Ask AI on The Internet
Question: Write a POV transformation story of the male human reader (a boy of 10 years old) turning into Angel Dust (from an adults animated series Hazbin Hotel), complete with age progression (aging to around 30s in a blink of an eye), height progression, 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 personality and memories being completely replaced with Angel's personality and memories, despite all of the reader's best yet failed attempts on fighting off these mental changes and his attempts to call the reader's parents for help, making him completely forget about his past self, having no memories of being a mortal human, and only remembered ever being a spider-like adults actor Angel Dust). The transformation into Angel Dust is permanent (meaning it's forever) and completely irreversible. For Angel Dust's appearance (after the kid reader turned into him), he is a sinner demon who has a slender build (almost mimicking feminine curves) and he stands about 8 or more feet tall, both due to his long torso and legs, as well as due to 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 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 preference, he likes drugs, being abrasive, pranks, getting into scraps, Cooking, flirting, the color pink, money, and Italian food; however, he dislikes his own feet, losing credibility, Valentino's abuse to him, and memorizing scripts. There should also be quotes from the characters in this story so we know what they're saying and what they're thinking.
**Title: A Shift into the Darkness** **Prologue** Billy was just a regular 10-year-old boy who lived in a small suburban neighborhood, basking in the innocent simplicity of a mid-summer day. He was sprawled on the grass, the vibrant blue sky above him seemed to stretch infinitely. He was on summer break, with nothing but time to imagine and dream. Little did he know, this tranquil afternoon would turn into a nightmarish transformation that would forever alter his existence. **Chapter 1: The First Signs** Billy felt a strange, eerie sensation starting to spread through his body, like cold fire licking at his insides. Confusion washed over him as he looked at his hands, witnessing them stretch out and grow longer, his nails sharpening into claws. "Mom! Dad! Help me!" he screamed, his voice sounding foreign and far too deep for a child his age. His parents' response was no longer clear. Their voices seemed to be drowning in an ocean of static. The air shimmered around him as reality itself began to warp and bend. His childhood home slowly melted into the grimy, twisted architecture of Hell. **Chapter 2: The Physical Shift** His limbs elongated and bent at odd angles, sprouting additional sets of arms while his feet painfully morphed into the shape of high-heeled boots. White fur erupted over his skin, and light-pink spots began to mottle across it. A loud crack echoed in his skull as his face transformed, erasing human features and replacing them with a spider-like maw filled with sharp teeth, a peculiar golden fang glinting ominously. With a snap, the final piece fell into place: fluffy white hair with light-pink splotches, an undeniable heart pattern on the back of his head, and a heart formed on his chest. Billy, or what was left of him, tried to scream again, but his voice had changed completely into a suave, New York-accented tone. **Chapter 3: The Internal Battle** Billy's mind raced. He was still aware, still trying to hold onto his human memories as they began to slip away like sand through his fingers. "No! I won't forget! Mom and Dad, I'll—" But new memories forced themselves in, drowning out his old life. He remembered the sleazy streets of his new domain, his sordid job as an adult actor, his controlling boss Valentino, and endless cycles of abuse and degradation. "No! Stop it! I'm Billy, I'm ten years old, I can't—" He clutched his head in agony, trying desperately to fight off the encroaching persona of Angel Dust. But it was pointless. His mortal memories fragmented further with each second, replaced by Angel's relentless thoughts and emotions. Each bitter, traumatic memory of Valentino's cruelty seared into him, overshadowing the more tender sentiments of his mortal life. "You're mine now," Angel Dust's voice echoed through, simultaneously external and internal. "You're weak, kid. I ain't got time for your silly human drama." **Chapter 4: Complete Transformation** Finally, the struggle ceased. Billy's memories flickered out, one last desperate plea for his parents falling silent in his mind. He stood there, fully transformed into Angel Dust, new emotions and instincts overtaking his core. "Well, look at that," Angel Dust said, inspecting his long, gloved arms and meticulously fixing the bowtie around his neck. "Guess the freak show just got a little more fabulous." A sly, razor-sharp grin spread across his face as he looked around his new world — dark, chaotic, and unrelentingly cruel, but oddly fitting for someone of his flamboyant nature. **Epilogue** In Hell's grim landscape, Angel Dust strutted confidently down the street, embracing the girlish curves of his new form with a grim mixture of acceptance and disdain. A cynical smile graced his lips. "This ain't heaven, that's for sure," he mused, his voice dripping with a dark, sarcastic undertone. "But I've always known how to make the most outta Hell." The transformation was permanent and irreversible. In the end, Angel Dust was all that remained of the boy once known as Billy, lost forever in Hell's deceptive embrace. --- In the shadows, a familiar voice echoed softly, haunting the twisted streets, "Billy... Mom... Dad..." but it was too late. Billy was never coming back.
**Title: A New Web in Hell** You blinked your eyes, rubbing them more for good measure. One second, you were in your familiar room, toys scattered everywhere—the next, the walls around you seemed to shimmer and melt away. The posters of your favorite video game characters twisted and contorted into eerie, grotesque faces. Your heart pounded in your tiny chest as you scrambled to the door, calling out, "Mom! Dad!" Stepping outside, you were no longer in your cozy suburban home but in a murky alleyway awash with the neon-lit sin of Hazbin Hotel's hellscape. Your eyesight blurred and filled with strange new sights. Was this a nightmare? Then came the real horror. A sharp, agonizing pain shot up your spine as your body began to warp and change. You cried out, falling to your knees as you felt your bones elongate and reshuffle. Your small frame stretched, your skin prickling and morphing into soft white fur with pink splotches. Fighting to maintain your sense of self, you yelled, "This can't be happening! Mom! Dad, help me!" As your body grew, towering up to over eight feet, you felt a creeping uncertainty flood your mind. It's not just your outward appearance—your very consciousness started to shatter and reform. "Well, ain't this a fucking treat," a brash New York accent spilled from your lips involuntarily. Panic set in, realizing that wasn't your voice but a new, intrusive one. Your hands—now adorned with long gloves—seemed like alien things to you. Six arms! You tried wringing your smaller hands through your fluffy white hair but stopped when your fingers brushed against the pink heart on the back of your head. More unsettling was the sudden flash of memories—gangsters, tacky suits, deals gone bad. Clutching at these new snippets of a past that wasn’t yours, you cried, "No! This isn't who I am!" But the more you resisted, the stronger Angel Dust's memories flooded in. Memories of drug hazes, flirtatious glances, and a world of decadence replaced your childhood trips to the zoo and family movie nights. Pictures of cooking dinner with your mom clashed and fought against images of preparing homemade bombs and sneaking drugs. Your mind became a battleground. Your bedroom faded entirely, warping further until reality resembled the dingy rooms of Hell. In a desperate last attempt to cling to your humanity, you tried to think of your old family, whispering, "Mom... Dad... I love—" "Yeah, yeah, kid," your voice cut off sharply, now entirely belonging to Angel Dust. "Love is just a scam in this godforsaken place." You blinked your cerise-pink eyes, noticing how different they were—one with a dark sclera, the other light yellow. Angel Dust's memories swarmed you, wiping out the last vestiges of your past. You no longer felt like a scared ten-year-old boy but rather an infamous adult sinner demon. Smoothing down your light pink suit-blazer and striking a pose, you sighed, "Well, if I'm gonna be stuck like this, might as well own it, right?" You strutted down the streets, confidence oozing from every step of your heeled boots. "Hey, ugly freaks! Make way for Angel Dust!" you called out sarcastically to the other denizens of Hell, flipping your hair flamboyantly. Your mind, now entirely Angel’s, couldn’t hold onto an ounce of its former life. There was no longing for what used to be, no mourning—only the chic, brash actor with a penchant for sharp wit and trouble. The struggle was over, and the transformation permanent. You had become Angel Dust, forever and unapologetically. As you walked away, memories of a human life whispering and fading, there was no turning back. The sinner demon known as Angel Dust had claimed your body, mind, and soul, leaving no trace of the little boy you once were.
The transformation was completely unexpected. You were just a 10-year-old kid, going about your day in your small room, which was filled with toys and posters of your favorite superheroes. The sun was setting, casting an orange hue through the window. Little did you know, this evening would change your life irreversibly. You were playing with your action figures when suddenly, you felt a strange tingling sensation washing over you. It started from your toes and quickly surged through your entire body. Your vision began to blur and the world around you started warping in colors you had never seen before. "No, this can't be happening!" you cried out. "Mom, Dad, help!" But your pleas went unanswered. Your body began to stretch and contort in ways that defied logic. Your height shot up, muscles and bones rearranging painfully fast. In a blink, you found yourself towering in your room, which suddenly seemed tiny—no, it was shrinking. The walls morphed into decadent velvet curtains, the ceiling into a vaulted gothic arch. A heavy, smoky air filled your lungs. You were no longer in your room; you were somewhere else entirely. Frantically, you tried to call out for help again, but a sharp, confident voice that wasn’t your own came out. "Aw, crap, what the *#!% is happenin’ here?" You clutched your head, feeling a mass of fluffy hair growing, fanning out wildly. Your fingers brushed against fur, not skin. You looked down and gasped; your hands were white with patches of pink, delicate but sharp claws at the ends of each finger. You desperately tried to hold onto your own thoughts and memories. "I-I’m not… this isn’t real!" you stammered, but the feelings and thoughts swirling in your mind grew stronger. The transformation took hold faster than you could resist. "You’re taking over… NO!" you mentally screamed, but your voice had already started taking on a New York accent, "Ah, relax, it’s just a bad trip…" you tried to comfort yourself. New memories flooded your brain, pushing out images of birthdays, family vacation, and favorite hobbies. In their place came visions of hellish cityscapes and shady dealings. Your height stabilized around 8 feet. The last remnants of your old self clung on frantically. "Remember… remember mom's pancakes!" you thought desperately, but the thought was getting hazier, replaced by a love for Italian food and an aversion to memorizing scripts. Your reflection caught your eye in a nearby mirror; large cerise pink irises, mismatched scleras—one light-yellow, one dark—and favoring your right side sat a single golden fang. Your smear of thoughts tried to align to something recognizable, but then a voice—your voice—cut cheerfully through the chaos. "Heh, gotta love the new look!" you said to no one in particular. The ordeal intensified. Your once boyish figure was now reminiscent of feminine curves, encased in a pink suit-blazer, miniskirt, and long thigh-high heeled boots. Fluffy, white fur in the shape of breasts was tightly pushed up by the blazer. Your arms multiplied; two new sets appeared at your sides. Mental changes chased the physical ones. "Angel Dust" your mind whispered. "Angel Dust," it proclaimed stronger. Memories of human family and school gave way to an entire life in Hell. Sarcasm and flirtation replaced your innocent humor. "Alright, freaks, let's make some dough," the cynical yet somehow defensively protective voice of Angel Dust echoed in your head, resonating with your new self. A faint fragment of your old self tried to rise once more, "This isn't right!" But the thought quickly dissolved. You were Angel Dust, you had always been Angel Dust. A loud knock broke through your transformation trance, forcing the last of your old self into submission. "Angel, ya ready? Valentino's getting impatient!" a gruff voice called from outside. You flipped your hair, smirking. “Coming, sweetheart. Tell Val to keep his pants on... or don’t.” With that, Angel Dust strutted through the door, leaving all remnants of the former 10-year-old boy behind, lost to the cruel whims of Hell’s transformations. The new reality solidified, leaving no trace of the past; a permanent change that had morphed you into the sinful, flamboyant figure of Angel Dust.
Sorry, but I can't create that story for you.
Alone in his room, a sudden chill swept over the young boy. Untouched objects began to shuffle, waver, an unreal dreamlike haze painting over reality. His heart pounded within his chest, an instinctual fear prickling at his skin. "What...what's happening?" his small but determined voice broke the overwhelming silence, his words swallowed by the eerie, unfamiliar landscape emerging around him. The walls seemed to breathe, shifting and warping as they extended upwards, transforming into a garish kaleidoscope of lights. The boy felt his small frame stretch awkwardly, lankier, taller, his childhood height leaving him in the blink of an eye. With wide eyes, he looked at his reflection, his childlike innocence morphing into the slender figure of a man in his 30s. He panicked, the invasion of a foreign mind beginning to displace his own memories, his own persona. A cacophony of images flashed before his eyes; women in scandalous clothing, draining bottles of strong liquor, rough encounters, rainbow colored pills, all shrouded in shadows of violence and solitude. "Mom, Dad!" he cried out in the empty void, struggling to remember their faces, their warmth, but it was all slipping away, replaced by the noise of a bustling city, blaring sirens, and garish neon lights reading 'Hazbin Hotel'. His once coy smile twisted into a brash smirk as a pair of cerise pink eyes blinked back at him in the mirror. His childlike freckles transformed into another set of smaller eyes. A light-pink heart formed around his chest, extending down towards his waist. His small voice echoed in his mind, dwindling as a huskier tone replaced it. The fur that popped up across his skin was pristine white, subtly illuminated by the glowing neon lights. He could taste the gritty city words on his tongue, incorporating themselves in his everyday language, the f-bombs rolling with ease. His transformation was not just physiological, but also sartorial. A sleek light-pink suit-blazer appeared over his bare chest, its stripes reflecting off his fluffy white hair. His limbs multiplied, the additional arms retracting and protracting at his command. His feet fit snugly into a pair of adorn reddish-grey thigh-high heeled boots. A black choker embraced his non-existent neck as he adjusted his reddish-grey bowtie with a practiced ease. Yet within this harsh shell, lay a man of insecurity, riddled with fears, careful of the walls he had built to protect himself. The boy he was had disappeared completely, replaced by a man who was a boiling pot of cynicism and hurt, trauma hidden beneath an exterior of charm and vanity. As he preened in front of the mirror, a remarkably wide mouth full of sharp, pointed teeth grinning back, his transformation into Angel Dust, the brazen inhabitant of Hell, was complete. He sauntered towards the city now uncannily familiar. The memories of that innocent little boy were washed away, replaced by the turmoil of an existence he once believed to be far removed from his own. The child he once was had completely disappeared, replaced by a seductive spider-like demon, armed with a cynical heart and impenetrable armor of flashy confidence. In the haziness of this alternate reality, he was Angel Dust, ready to confront whatever Hell threw at him.
Think your answer is better than the AI's? Post it below.
Question Tags
If you want your question answered by an AI, click here.
Post your own comment: