You remain seated at your desk, the glow from your monitor casting long shadows in the dim room. It’s late, and the quietness of the night wraps around you like a blanket. You stifle a yawn and glance at the screen; another piece of fan art of Alastor from "Hazbin Hotel" catches your eye. You chuckle, admiring the creativity of the community as your mind drifts, contemplating your next venture into writing or artwork.
However, the hum of the computer grows louder, or maybe it’s the beating of your heart that pulses in your ears. There’s an odd vibration filling the room. Your brow furrows. Suddenly, the very air around you seems to rip apart. A dark, crackling portal forms, a searing pain in your mind. It grips you, forcing your gaze away from the light of your screen.
Before you can react, the figure of Alastor himself bounds through the rift, his broad grin wider than imaginable, and perpendicular to any reality you know. "Ah, good evening, my dear!" His voice slices through the space with the eerie resonance of an old radio broadcast. "You seem quite taken with my likeness. How delightful!"
"What's this?!" you shout, attempting to move but finding your body unresponsive, as though glued to the spot.
"Oh, apologies for the intrusion, but I thought I'd pay a little visit—bring some excitement into your rather dull existence." With a flick of his fingers, black magic swirls around you, binding you tighter than any earthly chains.
"No! Stop this!" you cry, struggling as the darkness envelopes you.
"Oh, come now, do try to relax," Alastor says with an almost playful lilt. "This won’t hurt much. Besides, every artist deserves a muse—or should I say, a lesson?"
As the magic weaves around, you feel your body stretching and contorting, each part reshaping and extending. The pain is excruciating—bones creak and reform, muscles stretch and tense. You’re growing taller and taller, your view of the world shifting upwards as your body reaches an astonishing seven feet in height.
"No! This can’t be happening!" you scream internally, flinching as you grow impossibly slim and elongated, losing all resemblance to your previous form.
But the changes don't stop. Your screams warble into raspy chuckles that you can't control. Your face twists, forced into an unnatural grin, sharp yellow teeth gleaming as they reshape your jaw, an everlasting smile carved into your very being. Your skin changes to an eerie, pale beige, and your once human face morphs into something almost alien.
More than just physical transformation is at play. Memories—distant and foreign—flood into your mind. The Louisiana bayou, a loving mother’s cooking, your first radio show…no, these aren’t your memories! This is wrong!
"Fight it!" you tell yourself, struggling to maintain your identity.
But Alastor’s magic is relentless. It seeps into your thoughts, replacing them, eroding them. You remember flashing back to 1933...only it’s not just a memory, it’s your reality. You were once a human, a serial killer, a charismatic radio host. Your identity aligns more and more with Alastor’s. You glance down, recognizing your attire but knowing it's not your doing: the red pinstripe coat, the black dress pants, the black knotted bowtie. All undeniably Alastor.
"Ah, much better now," Alastor’s voice soothes from somewhere beyond your own consciousness. "Isn't it splendid to be...us?"
"D-deal with me!" you shout hysterically, but the voice echoing back is not yours, but a twin of Alastor’s, uncanny and dissonant.
Then, the final blow. You feel your memories of your past life dissolve completely, replaced by a smug sense of power and superiority. Any trace of who you once were, evaporates.
"We are Alastor," you whisper in unison with the original Alastor. Your mind no longer fights back—it accepts, it indulges, it revels. You now share everything with your new twin: the taste of jambalaya, the thrill of broadcasting, the delight of domineering over others. You laugh—both as mirror images, the Radio Demons—as you plot the next steps in the amusement of helping Charlie run her so-called redemption hotel.
“Well, dear brother,” your voice is smooth, calculated, tinged with glee. “Shall we entertain Hell together?” With a shared, cynical chuckle, you both vanish into thin air, your unified laughter echoing through the darkened room, heralding a new chapter in the infernal saga of the Radio Demons.
This story was generated by user TyTyTyTyTi 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 the POV transformation story of the human reader turning into 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, and Alastor is getting tired of seeing artwork and stories (online) of himself getting turned into other characters in both body and mind (sometimes from different series), which he views 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 to be completely transformed in either body or mind, but is fighting a losing battle, and the voice inside the reader's head tells him/her that this is his true self and he is waking up from his human dream, making him truly and fully believe in the voice in his head and realizes that he had always been Alastor alongside the original Alastor, having been born as humans from the same human parents, enjoying their mother's cooking and their favorite food jambalaya, them both being radio show hosts and serial killers on Earth before they were both killed, both Alastor twins arriving in He ll as completely identical sinner demons nicknamed "The Radio Demons", as they continued their radio shows in Hell, and, despite finding Charlie Morningstar's (the princess of Hell) belief in redemption laughable, both Alastor twins want to help Charlie run the redemption hotel "Hazbin Hotel", albeit for their own amusement), and the reader's mind has also been completely replaced with Alastor's mind. 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: You remain seated at your desk, the glow from your monitor casting long shadows in the dim room. It’s late, and the quietness of the night wraps around you like a blanket. You stifle a yawn and glance at the screen; another piece of fan art of Alastor from "Hazbin Hotel" catches your eye. You chuckle, admiring the creativity of the community as your mind drifts, contemplating your next venture into writing or artwork. However, the hum of the computer grows louder, or maybe it’s the beating of your heart that pulses in your ears. There’s an odd vibration filling the room. Your brow furrows. Suddenly, the very air around you seems to rip apart. A dark, crackling portal forms, a searing pain in your mind. It grips you, forcing your gaze away from the light of your screen. Before you can react, the figure of Alastor himself bounds through the rift, his broad grin wider than imaginable, and perpendicular to any reality you know. "Ah, good evening, my dear!" His voice slices through the space with the eerie resonance of an old radio broadcast. "You seem quite taken with my likeness. How delightful!" "What's this?!" you shout, attempting to move but finding your body unresponsive, as though glued to the spot. "Oh, apologies for the intrusion, but I thought I'd pay a little visit—bring some excitement into your rather dull existence." With a flick of his fingers, black magic swirls around you, binding you tighter than any earthly chains. "No! Stop this!" you cry, struggling as the darkness envelopes you. "Oh, come now, do try to relax," Alastor says with an almost playful lilt. "This won’t hurt much. Besides, every artist deserves a muse—or should I say, a lesson?" As the magic weaves around, you feel your body stretching and contorting, each part reshaping and extending. The pain is excruciating—bones creak and reform, muscles stretch and tense. You’re growing taller and taller, your view of the world shifting upwards as your body reaches an astonishing seven feet in height. "No! This can’t be happening!" you scream internally, flinching as you grow impossibly slim and elongated, losing all resemblance to your previous form. But the changes don't stop. Your screams warble into raspy chuckles that you can't control. Your face twists, forced into an unnatural grin, sharp yellow teeth gleaming as they reshape your jaw, an everlasting smile carved into your very being. Your skin changes to an eerie, pale beige, and your once human face morphs into something almost alien. More than just physical transformation is at play. Memories—distant and foreign—flood into your mind. The Louisiana bayou, a loving mother’s cooking, your first radio show…no, these aren’t your memories! This is wrong! "Fight it!" you tell yourself, struggling to maintain your identity. But Alastor’s magic is relentless. It seeps into your thoughts, replacing them, eroding them. You remember flashing back to 1933...only it’s not just a memory, it’s your reality. You were once a human, a serial killer, a charismatic radio host. Your identity aligns more and more with Alastor’s. You glance down, recognizing your attire but knowing it's not your doing: the red pinstripe coat, the black dress pants, the black knotted bowtie. All undeniably Alastor. "Ah, much better now," Alastor’s voice soothes from somewhere beyond your own consciousness. "Isn't it splendid to be...us?" "D-deal with me!" you shout hysterically, but the voice echoing back is not yours, but a twin of Alastor’s, uncanny and dissonant. Then, the final blow. You feel your memories of your past life dissolve completely, replaced by a smug sense of power and superiority. Any trace of who you once were, evaporates. "We are Alastor," you whisper in unison with the original Alastor. Your mind no longer fights back—it accepts, it indulges, it revels. You now share everything with your new twin: the taste of jambalaya, the thrill of broadcasting, the delight of domineering over others. You laugh—both as mirror images, the Radio Demons—as you plot the next steps in the amusement of helping Charlie run her so-called redemption hotel. “Well, dear brother,” your voice is smooth, calculated, tinged with glee. “Shall we entertain Hell together?” With a shared, cynical chuckle, you both vanish into thin air, your unified laughter echoing through the darkened room, heralding a new chapter in the infernal saga of the Radio Demons.
AI Prompts: 1
AI Prompts: 1
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