"The Abyssal Rebirth: From Demon to Leviathan Whale"
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Alastor never thought he'd see the day when the life he once cherished—if his existence could be called "life"—would fall away like the peeling veneer of an ancient, decrepit radio. The transformation began subtly, an unexpected throbbing pain splintering through his lithe, 7-foot frame, making his normally toothy, yellow smile falter.
"What the devil?" Alastor grimaced, clutching his stomach as if a parasite gnawed at his insides. His sharp, radio-dial eyes shifted erratically, capturing the dappled light in his dimly lit Hellish domain.
The transformation progressed rapidly. His beige-hued skin began to ripple and change, waves of gray-blue cascading over his form. His long, thin legs started melting together, bones elongating, muscles expanding exponentially. Alastor’s eyes widened in terror, their red irises and pupils dilating. His monocle clattered uselessly to the ground.
"Impossible! I refuse to be undone by such—" His sentence strangled itself as his vocal cords constricted, his voice morphing into a guttural rumble before words could no longer form. His hands contorted, fingers elongating and fusing into elongated flippers. The microphone cane embedded in his grip fell away, its sentient hum reducing to mournful static.
His once dapper, pinstripe attire disintegrated as his torso ballooned, the red bowtie and monocle swallowed into the expanding skin. Antlers receded while tufts of hair flattened, becoming extraneous in the face of burgeoning mass and bone. His once deer-like ears vanished, melding seamlessly into his morphing cranium.
In mere moments, Alastor’s jaw snapped and reformed, changing from a toothy maw into an expansive, baleen-stuffed behemoth suitable for plunging through oceans. Thought by bereft thought, his previous life faded, replaced by a tidal wave of new instincts and impulses. His large red eyes turned into small, black dots, his human gaze lost within alien pupils. Two blowholes emerged atop his transforming skull, granting him the capacity to breathe in ways he never comprehended before.
A sinister voice whispered in his mind, oozing both authority and distinction—like an old-timey radio broadcaster with an oddly soothing timbre, yet relentlessly powerful. "You were never Alastor. You were never a demon. This body you see before you? It is your true self: a majestic female blue whale."
Panic sparked one final time in Alastor’s consciousness. Desperate to cling onto his old identity, he tried to hold onto memories of his demonic escapades, the impressionable Hell, and his unyielding self-importance. But the resistance was futile, as his memories skittered away like escaping fish.
A transient thought floated in his eroding brain: *Charlie calling him “a charming demon belle”*—but this too melted into incoherent vibrations, just one more noise reduced to the cacophony of the ocean. Finally, he surrendered, even as the tranquility of this surrender dulled his knowing.
Her colossal frame now sliced effortlessly through the teeming water, communication returning not through words or language, but through the profound resonance of whale songs. Despite everything Alastor once stood for, he—now she—knew nothing of speech, only of an ancient call echoing amongst her kin.
"Embrace this new existence," the voice continued, now more pervasive and all-encompassing. "You belong to the world’s oceans. Mate with the others, birth a calf. Populate your species, as your kind has always done."
Instinct took control of the transformed being. She glided through oceanic trenches and rose back to the sunlit shallows, mindlessly resonating the tantalizing melodies drawing her to her future partner. She understood nothing but the deep urge to reproduce, to bring life into the world. The old self—Alastor—faded into obscurity, never to reemerge in corporal or memory form.
A deep, alluring whale song filled the salty abyss around her, leading her closer to a male blue whale. And as she aligned herself with her new destiny, nothing remained of her Hellish past but faint, dissonant echoes lost beneath layers of time and tide.
This story was generated by user Eshtama 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 transformation story of Alastor (from the adults cartoon/animated series Hazbin Hotel) turning into a blue whale (scientifically named "Balaenoptera musculus") female from real life, complete with gender change, massive growth, weight gain, body changes (his toothy jaws morphing and developing into a massive baleen-filled jaw, two blowholes on top of his head (formerly his nose on his face), mottled grayish-blue skin (instead of beige skin), a pair of elongated flippers (instead of his arms), small black eyes (instead of his large red eyes), a large tail stock at the root of the wide and thin flukes (his legs turned into a whale tail/fluke), etc), age change, and mind/mental change (with Alastor's personalities and memories being replaced with a female blue whale's personality and memories, with the voice inside his head telling him that he was never Alastor and never a demon to begin with and tells the newly-transformed being that he (now she) was always a blue whale, despite Alastor's understanding of her language and words dimming/shrinking to nothingness, making her completely unable to understand languages or words, making words and language just vibrations/noises to her, and she only knows how to communicate through whale songs and such, before the voice in her head encourages her to mate with the male blue whales to help birth her calf and thus to help populate her species as her kind always had (even her mother, also a blue whale). Despite her best efforts of holding onto the memories and personality as Alastor, she has lost all of them and has completely turned into a blue whale female). For Alastor's appearance, he is a slim, dapper sinner demon with beige-colored skin, and usually has a broad smile full of sharp, yellow teeth. 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 hoofed toes and red 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. 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. For the female blue whale's appearance (after Alastor turned into her), she is 108 feet (33 meters) in length, weighing 173 tonnes (190 short tons), and has a slender body with a broad U-shaped head; thin, elongated flippers; a small 33 centimeter (13 inch) sickle-shaped dorsal fin located close to the tail and a large tail stock at the root of the wide and thin flukes. Her upper jaw is lined with 70–395 black baleen plates. Her throat region has 60–88 grooves which allows the skin to expand during feeding. She has two blowholes that can squirt 9.1–12.2 meters (30–40 feet) up in the air. Her skin has a mottled grayish-blue coloration, appearing blue underwater; her underbelly has lighter pigmentation and can appear yellowish due to diatoms in the water. There should also be quotes from the characters in this story so we know what they're saying and what they're thinking.
Response: Alastor never thought he'd see the day when the life he once cherished—if his existence could be called "life"—would fall away like the peeling veneer of an ancient, decrepit radio. The transformation began subtly, an unexpected throbbing pain splintering through his lithe, 7-foot frame, making his normally toothy, yellow smile falter. "What the devil?" Alastor grimaced, clutching his stomach as if a parasite gnawed at his insides. His sharp, radio-dial eyes shifted erratically, capturing the dappled light in his dimly lit Hellish domain. The transformation progressed rapidly. His beige-hued skin began to ripple and change, waves of gray-blue cascading over his form. His long, thin legs started melting together, bones elongating, muscles expanding exponentially. Alastor’s eyes widened in terror, their red irises and pupils dilating. His monocle clattered uselessly to the ground. "Impossible! I refuse to be undone by such—" His sentence strangled itself as his vocal cords constricted, his voice morphing into a guttural rumble before words could no longer form. His hands contorted, fingers elongating and fusing into elongated flippers. The microphone cane embedded in his grip fell away, its sentient hum reducing to mournful static. His once dapper, pinstripe attire disintegrated as his torso ballooned, the red bowtie and monocle swallowed into the expanding skin. Antlers receded while tufts of hair flattened, becoming extraneous in the face of burgeoning mass and bone. His once deer-like ears vanished, melding seamlessly into his morphing cranium. In mere moments, Alastor’s jaw snapped and reformed, changing from a toothy maw into an expansive, baleen-stuffed behemoth suitable for plunging through oceans. Thought by bereft thought, his previous life faded, replaced by a tidal wave of new instincts and impulses. His large red eyes turned into small, black dots, his human gaze lost within alien pupils. Two blowholes emerged atop his transforming skull, granting him the capacity to breathe in ways he never comprehended before. A sinister voice whispered in his mind, oozing both authority and distinction—like an old-timey radio broadcaster with an oddly soothing timbre, yet relentlessly powerful. "You were never Alastor. You were never a demon. This body you see before you? It is your true self: a majestic female blue whale." Panic sparked one final time in Alastor’s consciousness. Desperate to cling onto his old identity, he tried to hold onto memories of his demonic escapades, the impressionable Hell, and his unyielding self-importance. But the resistance was futile, as his memories skittered away like escaping fish. A transient thought floated in his eroding brain: *Charlie calling him “a charming demon belle”*—but this too melted into incoherent vibrations, just one more noise reduced to the cacophony of the ocean. Finally, he surrendered, even as the tranquility of this surrender dulled his knowing. Her colossal frame now sliced effortlessly through the teeming water, communication returning not through words or language, but through the profound resonance of whale songs. Despite everything Alastor once stood for, he—now she—knew nothing of speech, only of an ancient call echoing amongst her kin. "Embrace this new existence," the voice continued, now more pervasive and all-encompassing. "You belong to the world’s oceans. Mate with the others, birth a calf. Populate your species, as your kind has always done." Instinct took control of the transformed being. She glided through oceanic trenches and rose back to the sunlit shallows, mindlessly resonating the tantalizing melodies drawing her to her future partner. She understood nothing but the deep urge to reproduce, to bring life into the world. The old self—Alastor—faded into obscurity, never to reemerge in corporal or memory form. A deep, alluring whale song filled the salty abyss around her, leading her closer to a male blue whale. And as she aligned herself with her new destiny, nothing remained of her Hellish past but faint, dissonant echoes lost beneath layers of time and tide.
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