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"The Duet of Darkness: The Rise of Were-Alastor"

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The night of the attack haunts you, the image of Alastor's terrifying grin permanently etched in your memory. The pain had been excruciating as he bit into your throat, dragging his sharp teeth through your flesh and leaving you to bleed out on the cobblestone alley. As you lay there, gasping for air and clutching your neck, he leaned in close, his voice like static from an old radio. "This is merely the beginning of your curse, my dear."

You wanted to believe it had been a nightmare, a fever dream induced by blood loss and fear. But the bite marks were too real, and the full moon was just days away. Each tick of the clock felt like a countdown to an unknown horror.

Then, the moon rises.

The first sign is the searing pain in your bones, as if your very skeleton is fighting to escape your flesh. You collapse on the floor, clutching at your head as your vision blurs. Your desperate screams dissolve into a dreadful symphony of creaking bones and tearing ligaments.

"No... not again..." you gasp, feeling your body betray you.

Your limbs contort and stretch, your skin cracking and smoothing into a desolate beige. The pain crescendos as your face reshapes, your teeth sharpening into predatory points. Locks of hair fall out, replaced by perfect replicas of Alastor's pinkish-red and black-tipped bob-cut. Antlers sprout from your skull, tearing through the remains of your humanity.

"Fight it! Please, f-fight it!" you beg within.

Your clothes shift with your form, the warm fabric of your pajamas giving way to a red pinstripe coat, a black bowtie cinching tight around your neck. You're helpless to stop it; you're being rewritten. All remnants of scented shampoo and toothpaste are replaced by the vintage smell of aged fabric and dust.

Finally, the pain subsides, but the terror remains. You stand, now seven feet tall, swaying slightly as the world grows smaller beneath you. You glance into the mirror, and there is no "you" anymore—only Alastor, the Radio Demon, grinning back.

"W-What have I become?" you whisper in a voice that isn’t yours, but sounds like cracked radio static.

Your new eyes—dark-red sclerae and bright-red irises—glint with sinister glee. You could swear you hear a chuckle, and then you realize it's coming from you. "Well, well, well," you say in a voice not your own, but distinctly Alastor. "Looks like we've got ourselves a show tonight!"

Memories flood your mind, replacing your own. Your life, friends, family... they blur and fade into distant echoes. All you can see is Alastor's past: the flapper dresses, the jazz-filled nights, and the fall of Wall Street. Your memories are overwritten with 1930s broadcasts and macabre radio pranks.

"How... How can I stop this?" you try to recall your name, your life, but it slips through your grasp like sand.

The door creaks open and standing there, watching with sheer delight, is the original Alastor. "Welcome to the fold, my dear doppelgänger!" he exclaims, stepping inside with that same monstrous smile. “Or as I prefer, 'Were-Alastor.'”

He lifts his cane with its sentient microphone, and you find a similar one in your hand, almost by instinct. It feels natural, like an extension of your new self.

"We have much to do! So many souls to corrupt, so many humans to devour!" both Alastors laugh in perfect harmony, identical in voice, smiling faces, and sinister intent.

Under the light of the full moon, you join him, broadcasting your arrival into the mortal realm. Shadows obey your commands; your newfound power feels intoxicating. With every passing moment, you feel less of yourself and more of him. The thrill of it drowns out the last ashes of your former identity.

"Ready for our duet, brother?" Alastor asks, his voice a smirk disguised as words.

You twirl your cane, feeling the weight of eternal night settle into your bones. "But of course, dear Alastor," you reply, bowing slightly. "Let the dance of darkness begin."

As the two of you take to the streets, terrorizing and feasting on the unsuspecting populace, you realize that this is your new reality. Each full moon will bring forth Were-Alastor, the twin terror of the mortal realm. When daylight breaks, you'll revert, but gnawing dread will remain. The next full moon is always looming, ready to reshape you into the grinning demon once more.

But on these nights, you fully become Alastor, and the world trembles at the broadcasted laughter of two Radio Demons.

This story was generated by user MorningstarSon 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 mortal human reader being cursed and transformed in every full moon night into an identical twin brother of Alastor (from the adults cartoon/animated series Hazbin Hotel), complete with gender change (if the reader is a female), instant clothes change, age progression (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 his best efforts of fighting the new personality and memories, making him completely forget about his past self and only remember being Alastor the Radio Demon). For the reader's WereAlastor/Were-Alastor appearance (after the reader turned into his identical twin brother every full moon night), he is identical to Alastor in every way, in height, proportions, appearance, deep and voice (sounding like it's coming from an old vintage radio), supernatural powers, personality, and preferences. He also has his own thin cane with a sentient vintage style microphone attached to it, being of the different color from Alastor's own sentient vintage style microphone attached to it, whilst also having an eye in the middle of the microphone, and the WereAlastor/Were-Alastor reader uses his microphone-tipped cane to play sound effects and broadcast his voice. For Alastor's appearance, 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 is completely hairless except for his eyebrows, eyelashes, and the hair on the side, back, and top of his head (like a human's). 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). For his personality, 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 manly voice are similar to an old-fashioned radio announcer and speaks with a transatlantic accent (always literally sound like he is talking through a vintage radio), 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 Alastor's preferences, he likes/loves smiling, invading people's personal space, his mother and her cooking, the "picture show", strong liquor, cooking, people failing, playing pranks, black coffee, bitter tastes, theater, dancing, the Stock Market Crash of 1929, and venison; however, he dislikes being touched, dogs (possibly related to his death as a mortal human in 1933), frowning, tea, anything sweet, Angel Dust's sexual remarks, post-30s' technology, and anyone ruining his outfit. The story is that the reader has been cursed by being attacked by Alastor the Radio Demon himself, with Alastor biting the reader in the throat and ripping chunks of flesh, causing major blood loss (the reader however survives, just injured), before Alastor tells the reader it it's only the beginning of the curse. Just days later, at one night, when the moon is full (and after the reader sees the full moon), the reader undergoes a transformation. But he does not transform into a werewolf as he initially believes/thinks by the start of the transformation, instead, the reader transforms (against his will) completely into an identical clone of Alastor the Radio Demon, in both body and mind, every full moon night (the reader tries to fight back all the changes and call for help from his friend(s)/family, but to no avail), leaving the reader now completely transformed into Alastor (known to himself and the terrified humans as "Were-Alastor" or "WereAlastor" (which Alastor also likes to call himself every full moon night after transforming from a mortal, even claiming to scared mortal humans that he is "Were-Alastor" or "WereAlastor") due to transforming from a mortal boy every full moon night). The original Alastor, who had placed a curse on the reader just by biting the reader a few nights earlier, watches the transforming the reader and instantly befriends the new Alastor. The new Alastor, formerly the reader, now broadcasts throughout the mortal realm (Earth) alongside the original Alastor, with both the original Alastor and the new Alastor (known as "Were-Alastor" or "WereAlastor") also killing and feasting on any mortal humans and their souls from the mortal world every night on Earth when the moon is full (the reader transforms back to a normal human when morning arrives, but the reader transforms back into the Were-Alastor when it's a full moon night again). There should also be quotes from the characters in this story so we know what they're saying and what they are 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: The night of the attack haunts you, the image of Alastor's terrifying grin permanently etched in your memory. The pain had been excruciating as he bit into your throat, dragging his sharp teeth through your flesh and leaving you to bleed out on the cobblestone alley. As you lay there, gasping for air and clutching your neck, he leaned in close, his voice like static from an old radio. "This is merely the beginning of your curse, my dear." You wanted to believe it had been a nightmare, a fever dream induced by blood loss and fear. But the bite marks were too real, and the full moon was just days away. Each tick of the clock felt like a countdown to an unknown horror. Then, the moon rises. The first sign is the searing pain in your bones, as if your very skeleton is fighting to escape your flesh. You collapse on the floor, clutching at your head as your vision blurs. Your desperate screams dissolve into a dreadful symphony of creaking bones and tearing ligaments. "No... not again..." you gasp, feeling your body betray you. Your limbs contort and stretch, your skin cracking and smoothing into a desolate beige. The pain crescendos as your face reshapes, your teeth sharpening into predatory points. Locks of hair fall out, replaced by perfect replicas of Alastor's pinkish-red and black-tipped bob-cut. Antlers sprout from your skull, tearing through the remains of your humanity. "Fight it! Please, f-fight it!" you beg within. Your clothes shift with your form, the warm fabric of your pajamas giving way to a red pinstripe coat, a black bowtie cinching tight around your neck. You're helpless to stop it; you're being rewritten. All remnants of scented shampoo and toothpaste are replaced by the vintage smell of aged fabric and dust. Finally, the pain subsides, but the terror remains. You stand, now seven feet tall, swaying slightly as the world grows smaller beneath you. You glance into the mirror, and there is no "you" anymore—only Alastor, the Radio Demon, grinning back. "W-What have I become?" you whisper in a voice that isn’t yours, but sounds like cracked radio static. Your new eyes—dark-red sclerae and bright-red irises—glint with sinister glee. You could swear you hear a chuckle, and then you realize it's coming from you. "Well, well, well," you say in a voice not your own, but distinctly Alastor. "Looks like we've got ourselves a show tonight!" Memories flood your mind, replacing your own. Your life, friends, family... they blur and fade into distant echoes. All you can see is Alastor's past: the flapper dresses, the jazz-filled nights, and the fall of Wall Street. Your memories are overwritten with 1930s broadcasts and macabre radio pranks. "How... How can I stop this?" you try to recall your name, your life, but it slips through your grasp like sand. The door creaks open and standing there, watching with sheer delight, is the original Alastor. "Welcome to the fold, my dear doppelgänger!" he exclaims, stepping inside with that same monstrous smile. “Or as I prefer, 'Were-Alastor.'” He lifts his cane with its sentient microphone, and you find a similar one in your hand, almost by instinct. It feels natural, like an extension of your new self. "We have much to do! So many souls to corrupt, so many humans to devour!" both Alastors laugh in perfect harmony, identical in voice, smiling faces, and sinister intent. Under the light of the full moon, you join him, broadcasting your arrival into the mortal realm. Shadows obey your commands; your newfound power feels intoxicating. With every passing moment, you feel less of yourself and more of him. The thrill of it drowns out the last ashes of your former identity. "Ready for our duet, brother?" Alastor asks, his voice a smirk disguised as words. You twirl your cane, feeling the weight of eternal night settle into your bones. "But of course, dear Alastor," you reply, bowing slightly. "Let the dance of darkness begin." As the two of you take to the streets, terrorizing and feasting on the unsuspecting populace, you realize that this is your new reality. Each full moon will bring forth Were-Alastor, the twin terror of the mortal realm. When daylight breaks, you'll revert, but gnawing dread will remain. The next full moon is always looming, ready to reshape you into the grinning demon once more. But on these nights, you fully become Alastor, and the world trembles at the broadcasted laughter of two Radio Demons.

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