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Question: Write a POV transformation of a male human reader (a boy of 10 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.
What was once a world full of homework, cartoon marathons, and dreams of superheroes now takes a strange twist. Sitting alone in your room, safety erodes as reality shifts around you. Bare walls warp and twist, the very air heavy with a scent that seems like burnt ozone and sulfur, a stark contrast to the familiar smell of your room with the faint lingering scent of pancake breakfast from this morning. Your limbs, once small and delicate, become elongated, feeling much too big for your youthful body. Each movement abroad, sweeping waves, shocking in their newfound independence. Your body creaks, bemoaning the brusque demands of sudden growth. Panic sets in but as you run to the mirror, a man that you do not recognize stares back, backlit by the ominous glow of a reddening landscape outside your window. A shudder wracks your unseasoned frame as your footwear shifts. The comforting touch of your well-worn sneakers transitions into black boots, pointed-toe and unusual. Fiery red pulses from the soles, shaped into impossibly stylish hoof prints. Trousers elongate, shifting from casual comfort to slick professionalism. A red dress-shirt replaces the graphic T-shirt you wore earlier today, decked with a black cross splashed over the chest. Mind racing, you call out for your parents. The breath caught in your throat as once young and innocent voice has taken on a dulcet tone, rich like the whir of an old radio broadcast. The familiar world twists and contorts again as your call echoes against the cacophony of strange and alien sounds looming large outside. A sense of dread fills you as slick black gloves adorn your hands. You find yourself instinctively reaching for a cane, topped with a vintage-style microphone, its metallic form strangely sentient. Like the last puzzle piece being fit into place, a monocle surveys your room through a cold, analytical lens. A feeling of dread swells as you are no longer able to recall any memories of being a human child. A dissociative confusion stirs as you see your childhood toys in the corner but cannot recall their significance. The once-familiar forms of your parents in photos, blur and disappear. Birthdays, summer vacations, the sound of your mother calling you for dinner - these memories fade, replaced by memories of a world filled with chaotic souls, barely following the rhythm of afterlife. Your mind races, fighting off this strange tide of personality eclipsing your own – it's futile. A sharp grin materializes, followed by a laugh that ricochets off your former room's walls like a dissonant symphony. Robbed of its innocence, it is now filled with manic glee. A dash of vanity merges with a sense of sadistic humor. All that remain of your humble human past now lie buried deep beneath the transformative fortress. Through the fading mirror reflection, you only see Alastor now, dapper and slender with his unmistakable smile flashing yellow teeth. Beige skin and dark-red eyes, styled hair partnered with small black antlers, and a persona that simultaneously exudes charisma and vile amusement. Whether you embrace it or not, Alastor is the name, the identity, the reality, the eternity. "Isn't this quite the picture show," you say, your voice resounding with a transatlantic accent, as you observe your new reality. Now, you don't remember ever being a 10-year-old boy. What you remember is being Alastor, the Radio Demon, with a world full of demonic chaos at your disposal. With relief, you think, "Now, let the real fun begin!"
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