Personality-wise, Alastor is charming, flirtatious, and seductive.

In the dimly lit underbelly of Hell, a twisted energy coursed through the caverns, seeking its next victim. Helsa von Eldritch wandered aimlessly, her dark grey skin nearly blending into the shadows. Her long, white hair with dark spots billowed around her face, partially obscuring her neon green eyes. Today, her mood was nastier than usual, a seething rage bubbling beneath her composed facade. "Disgusting," she muttered, gnashing her sharp, neon green teeth as she encountered another pitiable soul. Fed up, she retreated to her lair, stomping in her heeled boots, her hot pink coat with neon green fur swinging with each step. Suddenly, the air around her crackled with an otherworldly force. Helsa whipped around, eyes narrowing, but she saw nothing. The force grew stronger, wrapping around her like invisible tendrils. Panicked, she attempted to grow her eldritch form, but the energy held her tightly, preventing any transformation. "What's happening?" Helsa screamed, her voice tearing through the empty halls. The energy grew more intense, lifting her off the ground. Helsa's body convulsed, her skin bubbling and shifting. Her dark grey flesh turned beige, the alien spots shrinking and vanishing. Her neon green eyes morphed, growing larger and rounder, changing into dark-red sclerae with bright-red irises. Her figure stretched, bones elongating and organs rearranging themselves in a grotesque ballet. Helsa's frame shot up, her height increasing to an imposing seven feet. Her once elegant tentacles retracted, replaced by slim, dapper limbs. Her forearms and lower legs shifted to dark grey, her hands and feet sprouting red-tipped fingers and toes. Her heels melted into hoofed feet, forging a firm connection to the ground below. The crown of her head erupted, sprouting two small black antlers. Her beautiful, long white hair turned into a cropped, angled bob-cut of pinkish-red with black tips, the style complete with two black-tipped tufts mimicking deer ears. Spreading like a dark stain, a sharp smile full of yellow teeth cracked across her face, solidifying into a permanent grin. As the transformation continued, Helsa’s memories began to blur and dissolve. Moments from her life as the scheming, malevolent demoness slipped away as if vaporizing into thin air. Her life, her history, all faded, to be replaced by the memories and personality of another—an unending broadcast of terror, humor, and malevolence. In her mind, the story of Alastor was replacing Helsa’s past. He remembered being a prolific serial killer in life, his penchant for radio and old-timey music forming his unique identity. The memories intertwined with his power, making his every thought an echo of his old self—the Radio Demon. Helsa’s hot pink coat with neon green fur fused, the fabric morphing into a striking red pinstripe coat with dark-red lapels. Her dark grey pencil skirt melted away, replaced by long black dress pants with bright red cuffs. Her boots took the final transformation, black pointed-toe boots with red deer hoofprints on the soles. Finally, as the transformation ended, the sentient vintage style microphone cane appeared in his hand. He twirled it expertly, the new memories fitting seamlessly into his being. As the energy dissipated, Alastor landed gracefully on the cavern floor. He adjusted his monocle, a broad, terrifying grin spreading across his face. He no longer remembered being Helsa von Eldritch; she was a phantom of the past, erased entirely from existence. Alastor stepped forward, his presence radiating malice and charisma. He chuckled darkly, his voice dripping with the old-timey charm he was known for. "Well now, what shall we broadcast today?" He mused, his eyes glinting with malevolent joy. Helsa was gone, and in her place stood Alastor, the Radio Demon, ready to unleash his brand of chaos upon Hell.

In the dark and sprawling underground realms of Hell, not many expected change, particularly among those of high demonic rank. Helsa von Eldritch, notorious for her cunning and deliberate malevolence, was among those least likely to be touched by the unexpected. But destiny, especially in Hell, has a perverse and twisted sense of humor. One day, Helsa, with her dark grey skin, long white and dark-tentacled hair, and scintillating neon green eyes, wandered into an ancient part of Hell that even the most daring demons avoided. Her cruel smirk spread across her face beneath her neon green bangs as her heeled boots clicked against the obsidian floor, a cacophony of malicious intent followed in her wake. She wore her hot pink coat with pride, its neon green fur collar and cuffs reflecting her vibrant yet sinister nature. As she ventured deeper into the abyss, her sharp teeth glinting in the dim light, she stumbled upon an old, ornate mirror. Unlike any normal looking glass, this one shimmered with an eerie brilliance, appearing to be more a portal than a reflection. Curious, and void of fear, Helsa approached. "What secrets do you hold?" she mused, her voice dripping with sly intrigue. To her surprise, the mirror spoke back, a voice neither male nor female, but ancient and knowing. "Your true self lies beyond, should you dare to unveil it." Helsa, always one for a challenge, leaned closer. As she did, the mirror pulled her in with an unstoppable force. Swirling shadows enveloped her, eerily silent yet filled with echoes of laughter, both joyous and malevolent. The transformation began abruptly, violently. Helsa's dark grey skin lightened to a pale beige. Her once long, white, tentacle-like hair morphed, shortening into a cropped, angled bob with black tips. Sharp pains shot through her scalp as black antlers sprouted atop her head, pushing through the remnants of her old hairstyle. Her eyes, with their dark teal sclerae and neon green irises, darkened to a deep red, the pupils slimming and shifting, occasionally flickering into the shape of radio dials. Her body stretched and reshaped, a growth spurt propelling her to a towering seven feet. The hot pink coat, pencil skirt, and neon green fur seemed to dissolve, replaced by a sharp, crimson pinstripe coat with dark-red lapels. Beneath it was a bright red dress shirt adorned with a black cross, the attire completed by long, black dress pants and black pointed-toe boots that left red hoofprints. Pain gave way to confusion, then a complete mental shift. Helsa's sinister and calculated personality felt like an echo receding into a black abyss. Memories of her former self faded, gradually replaced by images and experiences she had never known—grassy fields, deer, old-time radios, and a deep-rooted delight in sadistic revelry. The voice from the mirror seemed to etch itself into her brain with every new memory. Alastor, it serenely whispered. That is who you are. None other. Her—or rather, his—neon green teeth turned yellow, sharp and menacing, fitting of his ever-present, eerie grin. The final touches materialized: a monocle over his right eye, a black knotted bowtie with a red center, and a thin cane with a sentient vintage microphone attached. Alastor opened his eyes fully, swaying the microphone cane, broadcasting his voice with dark, cheerful intensity. The new demon in the mirror was no longer Helsa von Eldritch. She had been completely eradicated. In her place stood Alastor, the once Radio Demon, grinning widely. "Ah, splendid! Marvelous! What a delightful twist in my ever-enthralling existence!" His voice, rich with old-fashioned cheerfulness, echoed through the ancient depths. Alastor left the ancient place with a spring in his step, an airwave of malice, and a fresh, darkly ecstatic outlook on his eternal torment. Oblivious to the life that Helsa had once led, he embraced his identity with a sinister excitement, all traces of the "very smart kind of evil" woman erased forever. His sights now set on the twisted and endless mischief only known to the Radio Demon.

Helsa von Eldritch's transition from the malevolent, cephalopod-like demoness to the charismatic, radio-demon Alastor was nothing short of a macabre meld of magic and treachery. It all began on one of her more normal days in Hell, a day filled with her usual mean-spirited antics and smart, calculated evil. Helsa, draped in her signature hot pink coat with neon green fur trim underneath an overcast hellish skyline, wandered her domain with a gleeful arrogance. Her dark grey skin and long white hair, shadowing one half of her sinister face, paired with her sharply pointed neon green teeth and dark teal sclera, made her an unmistakable figure among the denizens. Her steps clicked with the heels of her black boots on the scorched earth, and every rattling breath she drew hummed with the promises of cruel schemes yet to be unraveled. But as dusk approached, winds that whispered ancient curses brought with them a peculiar artifact — a vintage-style radio, crackling with static and an eerie, magnetic aura. Helsa couldn't resist the allure. She curiously tweaked the knobs, unaware of the dark spell nestled within it. The moment she turned the dial, an unseen force surged through her, making her veins burn like the coiling tendrils of tortured souls. Her body seized, and her eldritch form began to writhe. Her dark grey skin started to bleach into a ghastly beige as her muscles ached under the transformation's strain. Helsa screamed, and as she did, her voice deepened and distorted into a distinctly masculine tone. Her long white hair recoiled, shortening rapidly and tinting with a reddish hue, black tips forming at ends. Grotesque black antlers sprouted from the crown of her—and now his—head, twisting and extending into the air. The right side of his face, shorn of the concealing bangs, revealed an altered visage: no longer her neon green and dark teal eyes, but dark-red sclerae and burning bright-red irises staring out with wicked amusement. The once femine visage now bore a perennial, sinister grin full of sharp, yellow teeth. The pink fur coat melted away into a red pinstripe ensemble with dark-red lapels and a bright red dress-shirt with a black cross splayed on the chest. Helsa's frame lengthened grotesquely, stretching upwards to stand at an imposing seven feet tall. The stance and mannerisms altered; poise and dapper elegance overtook the brutish comportment. Her memories and thoughts dissipated like smoke in a breeze, and in their place, a different set of ideas, quirks, and a twisted sense of humor settled. His hands now wore black gloves with red at the fingertips, and as they held a thin cane with a sentient vintage-style microphone, a sense of identity snapped into place. Gone was Helsa, forgotten entirely in the annals of Hell’s history. Alastor, the Radio Demon, threw back his head and laughed mirthlessly, the vintage microphone translating his voice across the airwaves. His redefined existence was now a perfect culmination of malevolent charisma and orchestrated chaos, his sharp-dressing a testament to his macabre suave. The memories of her past, her schemes, her malevolence — all replaced entirely by Alastor’s own conniving past, showmanship, and twisted objectives. In the depths of Hell, Helsa von Eldritch no longer existed. Alastor now prowled Hell’s streets, his presence a cacophony of dark influence and theatrics, with no inkling nor memory of the demonic heiress he had once been.

Helsa von Eldritch, known for her almost regal demeanor and malicious nature, found herself backed into a corner. After garnering the wrath from a particularly powerful wizard, he had cursed her. A powerful spell, that would not only change the course of her existence but erase it totally, as she started slowly transforming into a different being entirely. The first sign of the spell taking effect was her skin. The dark grey hue that once covered her skin began to pale and lighten. Losing its demonic grey and turning beige, like old parchment. Her arms and legs became more elongated, yet slim. The change in height was dramatic. Helsa, at a respectable 6 feet in height, gradually grew to a towering seven feet. Helsa’s long, strong white hair with its dark patches started turning a pinkish-red, shrinking back into a bob-cut with black tips while two tufts of hair grew, resembling something akin to the ears of a deer. More surprisingly, small black antlers protruded from her scalp, growing larger each passing minute. Physical transformation was just the start, the mental transformation was much more profound. The memory of her former life as Helsa quickly receded. Slowly, her ingrained direct, smart, and harsh personality began to change and adapt, growing more cheerful and eccentric like a 1920’s radio host. The memories of Helsa von Eldritch, her nefarious deeds, her calculated cruelties, vibrant victories faded like quicksilver, now replaced by Alastor's memories — ones that never belonged to her in the first place. Helsa’s beautiful dress, which was reserved for special occasions, began to morph. The hot pink suit trimmed with fur slowly turned into a beautifully tailored red pinstripe coat, lined with white. The details were fine, mimicking every nuance of Alastor’s favorite garment. Her skirt had been replaced with long black dress pants with bright red cuffs; her heels replaced with black pointed-toe boots detailed with red deer prints. Her eyes began to well up, their color transforming from dark teal to a piercing, neon red, as new memories, thoughts and knowledge forced itself into her mind, taking hold of every single fingerprint of Helsa von Eldritch and replacing it with Alastor. Her feminine grace was being replaced by dapper masculinity, her cruel streak with eccentric charm. As the transformation settled and found its peace, her reflection in the mirror was a lean, eerie-smiling figure clad in the beautiful dressing of Alastor, holding a thin cane with a sentient vintage style microphone. Now fully transformed into Alastor, he looked into the mirror, the specter of Helsa completely gone. Only the Radio Demon remained, basking in his new-found reality, leaving no track, nor scent of the venomous Helsa von Eldritch.