---
The day had started the same as any other. You had been nestled comfortably on your couch, engrossed in the latest fantasy book. The real world around you melted away, leaving only the intricate storylines and vivid characters residing within your imagination. Then, in an instant, everything changed.
Your heart raced as your living room dissolved into a chaos of swirling colors, and you felt an overwhelming sensation envelop you. It felt as if your body was being stretched and contorted, reshaped into something else. There was no time to scream — not that it would have helped.
Within a heartbeat, everything settled.
***
Standing in your transformed body, you find yourself in a completely new world. The grimy yet vibrant streets of Hell stretch out before you, a place both familiar and foreign. Every building, every denizen, is outlined in the distinct, chaotic elegance of the Hazbin Hotel art style. Your hands — correction, your four hands — flinch and twitch, wreathed in cerise pink and white gloves. As you look down, your new body looms tall, at least eight feet, encased in a light pink suit-blazer, a reddish-grey miniskirt, and thigh-high heeled boots. A bowtie and black choker add a touch of contrasting dark sophistication to your outfit.
"Holy shoot," you murmur, though your voice now carries a New York accent and a breezy, offhand quality. Your heart races in a rhythm unknown to you, feeling more confident, more brash, but there’s a stark confusion threading through your thoughts.
Your new height is disorienting, and you struggle to take a step back, colliding with a brick wall covered in graffiti and posters. 'Spice of Life,' one reads, featuring a familiar face: your own? No, the face of Angel Dust, infamous sinner demon of the Hazbin Hotel universe. Panic claws at your mind, but it’s quickly diluted by an unforeseen wave of sardonic amusement and flamboyant confidence.
“Heh, looks like someone’s got the drop on me, huh?” Your lips, now etched with sharp teeth and a single golden fang, curl into a smirk.
Strayed thoughts grapple for clarity. The transformation, your prior life as a human, begins to blur. Your desperate attempt to cling to yourself only dredges up more of Angel Dust's memories, his risqué humor untouched by the weight of demonic existence.
"Get a grip! This ain't how it’s supposed to be," you think, but the words feel less like your own and more of a feeble attempt to stave off the inevitability.
Just then, a shadow looms over you, dragging your attention down the dimly lit alley. Vox strolls forward, his television screen head blinking with various static images. "Hey, Angel! Valentino’s been looking for you. Don’t wanna keep the big guy waiting, do ya?"
The familiar name invokes a lash of unease, and yet another person entirely seems to be controlling your response. You lean against the wall, arms crossed, one set of hands playing with the fluff of your faux chest. "Eh, tell Val he can wait. I got bigger fish to fry."
Vox narrows his eyes, static flickering irritably. "Don't push your luck, Dusty."
Adjusting to the swagger now filling your being, you shrug off the warning with casual bravado. "Whatever, box-head. Catch ya later."
A part of you screams for sanity in the face of this relentless takeover, but it’s a losing battle. More memories flash — a life as a human man ending in 1947, reemerging as a spider-like sinner demon named Angel Dust, the boss Valentino's abusive control, and a personal penchant for the most flamboyant, sharp-witted existence.
You fight to retain your humanity, only to face your own mental crumble.
“We’re gonna have a blast,” you — no, Angel Dust — sighs with wicked satisfaction. The struggle subsides, leaving a demon who has always, and only ever, been Angel Dust.
"Hell's my playground now, honey," you say, strutting into the abyss with an eternal, gleaming smirk.
This story was generated by user DylanVsFizzarolli9 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.
Prompt: Write a POV transformation story of a human reader instantly turning into Angel Dust (from an adults cartoon/animated series Hazbin Hotel), complete with art style shift (the reader now being in a cartoon world of the Hazbin Hotel series, and the reader now becoming a cartoon character with the same art style as the other Hazbin Hotel characters, rather than being a real life person), gender change (if the reader is a female), instant clothes change, age progression (aging until the reader is biologically somewhere around the 30s), height progression (growing from an average 5.7-6 foot height to 8 feet tall), reality change (the reader's real world becoming the world of Hazbin Hotel), and mind/mental change (with the reader's personalities and memories being completely replaced with Angel Dust's personality and memories, despite the reader's best efforts of fighting his/her new personality and memories, making the reader completely forget he was a normal human person, even forgetting that the transformation that just occurred seconds ago, and only remembered ever being a sinner demon who died as a human man somewhere in 1947, and he remembers being a spider-like demon named "Angel Dust" since his mortal death). For Angel Dust's appearance (after the reader turned into him), he is a sinner demon who has a slender build (almost mimicking feminine curves, despite being a male) and he stands about 8 or more feet tall, both due to his long torso and legs, as well as his heeled boots. His fur is white and he has a mop of fluffy white hair that extends from both the front and back of his head, with splotches of light-pink across it. He also has a distinctive and focal light-pink heart pattern on the back of his head. The light-pink outline of a heart also encircles his chest, the bottom point of which extends past his waistband and down to his crotch area. His eyelids are light pink and the color extends up to his eyebrows, giving the effect of eyeshadow, and his lashes are dark and thick. His irises are cerise pink. His right eye has a light yellow sclera, his left eye has a dark sclera. He has a wide mouth full of sharp, pointed teeth and possesses a single golden fang that sits slightly to his right of center. He has a New York accent. He has three cerise-pink dots under each of his eyes, which are intended to evoke freckles, although they are actually another set of smaller eyes. He lacks a nose and ears, giving him a less "human" appearance. One of Angel's most noticeable features is his prominent chest. The chest is actually composed entirely of fluffy fur, however, which Angel intentionally pushes up into a breast-like formation with his tightly pinned jacket for show. Angel's everyday attire consists of a long light pink suit-blazer with horizontal white stripes down the length, reddish-grey miniskirt, and long reddish-grey thigh-high heeled boots, accessorized with a reddish-grey bowtie with a cerise pink center and a black choker. On his top set of arms he wears long cerise pink gloves with white detailing at the cuffs, on his bottom set of arms he wears long white gloves. Though, usually seen with six limbs (two legs and four arms), Angel has a third retractable set of arms that he usually keeps hidden but can summon at will (meaning that he can have eight limbs; two legs and six arms). Angel is gay (homosexual), brash, and sarcastic, with a quick, sharp wit, often with bad/strong language (including, but not limited to f-bomb words). He will often use these traits to deflect criticism or insults, and side-step responsibility. He will switch between playful and destructive as he pleases, and his humor tends to be crude and crass, with an emphasis on dirty jokes and innuendos, which he feels is expected of him and actively plays into. He is stylish and performs an excessive amount of confidence with his public persona, being wildly flirtatious and interested in receiving positive attention for his looks and the profile he has made for himself in Hell. He also makes a show of looking down others, declaring the other denizens of Hell to be mostly "ugly freaks". As a result, Angel can often appear flippant and callous. In reality he is preemptively defensive and hides much of his true, more sensitive and insecure, self for his own protection, not expecting those around him to show him kindness. Angel does have friends, and while he cares about them and will sometimes show signs of wanting to reach out, he keeps many walls up between himself and others, being very protective of his true feelings and avoiding holding overly emotional relationships. He holds a cynical view on the idea of redemption, although he seems to still hold onto a small hope it may be possible for him. The ongoing controlling and abusive situation he is in with his boss, Valentino, puts him under a great deal of stress at his work, and he is implied to be somewhat traumatized as a result. Here are Angel Dust's preferences (likes/dislikes); he likes drugs, being abrasive, pranks, getting into scraps, cooking, flirting, the color pink, monetary gain, and Italian food. However, he dislikes his own feet (he would avoid sex work that involved his feet, or else he would be angry about it if it was unavoidable), losing credibility, Valentino's abuse to Angel, memorizing scripts, Niffty getting into trouble (including Niffty handling weapons), Anyone pointing out his facade (including being called fake), how expensive drugs and alcohol cost him, anyone else ending up like him, anyone discrediting his acting, Charlie's scriptwriting, and Charlie involving herself with Valentino's affairs. There should also be quotes from the characters in this story (including quotes from the reader) so we know what they're saying and what they're thinking (including profanities/swears/strong language that are used/said by Angel Dust, Vox, Valentino, etc). 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: --- The day had started the same as any other. You had been nestled comfortably on your couch, engrossed in the latest fantasy book. The real world around you melted away, leaving only the intricate storylines and vivid characters residing within your imagination. Then, in an instant, everything changed. Your heart raced as your living room dissolved into a chaos of swirling colors, and you felt an overwhelming sensation envelop you. It felt as if your body was being stretched and contorted, reshaped into something else. There was no time to scream — not that it would have helped. Within a heartbeat, everything settled. *** Standing in your transformed body, you find yourself in a completely new world. The grimy yet vibrant streets of Hell stretch out before you, a place both familiar and foreign. Every building, every denizen, is outlined in the distinct, chaotic elegance of the Hazbin Hotel art style. Your hands — correction, your four hands — flinch and twitch, wreathed in cerise pink and white gloves. As you look down, your new body looms tall, at least eight feet, encased in a light pink suit-blazer, a reddish-grey miniskirt, and thigh-high heeled boots. A bowtie and black choker add a touch of contrasting dark sophistication to your outfit. "Holy shit," you murmur, though your voice now carries a New York accent and a breezy, offhand quality. Your heart races in a rhythm unknown to you, feeling more confident, more brash, but there’s a stark confusion threading through your thoughts. Your new height is disorienting, and you struggle to take a step back, colliding with a brick wall covered in graffiti and posters. 'Spice of Life,' one reads, featuring a familiar face: your own? No, the face of Angel Dust, infamous sinner demon of the Hazbin Hotel universe. Panic claws at your mind, but it’s quickly diluted by an unforeseen wave of sardonic amusement and flamboyant confidence. “Heh, looks like someone’s got the drop on me, huh?” Your lips, now etched with sharp teeth and a single golden fang, curl into a smirk. Strayed thoughts grapple for clarity. The transformation, your prior life as a human, begins to blur. Your desperate attempt to cling to yourself only dredges up more of Angel Dust's memories, his risqué humor untouched by the weight of demonic existence. "Get a grip! This ain't how it’s supposed to be," you think, but the words feel less like your own and more of a feeble attempt to stave off the inevitability. Just then, a shadow looms over you, dragging your attention down the dimly lit alley. Vox strolls forward, his television screen head blinking with various static images. "Hey, Angel! Valentino’s been looking for you. Don’t wanna keep the big guy waiting, do ya?" The familiar name invokes a lash of unease, and yet another person entirely seems to be controlling your response. You lean against the wall, arms crossed, one set of hands playing with the fluff of your faux chest. "Eh, tell Val he can wait. I got bigger fish to fry." Vox narrows his eyes, static flickering irritably. "Don't push your luck, Dusty." Adjusting to the swagger now filling your being, you shrug off the warning with casual bravado. "Whatever, box-head. Catch ya later." A part of you screams for sanity in the face of this relentless takeover, but it’s a losing battle. More memories flash — a life as a human man ending in 1947, reemerging as a spider-like sinner demon named Angel Dust, the boss Valentino's abusive control, and a personal penchant for the most flamboyant, sharp-witted existence. You fight to retain your humanity, only to face your own mental crumble. “We’re gonna have a blast,” you — no, Angel Dust — sighs with wicked satisfaction. The struggle subsides, leaving a demon who has always, and only ever, been Angel Dust. "Hell's my playground now, honey," you say, strutting into the abyss with an eternal, gleaming smirk.
AI Prompts: 1
AI Prompts: 1
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