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Metamorphosis of into Human Stolas: A Flamboyant Journey into Fantasy

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The day had started like any other. You held the latest fantasy novel in hand, its pages filled with mythical creatures and grand escapades, the escape you longed for from your ordinary world. Yet, fate had a twisted sense of humor, one that would take you on an entirely different adventure.

As you flipped to the next page, something peculiar happened. The words morphed, the ink swirling into an arcane design. You tried to blink it away, but the sensation only grew stronger, pulling you in. Your heart pounded in your chest as an inexorable force wrapped around you, knotting itself into your very essence.

A surge of pain coursed through your body, eliciting a scream that echoed through your empty living room. Your senses dulled for a fleeting moment before everything exploded into vivid clarity. Every cell was ablaze with metamorphosis.

“W-what’s happening to me?” The words slipped from your lips, trembling with fear. But they sounded strange, foreign. They carried an, oddly, refined tone, almost as though royalty spoke them.

You staggered to the mirror mounted on the adjacent wall. Frightened eyes—no, they were red now, vibrant with a fire you never held before—stared back at you. The reflection wasn't your own. Your body morphed, reshaping into something taller and more elegant, nearly six and a half feet tall. Your skin paled, hair turning gray, flowing gracefully to frame your newly formed features. The clothes were lavish, a red vest with coat-tails over a gray high-collared shirt, light gray puff tie, dark gray pants, black shoes—begging to be admired.

“No... this can't be real.” You shook your head, trying desperately to hold onto your identity, but it slipped like sand through your fingertips. Memories, not your own, relentlessly invaded your mind—towering halls of dark opulence, haunted by gilded portraits. You clutch your head, gasping, “I’m... I’m not...”

But the name—your name—echoed back with powerful conviction.

“Stolas.”

Flamboyant, dramatic, eccentric thoughts replaced your ordinary musings. Your heart raced faster, overtaken by a peculiar excitement at the lavish surroundings that filled your newfound memories. You fought hard, battling against this invasive torrent, but it was too overwhelming, too complete.

“Ah, right,” you mutter, suddenly aware you're holding memories of long nights lost in elaborate volumes of Hellish law, sharing none with anyone significant, a touch of lingering sadness coloring the thought. “This is—this has always been—my life.”

You felt tears sting your eyes, but they weren't driven by your absent identity. They were a momentary lapse into old wounds, into loneliness. Quickly regaining composure, you laughed—an authentic, light-hearted laugh, tinged with an edge of despondency that only you understood. No, Stolas understood.

“Mmm, how intriguing! It’s quite the outfit isn’t it?” The excitement welled up in you as you adjusted the glasses now perched on your forehead. “Red lenses, quite charming.”

There's still something off, something scrambled within, but every passing second solidifies this new self. You remember Blitzo, the complex dance of feelings there, and Stella, the cold, unfulfilled marriage, and Octavia—precious Octavia.

A wistful smile curls up on your lips. “Oh Octavia, I must check on her. Reading alone again, no doubt. What a dear.”

As you glide through your now-familiar home, the transformation completes its hold. The remnant essence of who you were smolders into ashes of a forgotten past, replaced entirely by Stolas's regality and eccentricity.

Any remaining struggle is buried under the relentless tide of Stolas's flamboyant yet intelligent demeanor. You—or he—makes a silent vow to navigate the same world with flamboyance and poise, sprinkled with dramatic flourishes and unabashed tenderness towards those dear.

Any memories of an ordinary life are now as mythic and lost as the stories you once adored. You are Stolas, fully absorbed into the decadent, perilous life; every ounce of you resonates with the certainty that it has always been this way.

This story was generated by user DylanVsFizzarolli7 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 a POV transformation story of a human reader instantly turning into a human version of Stolas (from an adults cartoon/animated series Helluva Boss), complete with gender change (if the reader is a female), instant clothes change, age change, height progression (increasing in height from an average 5.7-6 foot height to almost 6.5 feet tall), and mind/mental change (with the reader's personalities and memories being completely replaced with Stolas'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 person, even forgetting that the transformation that just occurred seconds ago, and only remembered that he had always been a man named Stolas, which is his real/true self). For Stolas's human appearance (after the reader turned into him), he is is much shorter than his goetia (owl-like demon) form, while still relatively rather tall compared to other humans. He only has one set of eyes (two eyes) instead of two sets of eyes (four eyes), which have white sclera with red irises, and a pair of pupils which he normally lacks in his regular form. He lacks any type of plumage so he instead has gray hair atop his head. His outfit (when he's a human) consists of a deep red vest with coat-tails reminiscent of his tail feathers, over a gray long-sleeve, high-collar shirt with a light gray puff tie. His pants are dark gray and he now has black shoes. During the episode "Seeing Stars" Stolas picks up a pair of red lensed glasses that he wears on his forehead, being reminiscent of his regular forms second set of eyes. Here is Stolas's personality; Stolas gives the immediate impression of someone regal and ostentatious, as would be expected for a royal of his station. He dresses in clothing befitting his role, and his mansion is decadent, containing many large, elaborately framed portraits of himself and his small family. Underneath these dignified trappings, however, Stolas is shown to be a flamboyant, dramatic, eccentric, and often giddy person. Someone who does not take his royal reputation as seriously as the people around him expect him to, and is prone to act quickly on his easily excitable emotions. He is also shown to be very intelligent, even as a child, due to being a bibliophile and having incredible knowledge of many things including the laws of Hell. Stolas can also often get caught up in pursuing his own present interests and fails to pay attention to the more pressing issues around him, including the feelings and needs of others. He has even dismissed their wishes under the belief that, as long as he was happy, everybody else was as well, even when he was told otherwise. He also has trouble expressing his emotions when facing bigger dilemmas such as having a hard time explaining to Octavia that his marriage was never good or standing up to Stella before his affair and having trouble talking to Blitzo about his true feelings toward him. Although, these tendencies can make him appear selfish and even airheaded to some people in his life, he isn't oblivious to correction or regret and this is something he makes an effort to improve on, specifically in regards to his beloved daughter, Octavia. Stolas is also shown to be very lonely, seemingly isolated and cloistered in his position. In the episode "The Circus", when he was a child, he told a young Blitzo that he never had anybody to share his books with, further supporting this notion. Although, he is married, it is clear that he and his wife are not on affectionate terms, and that their marriage is implied to have been somewhat cold for a long while. Stolas has, perhaps surprisingly, an equally romantic and explicit side, something he looks to indulge in with Blitzo, an imp, considered 'lower-class' among his peers, whom he is currently engaged in a complicated extramarital affair with. He is also very uncensored in discussing his many bedroom preferences, using highly explicit and flowery language, sometimes in front of others, and is interested in aspects of BDSM, such as bondage. Stolas is invested in Hell's soap operas as comfort shows, enjoys the process of getting ready for rendezvous, and swoons over idealized ideas of amorous romance. As with many demons, and the denizens of Hell in general, Stolas has a somewhat questionable moral compass and is implied to interfere with the affairs of humans for his own benefit. He can easily cross the boundary between Hell and the living world with his own personal grimoire, and seems to enjoy striking fear into humans. Despite this, he is also gentle and nurturing to those he cares for, showing open devotion to his daughter, concern towards Blitzo and his coworkers, as well as attentiveness to his large and lavish garden of carnivorous Hell-plants. 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. 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 like any other. You held the latest fantasy novel in hand, its pages filled with mythical creatures and grand escapades, the escape you longed for from your ordinary world. Yet, fate had a twisted sense of humor, one that would take you on an entirely different adventure. As you flipped to the next page, something peculiar happened. The words morphed, the ink swirling into an arcane design. You tried to blink it away, but the sensation only grew stronger, pulling you in. Your heart pounded in your chest as an inexorable force wrapped around you, knotting itself into your very essence. A surge of pain coursed through your body, eliciting a scream that echoed through your empty living room. Your senses dulled for a fleeting moment before everything exploded into vivid clarity. Every cell was ablaze with metamorphosis. “W-what’s happening to me?” The words slipped from your lips, trembling with fear. But they sounded strange, foreign. They carried an, oddly, refined tone, almost as though royalty spoke them. You staggered to the mirror mounted on the adjacent wall. Frightened eyes—no, they were red now, vibrant with a fire you never held before—stared back at you. The reflection wasn't your own. Your body morphed, reshaping into something taller and more elegant, nearly six and a half feet tall. Your skin paled, hair turning gray, flowing gracefully to frame your newly formed features. The clothes were lavish, a red vest with coat-tails over a gray high-collared shirt, light gray puff tie, dark gray pants, black shoes—begging to be admired. “No... this can't be real.” You shook your head, trying desperately to hold onto your identity, but it slipped like sand through your fingertips. Memories, not your own, relentlessly invaded your mind—towering halls of dark opulence, haunted by gilded portraits. You clutch your head, gasping, “I’m... I’m not...” But the name—your name—echoed back with powerful conviction. “Stolas.” Flamboyant, dramatic, eccentric thoughts replaced your ordinary musings. Your heart raced faster, overtaken by a peculiar excitement at the lavish surroundings that filled your newfound memories. You fought hard, battling against this invasive torrent, but it was too overwhelming, too complete. “Ah, right,” you mutter, suddenly aware you're holding memories of long nights lost in elaborate volumes of Hellish law, sharing none with anyone significant, a touch of lingering sadness coloring the thought. “This is—this has always been—my life.” You felt tears sting your eyes, but they weren't driven by your absent identity. They were a momentary lapse into old wounds, into loneliness. Quickly regaining composure, you laughed—an authentic, light-hearted laugh, tinged with an edge of despondency that only you understood. No, Stolas understood. “Mmm, how intriguing! It’s quite the outfit isn’t it?” The excitement welled up in you as you adjusted the glasses now perched on your forehead. “Red lenses, quite charming.” There's still something off, something scrambled within, but every passing second solidifies this new self. You remember Blitzo, the complex dance of feelings there, and Stella, the cold, unfulfilled marriage, and Octavia—precious Octavia. A wistful smile curls up on your lips. “Oh Octavia, I must check on her. Reading alone again, no doubt. What a dear.” As you glide through your now-familiar home, the transformation completes its hold. The remnant essence of who you were smolders into ashes of a forgotten past, replaced entirely by Stolas's regality and eccentricity. Any remaining struggle is buried under the relentless tide of Stolas's flamboyant yet intelligent demeanor. You—or he—makes a silent vow to navigate the same world with flamboyance and poise, sprinkled with dramatic flourishes and unabashed tenderness towards those dear. Any memories of an ordinary life are now as mythic and lost as the stories you once adored. You are Stolas, fully absorbed into the decadent, perilous life; every ounce of you resonates with the certainty that it has always been this way.

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