts, shaping into the echo of vintage radio broadcast. Your limbs become sickeningly thin, steadily matching the frame of Alastor. It is then that you feel the stark shift internalizing, an invading presence descending upon your consciousness. You struggle, clawing against the assault of memories and persona embedding into your brain like a brand. Your own thoughts flounder, submerging under the weight of laughter and deviant murmurs. "Why?" you scream within your mind, grappling against the tide that’s remaking your essence. "But of course!" Alastor's voice reverberates, reverence and malice intertwined, "Why indeed, for such stories and idle fantasies sully the pristine genius of my persona! And now, you shall bear witness to it eternally!" Your attire morphs as dread blossoms heavily in you. A red pinstripe coat replaces your own clothes, adjusting grotesquely perfect to your broadening shoulders and ragged hem. Pinned to a monocle over your right eye, red dress shirt, black cross on the chest — the irrevocable uniform completes. "No, no, NO!" you scream inwardly, feeling your face fixate into an eternal, grotesque grin as your eyes transition to red, sclera and irises set aglow. "Gone!" your essence is swallowed. The mortal existence obliterated as a new mind's echoes affirm, "We've always been Alastor, born to rule. Never have we lived another’s life." Tears — one last futile act of humanity — refuse to shed. You are drowned in euphoria and the allure of omnipotence. Nestled forever in the wickedness of the radio demon, you turn, your smile just as broad and glinting. "Welcome to Hell, Alastor," your twin brother says, mirroring the sinister joy. And as deep laughter wells in your now entirely reshaped existence, you understand, clarity seizing. No past, no mortal trace remains — you were always Alastor, forever etching this tale into the dark chronicles of the underworld, bound and gleeful in your eternal twin alignment. Alastor has always been — and will always be — twofold in his magnificent, wicked reign.

Comment Section

Post your own comment: