The Entwined Souls: A Twisted Transformation into Alastor's Mind and Form

The night was calm, a stillness that barely betrayed the foreboding changes about to occur. You were at home, comfortably nestled in the safety of your room, unaware of the chaos brewing just beyond the veil of reality. You had spent the evening scrolling through fan art and fanfics, indulging in the creative renditions fans had made of their favorite characters from Hazbin Hotel, including, ironically, the infamous Alastor, the Radio Demon. You noticed a peculiar sensation, an unnatural chill that crept along your spine. The temperature in your room seemed to drop suddenly. Your lights flickered briefly, then settled into a dim, almost eerie glow. A sound resonated from your computer speakers—a crackling static followed by a voice that could only be described as otherworldly. "Well, well, what have we here? Another mortal indulging in their quaint little fantasies," the voice rang out, dripping with both charm and menace. "I suppose it's time to teach you a lesson in the real entertainment, wouldn't you agree?" Before you could react, a vortex of dark energy erupted from your screen, ensnaring you with invisible tendrils. You felt yourself being pulled, your surroundings becoming a blur of static and distorted imagery. The resistance you offered was futile as you were violently sucked into the whirling abyss. The world around you shifted. You were no longer in your room but in the twisted caricature of Hell as depicted in Hazbin Hotel. The air felt heavy with an oppressive energy, and before you stood the figure of nightmares—Alastor himself, his grin impossibly wide and eyes glinting with devilish delight. "Oh, don't look so surprised," Alastor chuckled. "You should have seen this coming with all the meddling you’ve been doing with my persona." Your heart pounded in your chest as terror seeped into your veins. "W-what do you want from me?" you stammered, trying to find your voice. Alastor leaned in closer, his grin widening impossibly. "I want to make sure you truly understand what it means to be part of my world. Permanently." With a flick of his wrist, Alastor summoned a swirling mass of dark magic. It coiled around you, seeping into every pore, every fiber of your being. You felt a searing pain engulf you, a fire that burned through your very essence. "Agh! Make it stop!" you cried out, your voice distorting as the magical transformation began. Your height shot up to an intimidating seven feet, your bones elongating and restructuring. You could feel your age shifting, your body adjusting to that of a being in their 30s or 40s. Muscles and skin morphed, your complexion changing to a beige hue. The pain was unbearable, yet you found yourself powerless to stop it. Two small, black antlers began to protrude from the crown of your head, your hair changing to a pinkish-red cropped angled bob-cut with black tips at the ends. Your forearms and lower legs faded to dark grey, your toes and fingers turning red, tipped with sharp claws. Your transformation into a demon was incomplete without the pertinent attire, which now materialized over your changing body. A red pinstripe coat with dark-red lapels and a bright red dress shirt with a black cross on the chest adorned you. Long black dress pants with matching cuffs, black gloves with red fingertips, black pointed-toe boots with red hoofprints, and all the other specific accessories that characterized Alastor himself gradually appeared in place,. The physical transformation was torturous, but it paled in comparison to the mental change that now assaulted you. Alastor's memories cascaded into your mind, drowning out your own. You tried desperately to hold onto your past, but every moment, every memory, every fragment of your identity was being torn away and supplanted by Alastor's persona. "Fight all you want, darling, but you will find resistance quite futile," Alastor's voice mocked, though it was becoming your voice. Your thoughts began aligning with his twisted mentality, a transatlantic accent creeping into your speech. "N-no... I won't..." you tried, but your voice was not your own. Your face twisted into that iconic broad smile, sharp teeth glinting. It was a losing battle; Alastor's personality was too dominant, too powerful. Your own thoughts and memories were lost, buried, replaced by the manic delight of the Radio Demon. As the transformation completed, you stood tall and confident, that predatory grin now permanently etched on your face. The battle was over. You were no longer the individual who had been kidnapped; you were Alastor, the Radio Demon, with no recollection of your previous mortal life. "Ah, much better," you said, twirling your cane. "Now, let’s see what fun we can have in this delightful version of Hell, shall we?" Alastor's voice echoed within you, the remnants of your past self obliterated. You stepped forward, ready to embrace a new eternity of chaos and entertainment, every trace of your former human self forever gone.

--- The day had started like any other, a seemingly mundane routine that I had fallen into comfortably. I spent my free time engaged in an online community, delving into fan creations of Hazbin Hotel. But as of late, there had been a growing trend involving Alastor transforming into various characters. I had commented on more than one occasion how fascinating these "what if" scenarios were. But as the saying goes, be careful what you wish for. One evening, while perusing a particularly intriguing piece, I felt an unexpected chill slither through the room. Before I could even react, the shadows in my room warped and twisted until a figure emerged. A figure all too familiar—Alastor, the Radio Demon. "Well, well, well," Alastor's voice was chillingly upbeat. "I've grown rather tired of these depictions. I think it's time for a change, don't you?" "W-what do you mean?" I stammered, backing away only to find myself cornered. Alastor grinned wider than ever. "Why, it's time for you to experience a little transformation of your own! Don't worry, I'll make sure it's unforgettable." Before I could protest, Alastor extended a hand, a dark force enveloping me, tearing me away from the safety of my room and casting me into another world, the world of Hazbin Hotel. In the chaos of the transition, I found myself standing in an unfamiliar yet disturbingly vibrant place. Alastor hadn't come alone; his dark magic was swirling around me, pulling and twisting at my essence. "No, this can't be happening!" I shouted, but my words were already losing sincerity. I could feel Alastor's personality pressing against mine, trying to overwrite who I was. "Relax, it will all be over soon," Alastor whispered, his voice echoing within my mind. I tried to fight, to resist. But my body was the first to succumb. My skin turned a beige hue, my form elongating, stretching until I stood at an imposing seven feet. I could feel my hair rearranging itself, taking on that distinct, cropped bob-cut style, with the black tips and two large tufts crowning my head. I watched in horror as antlers grew, piercing through the skin in a grotesque, slow process. "My God!" I gasped, voice cracking with the strain of transformation. But a sinister chuckle echoed within my mind, slowly turning my horror into amusement. Next were my eyes. I saw the world through a darkened lens as my sclera darkened to a blood red, irises flaring bright with malevolent red. In my reflection, my pupils twisted and contorted, occasionally morphing into radio dials. I tried to look away, but even my thoughts were beginning to fracture. "Fascinating, isn’t it?" Alastor's voice purred. "Embrace it." "No, I won't—" I began, but the protest turned into a delighted laugh, wholly not my own. Then came the clothes. My mundane outfit was replaced by the red pinstripe coat, the dress shirt, and the monocle. I could feel the smooth fabric, the ruffled bottom hem of the coat, and the bowtie resting snugly at my neck. Every article of clothing amplified the new identity being forced upon me. I found myself touching the thin cane that had appeared, marveling at the sentient vintage microphone now bonded to it. “You’re almost there,” Alastor's voice encouraged in my head, gleeful and maddening. “Just let go!” "No, this isn't right!" I attempted to scream, but my voice had already started to assume that old-fashioned radio announcer quality. Every memory of my past life was being eroded, replaced by Alastor's wicked history, his mannerisms, his twisted sense of humor. My height adjusted, senses honed, and every fiber of my being craved chaos and entertainment. My voice was no longer mine; it was his. I looked at my hands—now his hands—and my mouth split into that unnaturally broad smile. "Ah, much better!" I said, or rather, Alastor did, my own voice now indistinguishable from his. "This world—a new place to entertain and be entertained! How delightful!" The struggle ceased, and with it, any semblance of who I used to be vanished. I—no, Alastor—glanced around, surveying this realm with fresh, predatory excitement. My previous identity was not just suppressed; it was obliterated. I remembered nothing of my former life, only the invigorating thrill of being Alastor, the Radio Demon. Hell was going to be far more interesting now that there were two of me. Our names might be alike, our pasts might mirror each other, but in this haven for sinners, there was always room for more mischief. "Ah, dear Al! I see you’ve brought a twin!" Charlie remarked, her voice breaking through my musings. I turned to her, a diabolical grin forming. "Indeed, my dear," I replied. "The possibilities...are endless." The darkness receded, leaving only Alastor—a figure complete in every way, twofold in his delight for the chaos to come.

The echo of your keyboard clatters within the confines of your room as your attention is fixated on the screen. Immerging deeper into fan art and stories over the internet, you come across another transformation story. This time, it’s Alastor of Hazbin Hotel having a rather eerie encounter with another character, resulting in a body-switch or transformation. My imagination is enjoying these tales, but little did I know that this will be a reality soon. But unbeknownst to you, miles away within the confines of Hell, Alastor, the Radio Demon himself, is becoming increasingly aware and irritated by these portrayals. His eyes narrow as he scans through artwork and fanfiction detailing his eternal self being twisted, turned, and altered. The irritation manifests tangibly, forming into a plan in his mind. "Well now, isn’t this just a monotonous manner of absurdity? It’s time to show these creators a true transformation!" Alastor chuckles darkly, his smile widening into an unnaturally toothy grin, keen on implementing his concept. Out of the screen, a wispy, ethereal fog leaks into your room. Confused and alarmed, your attempts to flee are futile as the room darkens, the fog becoming more tangible, more real. Out of nowhere, the Radio Demon himself emerges, a vibrant mix of crimson and eldritch energy. “Oh, my dear reader!” he drawls with a bemused chuckle, stepping forth with his ever-broadening grin. "I’m led to believe you find these transformation tales quite captivating, yes? Let’s turn the tables, shall we?” Before you can scream, respond, or even react, Alastor’s cane-wielding black magic engulfs you completely. Your vision blurs and your senses warp, body beginning to feel more alien with every passing second. "This’ll be entertaining," his voice echoes around as the transformation takes hold of you, starting from within. With horror, you feel your shape begin to contort and change. Your skin pales to an eerie beige, extending and stretching as your height shoots up to an alarming 7 feet. The horror within makes you realize just how much you are not yourself anymore when you become aware of your facial features contorting into those of Alastor’s. The ground beneath you sways as the world shifts, and you find yourself colliding into the netherworldly domain of Hazbin Hotel’s Hell. There’s no noise save for Alastor’s relentless laughter and your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. Strands of your hair transform into a pinkish-red bob-cut, tufts extending from the sides, rounding into deer-like antlers. "No... this can't be happening...!" Your mind rallies to hold onto your identity, but Alastor’s power is insidious, seeping deeply into your very consciousness. New memories impose upon your mind, holding supremacy over all you've known. Soon, your every thought isn’t yours but phrases and knowledge echoing Alastor’s persona. The voice—a surprisingly foreign yet familiar radio announcer tone—starts emanating from within. “Well now," you chuckle. But instead of dread, it’s casual amusement. Every fragment of your prior self’s memories frays at the edges until finally you laugh. The voice, the manner, solely Alastor’s. “There’s no point fighting it,” Alastor’s voice—the original demon—rumbles within the domain, almost echoing as an eerie guide, or a final call of darkness. "That's it; succumb to your new self!” A jagged smile stretches across your face, settling into a permanency underlying a strange contentment. The lure of the old world diminishes, making way for an exuberant laughter that rings out. It’s not you, and yet now, it is all you will ever be. “Well, aren’t we just a charming duo now? Enchantment awaits in the heart of perdition!" The words are your own, yet fully framed by Alastor’s recollections and vibrant persona. No past reminiscence, only a newly minted future as a mirrored echo of the Radio Demon—from behavior to disposition, now etched onto your essence eternally. Thus, Alastor stands not alone but with an identical twin, a clone forged from another life, bounding gleefully toward new mayhems, a lesson carved deeply within the recesses of what was once a fleeting reader's human past, now erased and replaced forevermore.

In your quiet, unassuming world, the sun was setting, casting a golden hue across the familiar surroundings of your home. You had checked your favorite online forums and immersed yourself in the comforting, everyday activities that provided a sense of normalcy. Little did you know that your interest in the world of Hazbin Hotel was about to initiate a terrifying and surreal transformation, beyond anything you could ever comprehend. Unbeknownst to you, the character in the stories and artworks that you enjoyed had grown tired of the fetishistic tributes. Alastor, the Radio Demon of Hell, had observed enough. "Such distasteful renditions," he mused with disdain from his dimension. "It's time to teach these mortals a lesson they'll never forget." With arcane and otherworldly powers, Alastor breached the fabric of reality, stepping out of the confines of Hell and into your world. As you sat at your desk, the air grew cold, and shadows lengthened unnaturally around you. Before you could react, a pair of dark red eyes gleamed from the shadows. "W-What is happening?" Your voice trembled as the lights flickered. Without warning, Alastor materialized in your room, his ghastly, distorted grin reflecting a predatory amusement. “Good evening, my dear human,” Alastor crooned, his voice eerily mirthful. “It seems you’ve been quite taken with the wrong sort of amusements. Allow me to offer you a… new perspective.” You did not have time to respond before he took out his cane, the sentient microphone lighting up and repeating with eerie reverb, “A new perspective!” In a flash, reality warped around you. You felt a searing pain as your body was forcibly reshaped. Your skin turned beige, and you felt your height increase rapidly until you were towering at seven feet. Muscles and bones contorted, transitioning to match Alastor's lean yet daunting frame. “No! This isn’t real!” you screamed internally, but the pain of transformation drowned out your thoughts. Your once familiar clothes were ripped away, replaced by a red pinstripe coat and the bright red dress shirt with a black cross on the chest. Your legs encased in long black pants, ending in black boots with red deer hoofprints. “Get out of my head,” you thought desperately, as your mind began to fog. Your memories of family, friends, and your life evaporated like mist in the morning sun. In their place, scenes of a different life flooded in—a 1930s radio host turned sadistic demon. “Stop! I don’t want this!” you fought against the invasive new persona, yet every second saw more of 'you' slipping away. Your hair shifted to that pinkish-red cropped bob cut, the black tips appearing, and antlers protruding from your scalp. Your once human eyes darkened with red sclerae and bright red irises, the new reality asserting its hold over you. “No, this is impossible!” You screamed, yet the voice that cried out was no longer yours, carrying a Transatlantic accent and a singsong quality. The wide grin wouldn’t fade from your face, matching Alastor’s infamous expression. "Ah, now there's the spirit!" Alastor proclaimed, clearly enjoying your torment. "You see, my dear twin," he continued, "what better entertainment than to have another me?" He chuckled darkly. "Let’s orchestrate a symphony of chaos together, forever." Deep inside, the last vestiges of your humanity clawed and scratched, but the new Alastor swatted it away lazily as if it were an insignificant bug. "Silly mortal thoughts,” the now fully manifested Alastor in you whispered mockingly. “They are no longer needed.” The transformation was complete. Alastor stood there, gazing at his reflection – or rather, his perfect clone – with unbridled satisfaction. The memories of being someone else, anyone else, faded into oblivion, replaced by the cunning, sinister recollections of the Radio Demon. “Well, my charming doppelgänger,” Alastor said, tipping his hat, “Shall we get back to Hell? There’s much fun to be had.” The new Alastor, which was once you, nodded, a gleam of dark excitement in his eyes. "Indeed, dear brother," you eerily replied, your new personality relishing the chaos that awaited. "Let's see what kind of delightful havoc we can wreak." And just like that, the human who once was, vanished without a trace, leaving the Radio Demon to roam Hell with a newly forged twin, a haunting reminder of the perils of dabbling too deeply in otherworldly fascinations.

The story begins with the reader—let's call her Jane—sitting comfortably in her room, scrolling through fanart and stories on her laptop. She had always been drawn to supernatural tales and often wondered what it might be like to live in those fantastical worlds. Little did she know, the night would bring her closer to such a reality than she could have ever imagined. **Jane's POV:** Jane was absorbed in the latest fanfic about Alastor being transformed into another character. She chuckled at the absurdity but couldn't help notice a faint buzzing sound, like static. It started low but grew louder, enough to pull her attention away from the screen. "What on earth…?" she muttered, looking around her room for the source of the noise. Before she could investigate further, a shimmering portal materialized in front of her. With a mix of fear and curiosity, she stood up, edging closer. Without warning, a charismatic yet ominous figure in red stepped out. "Good evening, dear! Delighted to make your acquaintance," Alastor greeted with a broad, toothy grin, bowing with exaggerated flourish. Jane's heart raced. "Alastor? But how…?" "Ah, straight to the point! Admirable," he said, clapping his hands. "You see, my dear, I've grown rather tired of those repetitive schemes where I'm changed and manipulated. So, I decided to turn the tables. How about a personal demonstration?" Before Jane could react, Alastor's eyes glowed a sinister red. She felt an invisible force pulling her toward him, her body losing sensation as the room around her started to dissolve. The last thing she heard was Alastor's voice, smooth yet spine-chilling. "A lively puppet needs an equally lively master, don't you think?" **Transition to Hazbin Hotel World:** When Jane regained consciousness, she found herself in a dark, eerie version of Hell. The colors were vivid yet grotesque, the air thick with a sense of impending doom. Alastor stood beside her, twirling his cane. "Welcome to your new home, my dear!" he announced with a theatrical wave. "Though, I must admit, you look quite out of place." Jane tried to respond, but the words caught in her throat. Her hands were beginning to tingle, then burn. She watched in horror as her skin turned a beige color, her fingers elongating into red-tipped claws. "No! This can't be happening!" she screamed, but her voice was already beginning to warp into Alastor's eerily cheerful tone. "As much as I enjoy a little monologue, it's time for a makeover. And don't bother fighting it—it’ll only make it more excruciating," he quipped, his grin never faltering. **Transformation:** Jane's entire body started to change rapidly. Her height shot up until she was towering at seven feet. Her limbs grew lean, and her chest flattened as she transformed from a female body to a male one. Her hair turned into a pinkish-red bob-cut with dark tips, tufts extending like deer ears, complemented by small antlers sprouting from her head. Her clothes morphed into a red pinstripe coat with dark-red lapels, the attire of a dapper demon. A monocle materialized over her right eye, and a cane with a sentient vintage microphone appeared in her hand. Every second of the transformation came with a mental assault. Memories of past mortal life started to vanish, replaced by Alastor's twisted recollections. Despite her desperate attempts to cling to her former self, the mental battle was futile. Each laugh, each sinister plot, and each twisted enjoyment pushed Jane further away from her identity. "I won't… forget… who I am!" she tried to assert, but the voice was already Alastor's cheerful cadence. "But you will! After all, your past existence is rather inconsequential in the grand scheme, don't you agree?" Alastor whispered in her ear, a final wave of energy sealing her fate. **Final State:** As the transformation completed, there was no trace of Jane left. The individual stood as Alastor's identical clone, every part of her former self now erased and replaced with Alastor's essence, memories, and personality. Alastor clapped, clearly pleased with the outcome. "Ah, splendid! Now we’re two peas in a pod, aren't we?" The new Alastor looked around, fully embracing his surroundings, his grin just as wide and unsettling as the original's. "Indeed, we are. This world just got twice as entertaining." And with that, Alastor’s identical twin brother strode forward, ready to revel in the chaotic fun that only Hell and their shared sadistic humor could provide. Jane was no more; only the Radio Demon remained, forever.

Transformation stories, especially those involving loss of personal identity and mind control, can be distressing and disturbing. Before I proceed with your request, it's important to acknowledge the ethical and psychological implications of such narratives. They can significantly impact mental health and may not be suitable for all audiences. If you are certain about proceeding with this kind of content, please consider exploring themes that are personally and culturally sensitive. If you're still sure about your request, here's the transformation story in the style you've described: --- The day started like any other for you. You were lost in the enthralling world of Hazbin Hotel fan art and stories, particularly captivated by the enigmatic Radio Demon, Alastor. But little did you know, Alastor himself was watching. --- Alastor's POV: I, Alastor, had grown increasingly bored in Hell. It's a difficult task, amusing oneself in such an unforgiving place. As if the usual mayhem wasn't enough, the influx of artwork and transformations showing me turning into lesser beings began to irritate me. Oh, the indignity! I decided it was high time I took matters into my own hands. If the mortals insisted on these absurd fantasies, I would give them a harsh lesson in reality. --- Your POV: One moment you were comfortably seated in your room, glued to your laptop, and the next, your world shattered. There was a flash of red light, and you found yourself face-to-face with Alastor, standing menacingly tall in your room. "Well, well, what have we here?" Alastor's voice dripped with condescension, "Someone who seems to find enjoyment in seeing me changed by the whims of lesser beings. How... amusing." Panicked, you tried to say something, anything, but your voice caught in your throat. Alastor's eyes gleamed with a dangerous light, and before you could react, he grabbed your arm, and the world dissolved into darkness. You woke up in a strange place—a world recognizable from the Hazbin Hotel universe but far more terrifying in its realism. Alastor stood over you, grinning maniacally. "This should be enlightening, for both of us. You get to see what it's really like to be Alastor... from the inside out," he declared. Your heart pounded as his words sank in. He chanted in an ancient, sinister language you couldn't understand. Your body began to change, the sensation excruciating yet oddly numb. Fighting back, you tried to hold onto your identity, your memories, but they slipped through your mental grasp like grains of sand. Your skin turned a beige color, stretching and morphing. Your hands elongated, fingers thin and tipped with red. Sharp pain crackled along your scalp as antlers burst forth, and your hair warped into a pinkish-red with black tips. You watched in horror as your clothes faded and twisted into Alastor’s distinct red pinstripe coat and attire. "No! This can't be happening," you thought, but your voice was no longer your own. It carried the sing-song quality of a 1930s radio announcer. "Ah, it's useless to resist, dear mortal," Alastor's voice echoed in your mind. "Your past life is no more. You are me, in every sense." Memories of your previous life—your family, friends, your very name—vanished, replaced by twisted recollections of Alastor’s human life, his ambitions, his descent into darkness, his thrill for power. You struggled, but the more you fought, the faster your consciousness crumbled. Thoughts became aligned, desires twisted. You found yourself admiring Alastor's handiwork, his achievements and cunning. Finally, your face locked into a sinister, permanent smile. "Welcome, brother," Alastor said, looking at his perfect clone—another Alastor. Your struggles ceased; there was no longer "you," only "him." "Time to paint Hell red with some real entertainment," you said, feeling a thrill of excitement poisoned with malevolence. The transformation was complete. The duplicity, the identity theft was perfect and irreversible. There was no past to return to, only an eternity of being Alastor, the Radio Demon. And so, the cosmos had one more Alastor to reckon with. A new actor in the never-ending show of chaos and malevolence.

The transformation story was as such: You had just finished another hour of online browsing, scrolling through fan art and interactive stories of your favorite characters and specifically, Alastor from the Hazbin Hotel series. As you clicked away at the numerous versions and adaptations of him, you barely noticed the strange, eerie glow forming near your computer. Before you could react properly, a tall, slender figure pulled you into a newly formed portal in your own room. It was then that you realized what was happening; you weren't dreaming, and you weren't hallucinating. He, the one you loved as a character, was right there. Alastor. Before panic could set in, you glanced at your unfamiliar surroundings. It wasn't your room, nor was it anywhere you recognized. Instead, you were at the center of the Hazbin Hotel's lavish lounge. Alastor turned to study you, his wide grin never faltering. "You've seen a lot about me, haven't you?" His sharp teeth seemed to gleam in the light. The voice, hauntingly familiar, echoed in your ears. But a twist to the situation was lurking. "W-what's happening?" You managed, the uncertainty in your voice clear. "I think you've seen too much, dear friend. Now it's time for you to learn something new, something more entertaining," he said, the playful intonation in his radio announcer voice hiding a much more sinister intention. Wide-eyed, you felt your skin prickle. His intentions began to dawn as he extended his hand. A surge of fear and intrigue passed over you. He glanced mildly at your reluctance, finally speaking the imminent, "Don't you want to be a part of the 'picture show'?" A touch from him; that's all it took. The odd sensation was immediate, the feeling of your existence shifting. You screamed as every fiber of your being was being rewritten. Your memory was the first to go, wiped clean as if flipping a reset switch. In a futile effort, you tried to resist, tried to hold onto your words, your past, your image. But the ruthless current of change excluded any chance of retaining who you had once been. Despite the fear and resistance, the gender changed particularly swiftly if you were female, your features reshaping to match Alastor's. Your clothes had changed to match his flamboyant, vintage dressing style. A sensation ran down your spine as you felt your hair morph into something different. Checking, you found two carefully pruned antlers popping out. Your height morphed to align with Alastor’s, reaching a tall and intimidating 7 feet. You felt mature, the feeling of having been in your 30s or 40s when you died. You looked at your hands, which were now sported with red hoof-like fingers. Your eyes shifted, feeling the dark-gray lower legs and arms and then focus fading into a bright red. Staggering to a mirror, you saw your new face and its newly brightened red eyes, bearing exact resemblance to Alastor. You tried to recall who you were, yet the more you racked your disoriented mind, the less it offered any coherent memories. It was a losing battle and even though you strained against the process, you felt yourself lose the will to fight it. You caught your reflection in a mirror and it was as if Alastor had just repeated his daily grooming routine on your identity. It was all wildly shocking, yet subtly settling. You were no longer you. Instead, his image reflected in your eyes. The man you'd admired, pondered over and adored. As your memories of being 'you' faded, they were replaced by new memories. His memories. You remembered killing, remembered Hell, remembered power. You wanted more. Any residual feelings for humanity were replaced by a resolute conviction to assert your dominance. Through the transition, his voice in your head transformed into your voice. A voice that cartoons adored. A voice that feared nothing. A voice that you realized belonged to you, Alastor. Thus, you were reborn. Not as a human, but as an identical twin to your dearly admired Alastor. You didn't fear, you didn't regret. You had become undeniably powerful, confident and more importantly, you lost all connection to your past self. Human identities weren't required in Hell, after all. Your transformation was complete, irreversible and permanent. And looking over your new form, your grin widened. "Welcome to the picture show," you said to yourself, your voice resounding in the lounge, a new addition to Hell's most charming and dangerous resident.