It has a large yellow "L" on the front, and the word "Hazbin" written in large white letters on the side. Alastor wakes up one morning to find that he has suddenly turned into a red red London doubl

Once upon a time in the chaotic realm of Hell, Alastor, the Radio Demon, stood tall and radiant as usual, filling the eternal night with his charismatic voice and ever-present grin. His red eyes gleamed with mischief and his antlers cast dark shadows as he twirled his cane, planning his next grand manipulation. He always thought himself untouchable, a master of the infernal domain. Until, one day, a peculiar curse befell him, a curse that no radio waves could deflect. It started subtly; a shiver ran down his spine, unsettling even for a demon. His beige skin began to change, hardening into a smoother, more metallic texture, and his bespoke pinstripe coat seemed to melt into this new form. Alastor tried to maintain his composure, making light of the strange transformation. "Well now, this is certainly a surprise," he quipped with a nervous chuckle. However, the changes did not stop—they intensified. His fingers reshaped, merging together into solid, rubbery wheels. They grew larger and larger until they thudded against the ground with the weight suited more for a vehicle than a man. His toes became solid steel, driving themselves into the ground to support the burgeoning mass of his transformation. The richly vibrant red of his attire seeped into what used to be his skin, engulfing him in a uniform coat of vibrant bus-red. His monocle, once a testament to his dapper style, spread out painting luminous, reflective windows along his new form. He could feel his body stretching, expanding to grotesque proportions. Heavier and taller he grew, quickly dwarfing almost every structure around him until his new form measured a staggering 11.0 meters in length and reached 4.39 meters in height. Alastor, the dandyish demon, was now an imposing, brick-red double-decker bus. Despite the terrifying transformation, Alastor’s iron-clad mind struggled to hold on. He fought desperately to retain the memories, the confidences, and the sinister charisma that made him the Radio Demon. But his fight was futile against the overwhelming force of the curse. His thoughts became static, echoing the end of a radio broadcast emptied of all reception. His once razor-sharp wit dulled to a background hum of nothingness. His delightful chatter, the phrases like "charming demon belle" and "the picture show," were smothered under a claustrophobic silence. The ornate monocle, once an eye of insight, became an opaque window; his pupils, once dynamic dials, turned into featureless glass, forever immobile. The playful exterior, his bowtie, his vintage coat—they bled seamlessly into the bus's paint scheme. The black stripe served as a cruel reminder of his former self while the bland white top stripped his flamboyant personality. Inside, 67 seats were placed where his heart once pumped malevolent blood, creating spaces for mortal passengers rather than diabolical schemes. Radiating neither charm nor terror, the empty shell of what once was Alastor now stood cold and inanimate. The bus was flawless in function, but devoid of Alastor's vibrant personality. Every ounce of his former self evaporated, leaving a hollowed, mechanized existence. The double-decker's doors stood perpetually open, inviting passengers without promise, replacing his once keenly manipulative welcome. Every trace of the demon’s past struggles was erased, and where once stood a seven-foot radio personality, now loomed an 18-ton bus. Alastor’s malevolent essence, his old-fashioned charm, all ceased to be. His reds and pinstripes now just mundane colors on a giant, metal behemoth, servicing the mortal plane daily, devoid of the dark grandeur he once embraced. The mind witnessed fades to oblivion, with not even an echo left to testify the existence of what once was the Radio Demon, Alastor. Thus, Alastor’s transformation was complete—a cruel jest of fate, turning a being of extraordinary dread into an inert, everyday machine, absent of consciousness or memory, stripped of all ambition and malice, forevermore just a red London double-decker bus.

Once upon a time in the depths of Hell, Alastor from the Hazbin Hotel decided to try a bold new transformation spell he'd recently discovered. He didn't anticipate the spell would translate him from the dapper, charismatic demon he was into an entirely different being. As the spoken words of the spell left Alastor's mouth, he could feel a strange sensation enveloping his body. It started from his sharp, yellow-toothed grin, spreading all across his slender figure. His grin became wider than ever before, as he attempted to hide the strange feeling of instability. But his composure was soon to be broken. Alastor started growing, first gradually then rapidly, his slim frame fattening out, ballooning up from his mere 7 feet to an enormous size. As weight accumulated, syncing with the transformation, his usual lightness became a distant memory. His feet rooted on the spot, hooves growing big and blocky; they were starting to look strangely like a pair of large tyres. His entire body paint scheme was changing rapidly along with the transformation. The red stripes on his coat morphed into a bright, shiny coat of red paint, coupled with the white top, emulating the double-decker bus color. Clothes merged with his changing form, and in an instance, it was near impossible to distinguish between the animate creature and inanimate vehicle. His dark-red monocle had become the front windshield of the bus, the previous facial traits of Alastor within it vanished completely. His antlers took the form of the vehicle's rear side mirrors adhered to the sides of what used to be his head. His limbs, arms, and legs were becoming stiff, losing their flexibility and life. His lower half had now become the chassis with hard rubber tyres at the extremes. His elongated torso transitioned into the cabin space of the bus, seats appearing within, whereas his cane transformed into the long steering column adjacent to the driver's seat. A sense of panic and dread filled Alastor as the final stage of transformation encroached; the mind/mental loss. He clung tight to his memories and persona, but a listless force began to pull away, one by one turning his thoughts, his memories, his very essence into nothing. As the last tread of his transformation overcame, Alastor, the charming individual, had completely vanished. His once active mind was now an empty void devoid of thoughts and memories, a hollow metal shell, replaced by the inanimate body structure of a large double-decker bus standing tall and majestic on the streets of London. While the transformation was undoubtedly traumatic for the once-vibrant Alastor, in his new form as a double-decker bus, his dapper, bold presence continued to impress; he now served Londoners faithfully providing them with swift and efficient rides across the bustling city. Not a single memory of his old self remained, and yet, his unique appearance hinted at the personality this bus once harbored. So, the legend of Alastor lived on in a rather peculiar yet charming transformation.