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Question: Write a POV transformation of the male human reader (a boy of 11 years old) turning into Alastor (from the adult animated TV series Hazbin Hotel), complete with clothes change, age progression (turning from a kid to between 30s-40s years old and being immortal), height progression (growing taller until he was adult-sized), reality/world change (the reader's real world warping and turning into the world of Hazbin Hotel), and mind/mental change (with the reader's mind being permanently and completely replaced with Alastor's personality and memories, despite all of the reader's best yet failed attempts on fighting off these mental changes and all his attempts to call the reader's parents for help, making the reader completely forget about his past self, having no memories of being a mortal human kid, and only remember being Alastor the Radio Demon). The transformation into Alastor is permanent (meaning it's forever) and completely irreversible. For Alastor's appearance (after the kid reader 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 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. 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 so we know what they're saying and what they're thinking.
“Stay strong,” you say, glancing at your reflection in the mirrored surface of a bathroom, a frightened 11-year-old boy. With a bated breath you notice strange changes in your reflection; familiar blues and purples of your simple T-shirt and shorts, fusing abruptly into a bright red dress shirt and long black pants. You reel back in shock, your fingers clenching your clothes, the fabric feeling different under your touch now. But the transformation didn’t stop there. Your body begins to twitch as if it is trying to break free of itself, your eyes clench shut with the sudden wash of coldness. You feel as though there are unseen strings radiating through your limbs, pulling at you from within, the boy's frame stretching taller by the second. You reach against the counter with trembling hands, trying to keep yourself steady as the porcelain cold sends shivers through your claw-like fingertips. "Mom! Dad!" you shout, as you feel a tightening coil in your spatial awareness, every fiber of your existence becoming alert. You can't precisely tell what's wrong but you could feel something shifting, transforming. But your pleas fall on empty silence, your surroundings distorting, transforming into a place so alien and unfamiliar, a twisted version of reality morphing into the chaotic world of Hazbin Hotel. "Courage is the best defense," you urged yourself, but something beyond your control was deviating your focus. Your mind was flooding with memories that weren't yours, voices that were not familiar. You tried to fight it, digging your nails into the side of your face as if you could halt the process. With a pang of despair, you realize your endeavours are futile. The memories of your past life as an innocent human child started to fade, being gradually replaced with the chaotic life of Alastor, the Radio Demon. Ah, Alastor. Isn't that a name you're going to get used to? You think, an unknown grin working its way across your face, a jovial shine encasing your bright red irises. You can almost taste the raw power and dominance of your very existence, your very being vibrating with timeless, eternal energy. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” you murmur to yourself, your voice echoing around with an odd familiarity. You almost wince at the sound, the transatlantic accent so foreign yet curiously natural. Your nerves buzzed with anticipation, the boy you once were now vanished, completely replaced with the persona of Alastor. Looking back at the mirror, you see a full-fledged demon, with a broad, almost eerie smile full of sharp, yellow teeth. You look down at your forearms, now dark grey, fading beautifully against the red hoof-toed feet. Tall, dark antlers extend from your head, something strange but oh-so familiar. With a deep red pinstripe coat donned perfectly, you look utterly dashing. "Quite the transformation, eh?" You say, playing with your thin cane attached to a vintage-style microphone. Its sentience blending in with your aura, making you acknowledge your complete immersion into your new form. Living in the human world, as a human, was a memory long forgotten. This was your world now, the world of Hazbin Hotel and you, Alastor, were destined to rule it.
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