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"Transcending Mortality: The Transformation of Angel Dust"

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You're sitting comfortably on your couch, a cup of hot tea in one hand and a well-worn book in the other. As you flip to the final chapter, everything around you begins to blur and swirl. The once familiar reality of your living room melts away, transforming into something entirely otherworldly. You instinctively drop your book, but it disappears before it hits the ground.

In a matter of seconds, the room around you darkens, the walls melting into shadow and reforming with an eerie light and Gothic grandeur. Your skin prickles as the atmosphere changes; it feels denser, more oppressive. As you look down at your hands in confusion, you notice a fine, white fur sprouting quickly, spreading up your arms like sentient vines.

An involuntary gasp escapes you, but the voice isn’t yours—it's lighter, with an unmistakable New York accent. Before you can fully process this, you feel yourself growing, limbs elongating, torso stretching until you're towering at over eight feet. Your clothes twist and morph, a light pink suit-blazer with white stripes materializing atop your new form, completed with a reddish-grey miniskirt and thigh-high boots.

Your once soft hands are now delicate but strong, adorned with gloves. Four of them. Confusion and panic wash over you, but your new physiology barely allows the luxury of shock. An odd sensation pulls at your face, and you realize you no longer have a nose or ears, just a smooth, fur-covered visage. Glancing into a nearby mirror reveals the horrifying yet entrancing reflection of a sinewy spider-like demon with a wide, sharp-toothed grin and cerise-pink eyes.

"Fuck," you mutter, the sound alien yet fitting to your transformed self.

Your panic is soon accompanied by another, yet familiar, presence. The memories and personality of Angel Dust begin to cloud your human thoughts, encroaching like an unrelenting tide.

"No, no, goddammit!" You think, struggling to hold on to fragments of who you were. But with each passing second, the colorful memories of beginning each day with fresh coffee, mundane errands, and work meetings are muscled out by stark, visceral images of Hell, its dark alleys, and notorious denizens.

"You’re a sinner, remember?" a voice echoes in your mind, covering your human doubts with an assertive yet brash tone. Memories slot into place. You recall dying in 1947, your work in Hell's underbelly, and the face of your tormentor, Valentino. Your heart, once pumping to a mundane human rhythm, now beats to the chaos and hedonism you once managed.

A sultry voice interrupts your inner turmoil. "Angel, darling, such a marvelous entrance,” drawls Vox, his voice crackling with electronic glee.

"Damn straight, Voxxy," you hear yourself reply, unable to stop the flood of Angel’s mannerisms from taking over. "What can I say? I’ve got a reputation to maintain, sugar."

The complete transformation rushes over you like solstice twilight. Your desperate human thoughts become fleeting echoes, overridden by Angel’s brash and cynical persona. Friends, old lives, and mundane realities all fade to black, replaced by your infernal existence, rich in decadence and danger.

A door swings open, and the familiar oppressive presence of Valentino floods the room. "Angel Dust,” he says, the menace in his tone palpable, "Don’t forget your place."

Fucking prick, you think, but say, "Nah, Val, I wouldn't dream of it."

Your memory full of pain, stress, flirtations, and cynicism now feel naturally yours. There are no remnants of the human you once were. You're Angel Dust, a sinner demon, forever dancing on the edge of ruin and revelry in Hell.

Welcome to your new reality.

This story was generated by user LanHikari 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 human reader instantly turning into Angel Dust (from an adults cartoon/animated series Hazbin Hotel), complete with art style shift (the reader now being in a cartoon world of the Hazbin Hotel series, and the reader now becoming a cartoon character with the same art style as the other Hazbin Hotel characters, rather than being a real life person), gender change (if the reader is a female), instant clothes change, age progression (aging until the reader is biologically somewhere around the 30s), height progression (growing from a the reader's average 5.7-6 foot height to Angel Dust's 8 foot height), reality change (the reader's real world becoming the world of Hazbin Hotel), and mind/mental change (with the reader's personalities and memories being completely replaced with Angel Dust'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 human person, even forgetting and completely unaware that the transformation that just occurred seconds ago, and only remembered ever being a sinner demon who died as a human man somewhere in 1947, and he remembers being a spider-like demon named "Angel Dust" since his mortal death). For Angel Dust's appearance (after the reader 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 (instead the areas where the nose and ears should be are instead flat-yet-furry surfaces), 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. Here are Angel Dust's preferences (likes/dislikes); he likes drugs, being abrasive, pranks, getting into scraps, cooking, flirting, the color pink, monetary gain, and Italian food. However, 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, memorizing scripts, Niffty getting into trouble (including Niffty handling weapons), Anyone pointing out his facade (including being called fake), how expensive drugs and alcohol cost him, anyone else ending up like him, anyone discrediting his acting, Charlie's scriptwriting, and Charlie involving herself with Valentino's affairs. There should also be quotes from the characters (including but not limited to the reader or Angel Dust) in this story so we know what they're saying and what they're thinking (including profanities/swears (fuck, shit, bitch, damn, dick, etc) that are used/said by Angel Dust, Vox, Valentino, etc). 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're sitting comfortably on your couch, a cup of hot tea in one hand and a well-worn book in the other. As you flip to the final chapter, everything around you begins to blur and swirl. The once familiar reality of your living room melts away, transforming into something entirely otherworldly. You instinctively drop your book, but it disappears before it hits the ground. In a matter of seconds, the room around you darkens, the walls melting into shadow and reforming with an eerie light and Gothic grandeur. Your skin prickles as the atmosphere changes; it feels denser, more oppressive. As you look down at your hands in confusion, you notice a fine, white fur sprouting quickly, spreading up your arms like sentient vines. An involuntary gasp escapes you, but the voice isn’t yours—it's lighter, with an unmistakable New York accent. Before you can fully process this, you feel yourself growing, limbs elongating, torso stretching until you're towering at over eight feet. Your clothes twist and morph, a light pink suit-blazer with white stripes materializing atop your new form, completed with a reddish-grey miniskirt and thigh-high boots. Your once soft hands are now delicate but strong, adorned with gloves. Four of them. Confusion and panic wash over you, but your new physiology barely allows the luxury of shock. An odd sensation pulls at your face, and you realize you no longer have a nose or ears, just a smooth, fur-covered visage. Glancing into a nearby mirror reveals the horrifying yet entrancing reflection of a sinewy spider-like demon with a wide, sharp-toothed grin and cerise-pink eyes. "Fuck," you mutter, the sound alien yet fitting to your transformed self. Your panic is soon accompanied by another, yet familiar, presence. The memories and personality of Angel Dust begin to cloud your human thoughts, encroaching like an unrelenting tide. "No, no, goddammit!" You think, struggling to hold on to fragments of who you were. But with each passing second, the colorful memories of beginning each day with fresh coffee, mundane errands, and work meetings are muscled out by stark, visceral images of Hell, its dark alleys, and notorious denizens. "You’re a sinner, remember?" a voice echoes in your mind, covering your human doubts with an assertive yet brash tone. Memories slot into place. You recall dying in 1947, your work in Hell's underbelly, and the face of your tormentor, Valentino. Your heart, once pumping to a mundane human rhythm, now beats to the chaos and hedonism you once managed. A sultry voice interrupts your inner turmoil. "Angel, darling, such a marvelous entrance,” drawls Vox, his voice crackling with electronic glee. "Damn straight, Voxxy," you hear yourself reply, unable to stop the flood of Angel’s mannerisms from taking over. "What can I say? I’ve got a reputation to maintain, sugar." The complete transformation rushes over you like solstice twilight. Your desperate human thoughts become fleeting echoes, overridden by Angel’s brash and cynical persona. Friends, old lives, and mundane realities all fade to black, replaced by your infernal existence, rich in decadence and danger. A door swings open, and the familiar oppressive presence of Valentino floods the room. "Angel Dust,” he says, the menace in his tone palpable, "Don’t forget your place." Fucking prick, you think, but say, "Nah, Val, I wouldn't dream of it." Your memory full of pain, stress, flirtations, and cynicism now feel naturally yours. There are no remnants of the human you once were. You're Angel Dust, a sinner demon, forever dancing on the edge of ruin and revelry in Hell. Welcome to your new reality.

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