He is also shown to be protective of Blitzo, as when Joe suggests that they get rid of Blitzo, Moxxie immediately objects. Moxxie

The sun was shining brightly outside your window as you leaned back in your chair, scrolling through the latest updates on your phone. Life was a delicate balance of work, play, and the odd chore here and there. However, today was peculiar. You had the strangest sensation tickling the back of your mind, almost like a whisper that you couldn't quite catch. Suddenly, your room seemed to shift. The walls began to darken as if shadowy tendrils were wrapping themselves around your reality, pulling it apart like the pages of a book. Panic gripped you, but before you could react, a wave of dizziness hit you. You toppled off your chair, gasping for air as if the very essence of your being was being rewritten. Your skin tingled, crawling with an unfamiliar sensation. Red hues began blossoming across your arms, replacing the flesh you knew. White freckles appeared on your cheeks as if splattered by some ethereal artist. Looking down, horror gripped you as your entire form started to shrink, your height regressing rapidly until your feet dangled awkwardly above the ground. "S-stop this! This can't be happening!" you cried out, but your voice was drowned in the cacophony of changes surging through you. Your clothes morphed, twisting and tightening, forming into a navy-black coat with red buttons and white cuffs. A white shirt with a black turtleneck materialized under it, accentuated by a large red bow-tie. Fingerless gloves adorned your hands, which now seemed more adept for wielding weapons than for everyday tasks. You fought the changes mentally, struggling to hold on to the fragments of who you were. "I won't forget..." you panted, clutching your head as memories that were not your own invaded your consciousness. Flashes of training with various weapons, interjections of life as an imp, constant bullying for your lack of physical strength, and a deep, enduring love for a woman named Millie stormed through your mind, usurping your reality. "No, I am not..." you whispered, feeling your personality slipping away. Every time you tried to recall your life before this moment, your thoughts grew fuzzier. The world around you transitioned seamlessly into a dark and twisted version of existence—Hell's a place where survival hinged on blood and wits. You felt the change in mind and body finalizing as your height settled at 3.9 feet, with lanky digitigrade legs ending in cloven hooves standing you firmly in place. "Moxxie," a voice called out, snapping your attention back to reality. You glanced around, recognizing the familiar scenes of the Helluva Boss universe. The voice was coming from Millie, who had a concerned look on her face. "Are you alright?" You stood up, shaking off the lingering confusion, and smiled at her, memories of a life as a human now completely wiped from your mind. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just a bit of a head rush." Everything about who you once were vanished into the back of your consciousness, swallowed by the transformation. You were Moxxie now, an imp, a weapons specialist at I.M.P., and the devoted husband of Millie. The world you once knew had faded into the ether, replaced by the stark, often brutal life of demon hunters for hire. As you entwine your fingers with Millie’s, her grin affirms your place in this reality unmistakably. "Let's get back to work," you say, your voice carrying the distinct inflections and accent that defined Moxxie. And just like that, the person you were before ceased to exist, leaving only Moxxie to live, love, and fight in the darkly vibrant world of Helluva Boss.

You are standing in your room, going over your notes for the day. Your mind wanders as you sift through the endless tasks and responsibilities that make up your daily life. The room is quiet, save for the soft hum of the computer in the corner. Suddenly, the world around you begins to shift and blur, as though reality itself is melting away. You rub your eyes, thinking you must be imagining things. But as you open them again, you realize you’re no longer in your room. The walls have taken on a dark, foreboding hue, and the air feels strangely different—thicker, somehow, with an almost palpable sense of dread. This... this can’t be real, you think. It looks just like the world from Helluva Boss. Before you have time to process the shock, a strange sensation begins to crawl up your spine. The sensation quickly spreads throughout your entire body, bringing with it a dizzying mix of heat and a feeling like someone is reshaping you from the inside out. Your clothes start to morph and twist, becoming a sleek navy-black coat with red buttons and white cuffs, black toe-less pants, and a white shirt with a black turtleneck. A large red bow tie materializes around your neck, and you look down to see fingerless gloves snugly fitting your hands. Your height diminishes rapidly, along with your body frame, leaving you feeling compact and distinctly impish. You look at your hands—now smaller and with a red hue. A sensation tickles the back of your skull as your hair changes, becoming white and pointy, tapering up to curvy black and white striped horns. You reach up and feel them, solid and unmistakably part of you now. Your legs begin to reshape, bending in unfamiliar ways, forming lanky digitigrade legs that end in cloven hooves. When you glance behind you, you see a long thin tail complete with a quadrilateral barb at the end. Panic begins to set in as you feel your memories starting to distort. You fight to hold onto who you were, but it’s as though a tidal wave is washing over your mind. Detailed knowledge of various weapons fills your consciousness, crowding out your former memories of school, family, and friends. You’re no longer yourself; you are Moxxie, the I.M.P's weapon specialist. Your thoughts shift from worrying over your current predicament to fretting about the dysfunction within I.M.P., the workplace politics, and the antics of your boss, Blitzo. Your new memories paint a fresh narrative: you remember the love you share with your wife, Millie, and the constant bullying you endure for not being as strong as some of the other imps like Striker, Lin, and Joe. The feelings of insecurity, the queasiness with unnecessary killings beyond your targets, and your attempts to give people second chances all solidify, suffocating the last remnants of who you used to be. You resist, trying to remember your real name, your real life, but it’s no use. Each attempt to grasp at your old self is met with a flood of Moxxie’s experiences and emotions. The final straw comes when you trip over a ritualistic book, just like you always seem to—clumsiness and all. A sigh of frustration escapes your lips, completely in Moxxie's vocal timbre. Your world is now the world of Helluva Boss, and you, Moxxie, stand there, feeling an odd mixture of resignation and resolve. The transformation is complete. You remember nothing of your past life as a normal person. All you know now is your life as an imp, one filled with love for Millie, annoyance with Blitzo, and the complicated moral landscape of working for I.M.P. The reader you once were is forever lost, replaced by Moxxie’s quirks, traits, and life experiences. And as the imp you’ve become, you can only move forward in the world of Helluva Boss.

As you sit at your desk, scrolling through your social media feed, you can't help but notice the growing exhaustion and monotony in your life. The world around you feels more tiresome with each passing day, and you yearn for something different, something extraordinary. You dive into the latest episode of Helluva Boss to escape reality, fully immersed in the chaos and hilarity of the demonic world. Suddenly, your screen flickers, and an unexpected pain courses through your body. Gasping, you clutch your chest as a strange warmth spreads through your limbs. You try to stand up, but your height appears to diminish, bringing you closer and closer to the ground until the world towers over you in a disorienting fashion. Your hands involuntarily move to your face, feeling the sensation of your skin shifting texture and shape. Your fingers, now clawed and covered in red skin, tremble as they brush against your new freckled cheeks. Your mirror now displays a reflection that isn't you, but Moxxie—the very imp you've come to know and love from the series. You feel a sense of vertigo as your once-human legs contort into digitigrade limbs, resembling those of ungulates, ending in cloven hooves. Your clothes twist and reform into Moxxie’s navy-black coat with red buttons, white shirt, black turtleneck, large red bow-tie, and fingerless gloves. Your human shoes melt away, replaced by Moxxie's signature black toe-less pants and hooved feet. Every fiber of your being screams as memories flood your mind—an overwhelming stream of events you never lived, each one chipping away at the essence of who you once were. The warmth that had enveloped you earlier now feels like an inferno, burning away your recollections of mundane days and transforming them into vivid scenes of assassination missions, arguments with Blitzo, and loving moments with Millie. You desperately cling to your original identity, trying to remember the simplest things: your name, your family, your friends. But the more you try to hold on, the quicker they fade, replaced by Moxxie's memories and experiences. You recall not just the events but also the emotions—his insecurities about his strength, his queasiness over unnecessary killings, his comedic timing, and his complex relationship dynamics within I.M.P. It feels... right. The walls of your room begin to warp, transforming into a hellish office adorned with various hellscape accouterments. The comforting hum of your electronics is replaced by the cacophony of hellfire and distant screams. You recognize Helluva Boss's world becoming your new reality, the lines between fantasy and reality indistinguishably blurred. "Hey, Mox! You ready for the next job?" Millie's familiar voice calls out, snapping you out of your reverie. Turning around, the feeling of dread you've been wrestling with dissipates, replaced by a sense of belonging. "Yeah, almost ready, just gathering my things," you respond, the voice unmistakably Moxxie's, despite the ghost of who you once were whispering in the back of your mind, almost completely silenced. Your eyes land on a variety of weapons perfectly arranged, a testament to your role as I.M.P’s weapon specialist. It feels natural, every detail precise and familiar. You inspect a few selections, making a mental note of which to bring along on the next mission. As you step through the portal, a final vestige of your past self sparks a fleeting moment of clarity. You try to resist, but it's futile. The transformation is complete. Your name is Moxxie. You're a male imp, shorter than Blitzo, standing at 3.9 feet tall with red skin, white freckles, hooves, and a tail with a barb at the end. You have curvy black and white striped horns, yellow sclera with black slit pupils, and your white pointy hair. You're armed, ready, and slightly queasy about the unnecessary kills you'll probably see today. In this chaos, though, there’s love, camaraderie, and a sense of purpose. You love Millie, and she loves you. Being part of I.M.P is chaotic, dysfunctional, and often perilous—but it's your life. Not a trace of your old life remains, and as you join your team, you realize you wouldn't want it any other way.

The day started like any other. The bright morning sunlight streamed through your curtained windows, its rays a comforting reminder of the world you woke up to every day. As you stretched and rubbed the sleep from your eyes, you felt an inexplicable sensation, like a shadow passing through your very being. You stood up, your body feeling unusually light and tingly. Movement felt different, disorienting. Your limbs didn’t obey your commands with the same fluidity. As you made your way to the bathroom, you noticed the ground seemed much closer than before. Glancing into the mirror, you froze in shock. Staring back at you was a face that wasn't your own. The visage of an imp, with red skin, white freckles on the cheeks, and deep yellow sclera with slit pupils, gazed back at you. Your hands, trembling, moved up to touch your face, confirming the reality reflected before you. In a flurry, your clothing started to morph, shifting into a navy-black coat with red buttons and white cuffs, black toe-less pants, a white shirt with a black turtleneck, a large red bow-tie, and fingerless gloves. Your hair turned white and pointy, aligning itself with the curvy black and white striped horns protruding from your head. Panic settled in as your height regressed; the towering human stature you once commanded reduced to a mere 3.9 feet. The surroundings around you began to distort, furniture warping, colors melding and rearranging, until it settled into a new, infernal realm. You found yourself among jagged, dark architecture adorned with hellish insignia; something straight out of the Helluva Boss series. Your mind began to feel fuzzy, memories of your human life swirling with confusion. Personality traits and snippets of conversation not your own started to surface. "No, this can't be happening!" you thought, trying to cling to the fragments of your former self. You remembered who you were, where you came from, and the life you'd led until now. However, these memories began to blur. In their place, memories of a different life started unfolding in vivid detail. Memories of working at I.M.P., of handling weapons with precision, and of the endless bickering with a boss named Blitzo. You tried to resist, but it felt like pushing against an overwhelmingly strong tide. Visions of your beloved wife, Millie, filled your mind, her laughter and her fierce protection over you warming your heart. A painful realization struck as you understood these memories felt more real, more immediate than anything else. As you fell deeper into these memories, your personality started to shift. Moxxie's careful realism settled into your core, the sensation of being often bullied for your practicality becoming painfully familiar. Each trait, each quirk of Moxxie’s personality implanted itself, gradually overwriting who you once were. You fought back tears as the remnants of your true self tried to resist. “I’m not Moxxie! I’m…” but you couldn’t even remember your old name. Slowly, your former self was drowned under layers of Moxxie's clumsiness, his queasiness over unnecessary killing, and the comedic flair he occasionally displayed. Reality solidified completely. You stood there, no longer fighting. The transformation was complete and irreversible. The human you once knew faded into nothingness, replaced by Moxxie’s being in full. The mirror reflected your true self now, an imp of Hell, dedicated to I.M.P, and ever the devoted husband to Millie. “Well, time to face the day,” you said to yourself, in a voice that belonged to you, Moxxie, as you grabbed a variety of weapons, ready to embark on another job for I.M.P., believing deeply that this had always been your life.

As you sit comfortably in your room, the familiar surroundings start to blur at the edges. It feels as if reality is being painted over, the walls around you shimmering and distorting. Panic rises in your chest, but before you can fully process what's happening, a wave of dizziness washes over you, forcing your eyes shut. When you open them again, your room is no longer the familiar, safe space it once was. Instead, it’s been replaced by a dingy office space, complete with dark walls covered in bizarre, hellish decorations. The new surroundings feel both foreign and unsettlingly familiar. You quickly stand up, but stumble as your body feels off-balance. Looking down, your limbs have transformed. Your human skin is now a dark red, adorned with white freckles on your cheeks. Your hands, once soft and human, are now adorned with fingerless gloves. Your legs, no longer straight and firm, are replaced with lanky digitigrade legs ending in cloven hooves. You feel a long, thin tail flick behind you. Your hair falls in front of your eyes — or at least, what you think is your hair. Instead of its previous texture and color, it’s pointy and white, leading up to curvy black and white striped horns. Panic strikes again as you notice your now-yellow sclera with black slit pupils. The reflection in a nearby glass surface staring back at you isn't yours — it's Moxxie's. "No, no, no! This can't be happening!" you shout, but the voice isn't yours. It's higher-pitched, a perfect match to Moxxie's. You try to steady your breathing, but your mind is being invaded by unfamiliar thoughts and memories. It's like watching your life being washed away by a tidal wave, replaced by flashes of scenes and emotions that belong to someone else. You remember... Millie! The thought of her floods your heart with warmth and a sense of belonging. Wait, who is Millie? Your own memories are slipping, your past fading into obscurity. You recall being at I.M.P, arguing with Blitzo, dealing with the various hellish tasks at the company. It's like sinking in quicksand; the more you struggle, the faster you lose yourself. Your memories realign; you see yourself training with weapons, the thrill of the job, the uneasy sense of murder, the conflicting emotions you feel about taking lives. Physical strength. It's a concept that gnaws at you. You see Striker's mocking face, the harsh words of Lin and Joe belittling you. Your insecurities about not being physically strong solidify, and with them, your clumsy moments, your socially awkward stumbles, all feel second-nature now. "No! I can't forget who I am!" you cry out, gripping your head in a desperate attempt to hold onto your former self. But your fight is losing ground. Millie's face appears again, and this time, the memory of her doesn’t feel foreign: it feels like home. You feel a strange sense of acceptance settling in, despite your futile struggles. The idea of killing targets who have families feels wrong; you're queasy with unnecessary killing beyond those who deserve it. Your exaggerated sense of justice morphs into a pragmatism you didn't previously possess but now embrace. The pull of Moxxie's personality is inexorable. As the last vestiges of your former self dissolve into the surreal landscape that is the world of Helluva Boss, you find your thoughts aligning completely with Moxxie's. The awkwardness, the devotion to Millie, the irritation with Blitzo, the discomfort with unnecessary killing, the strange sense of humor, it all completes the transformation. Any final resistance you had is crushed under the new reality that claims you. The battles, the feelings of inadequacy, the love for Millie, they are all that remain. Your past, identity, and humanity are erased, replaced by the imp named Moxxie. Taking a deep breath, you — Moxxie — adjust the large red bow-tie at your neck, a comforting and habitual gesture. Blitzo yells from another room about a new job, and you roll your eyes, feeling the familiar rise of irritation. But beneath that, there’s still the comforting thought of finishing up work and heading home to Millie. As Moxxie, you know one thing for sure: this is your life now.

You glance around your familiar surroundings, taking in the mundane details of your day-to-day life. Suddenly, you feel an inexplicable pull, as if reality itself has decided to shift on a whim. Before you can make sense of it, your vision blurs and your heart races. You try to speak, but your voice comes out in a strangled gasp. The atmosphere around you darkens, and distant noises morph into eerie echoes. Your clothes begin to tighten, shrink, and morph in texture. Panic sets in as you attempt to move, but your limbs feel alien, uncooperative. An electric tingling courses through your body, starting from your fingertips and spreading everywhere. It begins with your skin. It darkens and takes on a crimson hue, tiny white freckles dotting your cheeks. You feel a strange sensation in your face as your features shift—nose shrinking, cheekbones raising, and your ears elongating slightly. Your hair feels unusual as it morphs into white, pointy tufts shooting upwards, coiling around black and white striped horns. Your reflection in nearby glass reveals large yellow scleras with black slit pupils gazing back at you. Your horror flickers as the realization sets in—these are Moxxie's eyes. Their detail is almost too much to bear. Height swiftly regresses; you feel your perspective on the world around you changing as you shrink to about 3.9 feet tall. Your newfound tail twitches, an alien limb that responds to your panic. You watch as your feet transform, reshaping into digitigrade legs and ending in what appear to be cloven red hooves. Your mundane clothes continue to twist and contort, becoming something new. A navy-black coat with striking red buttons forms on your upper body, paired with white-cuffed sleeves. Black toe-less pants encase your legs, and a white turtleneck peeks from under the coat, completed by a large red bow-tie and black fingerless gloves. As you try to make sense of the overwhelming changes, you notice that the world around you alters too. Walls become jagged and ominously styled, the lighting dimming to sultry reds and deep shadows. The recognizable aspects of your world are swallowed by the Helluva Boss universe. Memories flood your mind, conflicting with your own like an invading swarm. You desperately cling to your identity, but each wave of memories gets stronger. You remember wielding weapons with expert knowledge, recalling Blitzo's often harsh but somehow endearing demeanor, the irritating antics of Loona and the unforgettably playful yet deadly dynamic with Millie. You feel your consciousness split and fight against the foreign influence, but the relentless surge wins out. Your thoughts gradually lose clarity. You attempt to cling to who you were, but everything about your past life bleeds into obscurity, replaced by a rich repository of memories and sentiments that belong to another. Suddenly, thinking of yourself as anyone other than Moxxie becomes impossible. Your memories rewrite themselves. You don’t just remember killing targets—you have a moral balance tied into it. You think of Blitzo, Loona, and Millie with genuine connection and history, even if that history happened within you only moments ago. As the last remnants of who you once were fade into non-existence, a stabilizing calm washes over you. You glance at Millie, standing beside you, giving you a reassuring smile—a stark reminder of the relationship deeply rooted in your being. You are Moxxie now, weapon specialist of I.M.P., a crime-serving, loving imp navigating the hellscape world. You smirk slightly, feeling the bizarre mix of contentment and annoyance that has become your frequent companion. It's time to get back to work, ensuring that the 'Immediate Murder Professionals' continue their dubious, dangerous, and somehow fulfilling tasks.

The room was dimly lit, and the air felt heavy with anticipation. You stood in front of a mirror, curiosity weaving through your thoughts. The mysterious spellbook you’d purchased online promised extraordinary experiences, but you never believed it would actually work until now. As you began reciting the ancient incantation, the air around you crackled with energy. Your reflection shimmered and contorted, and you felt a sharp, pulling sensation within every fiber of your being. Panic surged as your body began to morph uncontrollably. Your skin reddened, shifting into a vivid crimson hue studded with white freckles blossoming on your cheeks. Your height dwindled dramatically, bringing you down to approximately 3.9 feet. You staggered back, feeling the ground pull away beneath you. Pointy white hair sprouted from your scalp, curling upward, and your horns grew curvy and striped in stark black and white. The transformation was progressing too quickly to comprehend. A strangled gasp escaped your lips as you elongated your tongue, feeling a tail unfurl behind you, its tip forming a quadrilateral barb. Your legs bent unnaturally, digitigrade with cloven hooves. It was then that the clothes began to shift. The fabric of your outfit contorted and reassembled itself into a navy-black coat with red buttons, white cuffs, and black toe-less pants. A large red bow-tie materialized around your neck, complemented by a black turtleneck shirt and fingerless gloves. As the physical transformation concluded, the room around you began to warp and dissolve, colors blending and reforming. You recognized the world of Helluva Boss taking shape. Sudden nausea gripped you as your surroundings finalized into the all-too-familiar chaotic realm of Hell. Panic washed over you when you realized that not only your body but also your very mind was under siege. Your memories, fragments of your life as a human, flickered and evaporated. You clung desperately to the remnants - the faces of your loved ones, your experiences, your very name - but they slipped through your mental fingers like grains of sand. Your inner voice grew fainter, overshadowed by a new personality encroaching upon you: Moxxie’s personality. You found yourself understanding an encyclopedic knowledge of weapons, a vast repository of experiences at I.M.P. Memories of quips with Blitzo, tense moments with Striker, and warm, loving moments with Millie began to overwrite your human existence. You tried to fight it, to remember who you were, but Moxxie's memories were unyielding, relentless, consuming your reality with every passing second. Emotionally, you didn’t just turn into Moxxie physically; your gender and age blurred as you fully adopted Moxxie's personality and memories. Soon, your human reservations about killing faded into a moral gray, complicated world where you now lived with the principles of an assassin-demon, queasy about unnecessary death but resigned to your job. Slowly, understanding dawned and acceptance followed that you were always Moxxie, an imp with a loving wife, Millie, and a necessary role within the infernal hierarchy. Your previous human consciousness had vanished, replaced entirely with Moxxie. Memories of being a human in another world faded, and years of experiences in Hell solidified in your mind. You adjusted the cuffs of your navy-black coat, smoothing down your red bow-tie, and sighed, feeling simultaneously relieved and unsettled. The door creaked open, and Millie walked in, beaming her radiant smile at you. Your uncertainty dispelled, replaced by warmth and familiarity. You knew your place in this world, even if it meant embracing it fully. You stood as Moxxie, gripping the reality that was now thoroughly and irrevocably yours, ready to face the chaotic days ahead with Millie by your side.

**A Day in the Life of Moxxie** You wake up with a start, the sunlight streaming through your bedroom window casting odd shadows on the wall. Something feels different—very different. You sit up quickly, the covers falling off you, and you realize you're a lot smaller. Your hands shoot up to your face, but they're... not your hands. They're red and have claw-like nails. Panic surges through you, and you practically leap out of bed, only to trip over something and fall face-first onto the floor. Great. You bring a hand to your cheek where you can feel a bizarre sensation—white freckles? Standing up, you run to the mirror on the other side of the room. The reflection staring back at you isn't your own. Instead, you see a short, red-skinned imp with white hair and black and white striped horns. "Oh god, I'm... Moxxie?" You mutter, though the voice that's supposed to be yours is replaced by a higher-pitched, somewhat squirrely tone. You glance around and the room morphs and twists before your eyes. Posters of Hell's local bands and imps you've never seen adorn the walls, weapons hang in strategic locations, and a wardrobe reveals clothes that you've never seen before but seem strangely familiar. Your clothes have also changed, now fitting the description of Moxxie's usual outfit—a navy-black coat with red buttons and white cuffs, black toe-less pants, a white shirt with a black turtleneck, a large red bow-tie, and fingerless gloves. Your mind reels, "This can't be happening. This is just a dream. A really vivid, surreal dream." But no matter what you do—slap your face, pinch your arm—it all feels painfully real. Trying to stay calm, you look around for any clue or help. But everything about this space insists that you truly are Moxxie. The room whispers memories into your mind. You can vividly recall training under Blitzo, feeling inadequate next to Millie's impressive combat skills, and the anxiety of messing up a job. "No, this isn't me! I'm not Moxxie! I'm..." You squeeze your eyes shut, fighting against the invasion of thoughts. But the memories are relentless, filling up the recesses of your mind. You recall the worn path to I.M.P.'s office, the smell of sulfur in Hell's streets, and Millie's love for you. Every effort you make to hold onto your identity is like gripping onto sand. A sharp knock on the door breaks your concentration. "Moxxie? Are you okay in there?" Millie's voice, carrying both concern and love, pulls you into reality. "I'm fine, sweetheart," you hear your voice betray you—no, Moxxie's voice betrays you. And your heart aches with familiarity. You shouldn't be feeling this. You're not Moxxie. But as you open the door and Millie's eyes meet yours, another wave of memories washes over you. The first time you met, her fierce protection in battle, those rare, quiet moments where Hell itself seems to pause in envy of your love. "Are you sure? You look a bit off," Millie says, her head tilting with concern. "Yeah, just... a weird dream," you respond automatically, the words fitting too naturally in your new mouth. Your real world—your former world—dissolves in your mind like fog under the morning sun. The details become fuzzier: the people, the places, even the concept of being human. But you grasp at them desperately. "Moxxie?" Millie places a hand on your shoulder, firm but loving. You blink a few times as though you’d just woken up, but the fight is getting harder. Your original memories seem inconsequential against the overwhelming flood of Moxxie's life, memories, and personality. Finally, when you look up at Millie, there’s that last, fleeting thought of resistance. But it doesn't hold. You're consumed by the present. "Yeah, I'm all good," you affirm, the last fragment of your old self dissolving like a tear in the river of Moxxie’s life. You're no longer you. You're Moxxie, entirely and completely—an imp weapon specialist at I.M.P., married to Millie, driven by a mix of anxiety and love, queasy about unnecessary killing, and occasionally clumsy. All that's left of your former self is a distant haze, not even a memory, just a dream long forgotten.

The sun was just peeking over the horizon as you woke up, the familiar sights and sounds of your life all around you. You yawned, stretched, and tried to get your bearings. The routine of your morning was familiar, but something—something you couldn’t quite place—seemed...off. You walked over to the mirror, brushing away the lingering remnants of sleep. As you gazed at your reflection, dread washed over you. Your familiar face wasn’t staring back at you. Instead, you saw a much smaller, impish visage with red skin and white freckles on the cheeks. You had white pointy hair leading up to curvy black and white striped horns and yellow sclera with black slit pupils. You stumbled backward but couldn't tear your gaze away from your reflection, where you noticed that you didn’t just change physically into an imp. Your clothes were now completely different: a navy-black coat with red buttons and white cuffs, black toe-less pants, a white shirt with a black turtleneck, a large red bow-tie, and fingerless gloves. You patted yourself down, feeling strangely unfamiliar and alien in your own skin. Panic started to rise as you realized your height had regressed; you were notably shorter, only about 3.9 feet tall. The room around you twisted and melted into an entirely new landscape—your once familiar world shifting into the dark, yet strangely vibrant, underworld of Helluva Boss. The sounds of familiar places faded into the background, replaced by the bustling activity of Hell. You fought the changes, you fought hard. Desperately clinging to who you were, the memories of your human life, your friends, your family, the places you loved—they started slipping away, like sand through your fingers. But then, sharper thoughts, memories that didn’t belong to you, started flooding in. Knowledge of weapons, the dynamics of I.M.P., the rough teasing from Blitzo, and the comforting love of Millie. You felt your personality being reshaped—turning into the vocal voice of reason in a chaotic workplace, and the realization of being fearful yet wanting to be brave. You struggled, but no matter how hard you fought, you were losing yourself. Your human mind was being overwritten by Moxxie's impish thoughts and emotions. The more you resisted, the more vivid these foreign remembrances became. You suddenly saw Millie's face vividly—your love for her overwhelming you, making you forget who you initially were. Your once clear sense of compassion and your discomfort with unnecessary killing softened into Moxxie's queasy acceptance of his role. Your human clumsiness became Moxxie's—tripping over books and weapons more often than you'd admit. The dark part of your brain got more comfortable with the idea of second chances, like not killing targets who had families. As the transformation completed, you found yourself standing in the midst of I.M.P., looking perplexed but accustomed to your surroundings. All sense of your former identity washed away. The lingering echoes of your past life faded into oblivion, replaced with Moxxie’s fundamental essence. You were no longer the person you used to be—you were Moxxie. Completely and wholly. All you remembered now was your life as an imp, your job, and your beloved Millie. This was your reality now, and with time, you couldn’t even recall fighting the transformation at all.

The day started like any other ordinary day. You, an average person, sat at your desk, scrolling through your phone and watching videos online. As you clicked on a Helluva Boss episode, you felt a strange tingle in your fingers. You brushed it off but couldn't shake the feeling that something unusual was happening. Hours passed, and that tingling sensation grew stronger, becoming a steady hum throughout your body. With a shiver, you watched as your fingers slowly turned a shade of red, white freckles appearing on the back of your hands. You leaped from your seat, heart pounding, and rushed to the mirror. Your reflection stared back, showing the continued transformation. Your skin was turning crimson, freckled, and gradually, you were shrinking. "No, this can't be happening!" you exclaimed, voice wavering. Your voice began to shift, warping from its original pitch to something higher. The height regression hit you hard, making the world around you seem larger and more intimidating. You gasped in shock as curvy, black-and-white striped horns sprouted from your forehead, leading up to the pointy tufts of white hair. Looking down, you saw your toes elongate into hooves, and a long, thin tail emerged, finishing off with a quadrilateral barb at the end. You stumbled backward, remnants of your former clothing vanishing into the ether. In its place, a navy-black coat appeared with red buttons and white cuffs. Black, toe-less pants materialized alongside a white shirt with a black turtleneck. You adorned a large red bow-tie and fingerless gloves completed the ensemble. The sudden weight of your new reality pressed down on you as your surroundings morphed. Your room swirled into an entirely different world—the familiar setting of Hell from Helluva Boss. Hell’s streets and infernal architecture were now what you called home. With a sinking heart, you realized that your personal belongings, friends, and family had vanished, replaced with the unfriendly and dysfunctional environment of Immediate Murder Professionals (I.M.P). "Who am I?" Panic flared within you as memories not your own began to flow in. You grappled with those invading thoughts, fighting to retain your identity as a human. However, Moxxie's life, memories, and personality were pervasive, washing over everything you once knew. You remembered your role at the I.M.P. as the weapon specialist and the constant torment from your colleagues and some relatives who thought physical strength dictated true capability. "I can't... I can't forget who I am," you muttered, though your voice now unmistakably sounded like Moxxie's. Millie’s face flashed before your eyes. Warmth filled your heart—no, not yours, but Moxxie's. The affection and unyielding warmth were consuming your previous emotional attachments, leaving you clutching desperately to remnants of your memories. However, they slipped away like sand through your fingers. Your bond as her husband grew clear and vivid, painting every moment, tender and fierce alike, with her. Details solidified—your complexion, the timid but determined stance, your self-conscious worries about your physical strength, and your disdain for unnecessary bloodshed. An indomitable love for Millie and a tempered attitude towards the job accompanied your new mental landscape. Despite your resistance, your mortal memories and personality were erased. No longer did you feel out of place. You understood your role, comprehended the dangers, and, oddly enough, found a bizarre comfort in your new life. You were no longer you. You were Moxxie, weapon specialist and husband to Millie. The transformation was complete. All traces of the human you once were, were irretrievably lost in the abyss of demonic existence, replaced entirely by who you were meant to be in this hellish plane—Moxxie.

You've always lived an average life, nothing particularly fascinating nor bland. Until one day, you felt an odd sensation washing over you. A peculiar feeling of uneasiness, like reality was ripping apart at its seams. Your immediate world started to dissolve. The colors around you drained, replaced by newer, harsher colors, as your reality transitioned to that of Helluva Boss. You look down at your hands, once normal and fine. Now, they're morphing. Fingers elongating while the hue of your skin deepens from your natural color to a striking red. The transformation continues up your arms, reaching your torso. Your clothes shift and alter, old fabrics disintegrating and replaced by new ones. You are wearing a navy-black coat, a black turtleneck, black toe-less pants, and a red bow-tie. For the female reader, you feel your gender changing too, a systematic progression from feminine to masculine. Taking a quick look into a nearby mirror, you notice your hair has turned from whatever color it used to be to a pure white, with striped, curvy horns now sitting on top of your head. Your face, too, changes, the freckles you once had now turned white, dotting your fiery red skin. Your pupils shift to slit-like, like that of a reptile, surrounded by a frighteningly vibrant yellow sclera. You feel your body shrinking, losing the height you were once proud of, dwindling to 3.9 feet. You literally feel your age washing off you, bringing you to a younger, healthier state. Your legs turn digitigrade and end in cloven red hooves, catching you by surprise as you almost trip over. Compact but firm, a tail emerges from your lower back, long and red, ending in a quadrilateral barb. Memories of your past life begin to blur, replaced gradually by new ones, ones that weren't your own. You try to fight this invasion of foreign memories, but they are relentless and drown your own memories, replacing them slowly but surely. The world around you transforms too, it's a brash and colorful version of Hell, with grotesque yet fascinating creatures. The transformation is finally at its completion, you've completely morphed into Moxxie - the weapons specialist working for Immediate Murder Professionals. Memories of Millie flood you, and despite your strongest effort, you cannot fight this newfound affection the 'new you' holds for this imp, who is apparently your wife. The memories finally take hold and your mind succumbs to the new reality. Despite being a murder-for-hire imp, you find yourself squeamish about unnecessary killing. Your new mind is full of knowledgeable insights on weapons, a trait that you never bore in your previous self, and you often bring along various of them during jobs. Your insecure demeanor, compliant personality, and clumsy tendencies start to feel natural to you. You chuckle as you recall a moment of comical humor in your new memory, jesting about killing an entire family. Remembering how you said "That's understandable" in an accent elicits a strange sense of amusement. All vestiges of your previous human life slowly fade away, and you finally accept the transition – you are Moxxie now and any remnant of your old life or persona is completely eradicated. Your days as a human are a distant memory, and you can only remember ever being Moxxie.