The skies of Mobius churned ominously, darker than Tails had ever seen them before. The usual whirl of momentous adventure and youthful exuberance felt oddly distant. The fox took in the surging vortex above, twin tails swinging anxiously behind him. "I have to find Sonic," he whispered, his voice carrying a slight quake of apprehension.
As if the world heard his plea, the dark clouds opened up, snatching Tails into a grip beyond his comprehension. Lightning struck with ethereal intensity, not around him but through him, infiltrating every corner of his being. Reality itself began to shimmer, a mirage twisting into a grotesque parody of reality.
“No! What’s happening?” screamed Tails, his voice already wavering under the strain of transformation. One by one, memories began flitting away, replaced by snippets of foreign thoughts and experiences. “Fuck! No, I can’t...I can’t forget!” The young fox, who unknowingly used profanity, tried to hold onto every vestige of familiarity, but it felt like gripping smoke.
His fur lightened, shifting into a pristine white, accented by erratic light-pink splotches. His body stretched, bones cracking and reshaping amid agony and strange euphoria. He groaned, “Sonic...help...me...” The plea dwindled into incoherence as his height shot up exponentially, toes curling inside the forming high-heeled boots now clamping onto his feet.
Disoriented, Tails now found himself towering, every childlike feature grotesquely refashioned into the demonically attractive persona of Angel Dust. He panted, taking in his new self—elegant suit-blazer, miniskirt, the bizarre prominence of his chest, and those numerous arms—all now his.
“What the fuck...?” his voice, now dripping with brash charisma, felt foreign, yet instinctually right. “Oh fantastic, Mobius is gone... and I’m in Hell. Literally.” The vulgarity caught him by surprise, yet it seemed the natural response.
The surrounding landscape had morphed into the bleak and chaotic surroundings of the Hazbin Hotel universe. Neon signs flashed lasciviously about, the air saturated with the pungent scent of sin. A languid, almost homely New York accent slipped effortlessly into his speech, “Alright, who’s the wiseguy?”
“Enjoying your new digs, sugar?” came a booming, suave voice. A dark, imperious figure stepped forward—Valentino, his new master. “You’re lookin’ stunning, even by Hell’s standards.”
Memories cascading of who he used to be became fewer and more fleeting. “Fuck off, Val. Some of us have standards,” Angel Dust retorted, baring his sharp teeth in an ill-concealed snarl. His heart raced, his mind mounting a desperate final stand against Tails' last vestiges.
“You presume to talk back to me?” Valentino’s voice was smooth, but the threat within was clear.
“Guess we’ll have to break you in, angel.”
A flash of what could only be called memories but were all too vivid and raw blazed through his mind—Sonic, friends, saving the world—but they were losing clarity fast, each thought fracturing into the mocking laughter of a sordid, lecherous existence.
“Let’s just fuckin’ get this over with,” Angel Dust sighed, deflecting fear and torment with one of his trademark twisted grins. He could feel the protective cynicism rising, the pranks and flirtations like fresh armor.
In his heart echoed the faintest voice, a whisper of tails whirring and heroic deeds, but it was no more than an echo now. “Yeah right, I must’ve hit the parmesan way too hard last night, thinkin’ I was savin’ the world and shit,” he laughed, composing himself, the vivid cerise pink of his eyes glinting with mischief.
"What kind of drugs ya got ready for me, Val?" Angel Dust quipped with a sarcastic twinkle in his nonchalant stance, rolling his eyes.
The world of Hazbin Hotel had him now, and he surrendered—the fox turning fully into the demon, brandishing the slick, sinister charm of Angel Dust.
This story was generated by user Fizzarolli-Attack-2 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 transformation story of Tails (from the Sonic The Hedgehog games) turning into Angel Dust (from the adults cartoon/animated series Hazbin Hotel), complete with clothes gaining (where Angel Dust's clothes appear on his body out of nowhere), age progression (turning from 8 years old somewhere in his 30s), height progression (growing from 2.7 feet tall to 8 feet tall), reality change (Tails's world warping and turning into the world of Hazbin Hotel), and mind/mental change (with Tails's personality and memories being completely replaced with Angel Dust's personality and memories, despite his best efforts on fighting off to preserve his personality and memories, making him only remember being Angel Dust). For Angel Dust's appearance (after Tails 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. 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. For Angel Dust's preferences, he likes drugs, being abrasive, pranks, getting into scraps, cooking, flirting, the color pink, money, and Italian food, but 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, and memorizing scripts. There should also be quotes from the characters (including but not limited to Tails or Angel Dust) in this story so we know what they're saying and what they're thinking (including profanities/swears that are used/said by Angel Dust, Valentino, etc). This story takes place after the story in this link: https://www.theinternet.io/ai/story/detail/fading-echoes-the-rise-of-the-radio-demon/ , meaning that Sonic had already transformed into Alastor the Radio Demon.
Response: The skies of Mobius churned ominously, darker than Tails had ever seen them before. The usual whirl of momentous adventure and youthful exuberance felt oddly distant. The fox took in the surging vortex above, twin tails swinging anxiously behind him. "I have to find Sonic," he whispered, his voice carrying a slight quake of apprehension. As if the world heard his plea, the dark clouds opened up, snatching Tails into a grip beyond his comprehension. Lightning struck with ethereal intensity, not around him but through him, infiltrating every corner of his being. Reality itself began to shimmer, a mirage twisting into a grotesque parody of reality. “No! What’s happening?” screamed Tails, his voice already wavering under the strain of transformation. One by one, memories began flitting away, replaced by snippets of foreign thoughts and experiences. “Fuck! No, I can’t...I can’t forget!” The young fox tried to hold onto every vestige of familiarity, but it felt like gripping smoke. His fur lightened, shifting into a pristine white, accented by erratic light-pink splotches. His body stretched, bones cracking and reshaping amid agony and strange euphoria. He groaned, “Sonic...help...me...” The plea dwindled into incoherence as his height shot up exponentially, toes curling inside the forming high-heeled boots now clamping onto his feet. Disoriented, Tails now found himself towering, every childlike feature grotesquely refashioned into the demonically attractive persona of Angel Dust. He panted, taking in his new self—elegant suit-blazer, miniskirt, the bizarre prominence of his chest, and those numerous arms—all now his. “What the fuck...?” his voice, now dripping with brash charisma, felt foreign, yet instinctually right. “Oh fantastic, Mobius is gone... and I’m in Hell. Literally.” The vulgarity caught him by surprise, yet it seemed the natural response. The surrounding landscape had morphed into the bleak and chaotic surroundings of the Hazbin Hotel universe. Neon signs flashed lasciviously about, the air saturated with the pungent scent of sin. A languid, almost homely New York accent slipped effortlessly into his speech, “Alright, who’s the wiseguy?” “Enjoying your new digs, sugar?” came a booming, suave voice. A dark, imperious figure stepped forward—Valentino, his new master. “You’re lookin’ stunning, even by Hell’s standards.” Memories cascading of who he used to be became fewer and more fleeting. “Fuck off, Val. Some of us have standards,” Angel Dust retorted, baring his sharp teeth in an ill-concealed snarl. His heart raced, his mind mounting a desperate final stand against Tails' last vestiges. “You presume to talk back to me?” Valentino’s voice was smooth, but the threat within was clear. “Guess we’ll have to break you in, angel.” A flash of what could only be called memories but were all too vivid and raw blazed through his mind—Sonic, friends, saving the world—but they were losing clarity fast, each thought fracturing into the mocking laughter of a sordid, lecherous existence. “Let’s just fuckin’ get this over with,” Angel Dust sighed, deflecting fear and torment with one of his trademark twisted grins. He could feel the protective cynicism rising, the pranks and flirtations like fresh armor. In his heart echoed the faintest voice, a whisper of tails whirring and heroic deeds, but it was no more than an echo now. “Yeah right, I must’ve hit the parmesan way too hard last night, thinkin’ I was savin’ the world and shit,” he laughed, composing himself, the vivid cerise pink of his eyes glinting with mischief. "What kind of drugs ya got ready for me, Val?" Angel Dust quipped with a sarcastic twinkle in his nonchalant stance, rolling his eyes. The world of Hazbin Hotel had him now, and he surrendered—the fox turning fully into the demon, brandishing the slick, sinister charm of Angel Dust.
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