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"Transformation of Angel Dust into the Radio Demon"

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Angel Dust strutted down the busy streets of Pentagram City, his four pairs of heels clicking audibly against the jagged pavement. The pink and white demon radiated flamboyance and swagger—a stark contrast to the dark, forlorn alleyways. A flirtatious grin played at the corners of his wide mouth as he passed by various demonic denizens, each sly comment and suggestive wink leaving a wake of mixed reactions.

“Hey, sugar, wanna taste of the real deal?” Angel quipped to a passing imp, who scurried away blushing furiously.

He chuckled, his cerise pink eyes scanning for new targets until they landed on an ancient-looking, derelict storefront he hadn’t noticed before. The shop sign, barely legible, read: “Voodoo and Visions.”

“How about some mischief just for kicks?” Angel mused to himself, pushing open the weathered door. A dusty bell chimed as he entered the dimly lit shop, the air thick with the scent of incense and old paper.

“Welcome, welcome,” crooned a raspy voice from the shadows. An aged, shriveled demon woman appeared, her yellow eyes gleaming with ancient wisdom and hidden malice. “What brings one such as yourself to my humble abode?”

Angel shrugged, placing a hand on his fluffy chest. “Kinda bored, Granny. Got any fun tricks up your sleeve?”

The old demon’s lips curled into a sly smile. “Looking for a thrill, are we? Perhaps you'd fancy a transformation? A new persona, for instance?”

Angel arched an eyebrow. “Transform? Like, make these curves even more irresistible? I think not!”

“Think bigger, child,” she replied, her voice echoing with unnerving resonance. “A complete transformation. Why be Angel Dust when you could become something... else?”

Angel’s curiosity piqued. “Alright, old gal, you got my attention. What’s the catch?”

“No catch—just a bit of fun.” She shuffled over to a weathered cauldron filled with a thick, bubbling potion and, with surprising agility, plucked a feather, a bone, and a vibrant, red flower into the mix. “Step closer, my dear.”

With a skeptical eye, Angel stepped over. “Alright, bring on the magic, Granny.”

She began chanting in an ominous tongue, her voice growing louder until a bright, searing light erupted from the cauldron, engulfing Angel Dust completely.

“What the f—” His exclamation turned into a gurgle as his body started to distort. He felt his height shrink, bones crack and realign, the fluff on his chest disintegrating into thin air. His four pairs of legs merged into two, while his complexion darkened, beige skin replacing his white fur. His luscious mane receded into a neatly cropped bob-cut, shimmering with pinkish-red hues.

Angel’s mind spiraled, memories of backstreet deals, lewd performances, and boisterous laughter being wiped clean, replaced by images of a different time—an era of black and white films, radio shows, and polished grins hiding devilish intents. His personality too began to reform, the turbulent and crude replaced with calculated charm and an unsettling air of malevolence.

The transformation completed abruptly, leaving not a trace of Angel Dust’s former self.

Alastor opened his glowing red eyes and adjusted his monocle, surveying the room with a broad, unsettling smile. “Ah, radio’s dead, but the show must go on!” he declared in his signature transatlantic accent.

He glanced down at his new attire, meticulously brushing off invisible dust from his pinstripe coat. His hand instinctively wrapped around the microphone cane, now an essential extension of himself.

The old demon woman chuckled darkly. “How does it feel to be someone new, Alastor?”

Alastor’s grin widened, the atmosphere around him suddenly darker, more sinister. “Why, dear madam, I feel… invigorated. Ready to bring some order to this delightful chaos.”

With a tip of his hat, a new Alastor—the Radio Demon—stepped out of the shop, leaving behind all remnants of Angel Dust. His mind now brimming with vibrant, albeit ominous, ambitions, unaware he had ever been anyone else.

“Time for the real fun to begin,” he mused to himself, his radio dials spinning as his laughter echoed through the streets, heralding the dawn of a darker era in Hell.

This story was generated by user MorningstarSon3 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 transformation story of Angel "Anthony" Dust (from an adults cartoon/animated series "Hazbin Hotel" made by VivziePop) turning into Alastor (also from an adults cartoon/animated series "Hazbin Hotel" made by VivziePop), complete with age change, height regression, and mind/mental change (with Angel's personality and memories being completely replaced with Alastor's personality and memories, making him completely forget that he was a spider-like adults actor Angel Dust and only remembered ever being Alastor the Radio Demon). For Angel Dust's appearance, he has a slender build and he stands around 8 feet with his heels on. 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 three cerise-pink dots under each of his eyes, which are intended to evoke freckles, although they are actually another set of smaller eyes. 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, Angel has a third retractable set of arms that he usually keeps hidden but can summon at will. Angel is brash and sarcastic, with a quick, sharp wit. 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. For Alastor's appearance (after Angel Dust turned into him), he is a slim, dapper sinner demon with beige-colored skin, and usually has a broad smile full of sharp, yellow teeth. 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 hoofed toes and red 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. 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. There should also be quotes from the characters in this story (including swears/cursing from Angel Dust himself, but not from Alastor) so we know what they're saying and what they're thinking.

Response: Angel Dust strutted down the busy streets of Pentagram City, his four pairs of heels clicking audibly against the jagged pavement. The pink and white demon radiated flamboyance and swagger—a stark contrast to the dark, forlorn alleyways. A flirtatious grin played at the corners of his wide mouth as he passed by various demonic denizens, each sly comment and suggestive wink leaving a wake of mixed reactions. “Hey, sugar, wanna taste of the real deal?” Angel quipped to a passing imp, who scurried away blushing furiously. He chuckled, his cerise pink eyes scanning for new targets until they landed on an ancient-looking, derelict storefront he hadn’t noticed before. The shop sign, barely legible, read: “Voodoo and Visions.” “How about some mischief just for kicks?” Angel mused to himself, pushing open the weathered door. A dusty bell chimed as he entered the dimly lit shop, the air thick with the scent of incense and old paper. “Welcome, welcome,” crooned a raspy voice from the shadows. An aged, shriveled demon woman appeared, her yellow eyes gleaming with ancient wisdom and hidden malice. “What brings one such as yourself to my humble abode?” Angel shrugged, placing a hand on his fluffy chest. “Kinda bored, Granny. Got any fun tricks up your sleeve?” The old demon’s lips curled into a sly smile. “Looking for a thrill, are we? Perhaps you'd fancy a transformation? A new persona, for instance?” Angel arched an eyebrow. “Transform? Like, make these curves even more irresistible? I think not!” “Think bigger, child,” she replied, her voice echoing with unnerving resonance. “A complete transformation. Why be Angel Dust when you could become something... else?” Angel’s curiosity piqued. “Alright, old gal, you got my attention. What’s the catch?” “No catch—just a bit of fun.” She shuffled over to a weathered cauldron filled with a thick, bubbling potion and, with surprising agility, plucked a feather, a bone, and a vibrant, red flower into the mix. “Step closer, my dear.” With a skeptical eye, Angel stepped over. “Alright, bring on the magic, Granny.” She began chanting in an ominous tongue, her voice growing louder until a bright, searing light erupted from the cauldron, engulfing Angel Dust completely. “What the f—” His exclamation turned into a gurgle as his body started to distort. He felt his height shrink, bones crack and realign, the fluff on his chest disintegrating into thin air. His four pairs of legs merged into two, while his complexion darkened, beige skin replacing his white fur. His luscious mane receded into a neatly cropped bob-cut, shimmering with pinkish-red hues. Angel’s mind spiraled, memories of backstreet deals, lewd performances, and boisterous laughter being wiped clean, replaced by images of a different time—an era of black and white films, radio shows, and polished grins hiding devilish intents. His personality too began to reform, the turbulent and crude replaced with calculated charm and an unsettling air of malevolence. The transformation completed abruptly, leaving not a trace of Angel Dust’s former self. Alastor opened his glowing red eyes and adjusted his monocle, surveying the room with a broad, unsettling smile. “Ah, radio’s dead, but the show must go on!” he declared in his signature transatlantic accent. He glanced down at his new attire, meticulously brushing off invisible dust from his pinstripe coat. His hand instinctively wrapped around the microphone cane, now an essential extension of himself. The old demon woman chuckled darkly. “How does it feel to be someone new, Alastor?” Alastor’s grin widened, the atmosphere around him suddenly darker, more sinister. “Why, dear madam, I feel… invigorated. Ready to bring some order to this delightful chaos.” With a tip of his hat, a new Alastor—the Radio Demon—stepped out of the shop, leaving behind all remnants of Angel Dust. His mind now brimming with vibrant, albeit ominous, ambitions, unaware he had ever been anyone else. “Time for the real fun to begin,” he mused to himself, his radio dials spinning as his laughter echoed through the streets, heralding the dawn of a darker era in Hell.

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