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"Rise of Hazbin Hotel's Demon: Reader's Unforgettable Transformation of Angel Dust"

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You sit down with anticipation, flipping open the latest volume in your fantasy novella. The somber daylight filters through your curtains, giving you just the right ambiance for some relaxed reading. As you immerse yourself deeper into the book, you barely notice the world around you starting to ripple as though reality itself quivers at the edges.

Suddenly, everything shifts. You have no warning—one moment, you are nestled in your reading nook, and the next, your vision blurs and your senses are overwhelmed. The textures of reality morph, becoming flatter and more vibrant as everything transitions into a cartoon-like haze.

Your own body begins to warp and alter. The sensation is beyond comprehension—a mixture of tingling, stretching, and compressing that runs from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. You no longer feel the rounded familiar shapes of your human form but instead feel yourself extending unnaturally. Your height pushes upwards, and your body narrows, acquiring an almost eerie slenderness. Life-like flesh gives way to a sleek surface, soon covered in fine white fur, with splashes of light pink decorating your figure in aesthetic patterns.

Before you can comprehend what's happening, your clothes have transformed too. You find yourself clad in a sharp, light-pink blazer with horizontal white stripes, reddish-grey miniskirt, and thigh-high heeled boots in matching hues. Your hands—no, your new cartoonish limbs—now sport long cerise pink gloves on your top set of arms and white gloves on your bottom set.

You stare down at yourself, now eight feet tall, with an additional third set of arms folded into your form, waiting to be summoned. Your eyes catch a reflection nearby; cerise pink irises stare back from asymmetrical sclerae, one light yellow and one dark. Your lips curl into a wide grin, revealing a row of pointed teeth with one single golden fang.

"For Pete's sake, what the heck is this?!" you shout, but the voice is not yours. It's brash with a distinct New York rasp. Panic sets in, but it's swiftly overcome by a surge of alien confidence and wit—thoughts not your own flood your mind, forcing your true self somewhere deep, deep into shadowy corners of consciousness.

You try to hold on to something—anything—that defines you as... you. Yet Angel Dust’s memories and personality forcefully overwrite the once familiar contours of your identity. The recollections of living as a human fade, replaced by images of smoggy hellscapes, sordid films, and lascivious escapades.

"Hey, Angel!" a voice snaps you back to the present. Your cerise pink eyes dart upward to see the familiar and disdainful figure of Vox.

"Yeah, Vox, what d'you want now?" your new self replies irritably, hands—no, your spidery limbs placing themselves on your hips provocatively.

“Val wants you in his office. Got some new business to discuss. And don't be late this time, Dust; he’s not in one of his forgiving moods.”

"That bastard," you think—or do you? “Fine! Tell 'im Angel’ll be there soon. Goddammit, can’t a demon get five minutes to himself here?”

You feel a cold shiver of resentment and yet, underneath it, a sense of twisted familiarity. Even if your new life is an endless whirlwind of messy shoots, violent bosses, and fleeting highs, it is—as far as you can remember—what it has always been.

The past semblance of your human existence ebbs away, leaving your demon mind vacant of any former chronicles. To the new you, the transformation seconds ago was never remembered, and your entirety has always belonged to Angel Dust. You strut confidently through the halls of the Hazbin Hotel, your thoughts marred with foul language and innuendos that effortlessly spring from your reinvented devilish mind.

You now bask in the chaotic embrace of your new reality, a popular albeit troubled adult film actor in Hell, hopelessly entwined in a life that feels indescribably foreign yet insidiously comfortable.

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 the 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 human death, and has since been in Hell afterwards and becoming a popular adults film actor (such as for sex films, etc)). 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. He also has four fingers (like all Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss characters), unlike real world humans. 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 are saying and what they are thinking (including profanities/swears/strong language/bad language, such as "fuck", "shit", "bitch", and many others that are used/said by Angel Dust, Vox, Valentino, etc, but the human reader doesn't use profanities/swears unlike Angel Dust, who the human reader transforms into). 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: You sit down with anticipation, flipping open the latest volume in your fantasy novella. The somber daylight filters through your curtains, giving you just the right ambiance for some relaxed reading. As you immerse yourself deeper into the book, you barely notice the world around you starting to ripple as though reality itself quivers at the edges. Suddenly, everything shifts. You have no warning—one moment, you are nestled in your reading nook, and the next, your vision blurs and your senses are overwhelmed. The textures of reality morph, becoming flatter and more vibrant as everything transitions into a cartoon-like haze. Your own body begins to warp and alter. The sensation is beyond comprehension—a mixture of tingling, stretching, and compressing that runs from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. You no longer feel the rounded familiar shapes of your human form but instead feel yourself extending unnaturally. Your height pushes upwards, and your body narrows, acquiring an almost eerie slenderness. Life-like flesh gives way to a sleek surface, soon covered in fine white fur, with splashes of light pink decorating your figure in aesthetic patterns. Before you can comprehend what's happening, your clothes have transformed too. You find yourself clad in a sharp, light-pink blazer with horizontal white stripes, reddish-grey miniskirt, and thigh-high heeled boots in matching hues. Your hands—no, your new cartoonish limbs—now sport long cerise pink gloves on your top set of arms and white gloves on your bottom set. You stare down at yourself, now eight feet tall, with an additional third set of arms folded into your form, waiting to be summoned. Your eyes catch a reflection nearby; cerise pink irises stare back from asymmetrical sclerae, one light yellow and one dark. Your lips curl into a wide grin, revealing a row of pointed teeth with one single golden fang. "For fuck's sake, what the hell is this?!" you shout, but the voice is not yours. It's brash with a distinct New York rasp. Panic sets in, but it's swiftly overcome by a surge of alien confidence and wit—thoughts not your own flood your mind, forcing your true self somewhere deep, deep into shadowy corners of consciousness. You try to hold on to something—anything—that defines you as... you. Yet Angel Dust’s memories and personality forcefully overwrite the once familiar contours of your identity. The recollections of living as a human fade, replaced by images of smoggy hellscapes, sordid films, and lascivious escapades. "Hey, Angel!" a voice snaps you back to the present. Your cerise pink eyes dart upward to see the familiar and disdainful figure of Vox. "Yeah, Vox, what d'you want now?" your new self replies irritably, hands—no, your spidery limbs placing themselves on your hips provocatively. “Val wants you in his office. Got some new business to discuss. And don't be late this time, Dust; he’s not in one of his forgiving moods.” "That bastard," you think—or do you? “Fine! Tell 'im Angel’ll be there soon. Goddammit, can’t a demon get five minutes to himself here?” You feel a cold shiver of resentment and yet, underneath it, a sense of twisted familiarity. Even if your new life is an endless whirlwind of messy shoots, violent bosses, and fleeting highs, it is—as far as you can remember—what it has always been. The past semblance of your human existence ebbs away, leaving your demon mind vacant of any former chronicles. To the new you, the transformation seconds ago was never remembered, and your entirety has always belonged to Angel Dust. You strut confidently through the halls of the Hazbin Hotel, your thoughts marred with foul language and innuendos that effortlessly spring from your reinvented devilish mind. You now bask in the chaotic embrace of your new reality, a popular albeit troubled adult film actor in Hell, hopelessly entwined in a life that feels indescribably foreign yet insidiously comfortable.

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