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Question: Write the POV transformation story of a male human reader (a boy of 7 years old) turning into Fizzarolli (from the adult animated series Helluva Boss), complete with clothes change, age progression, height progression, semi-robotification (arms and legs becoming robotic), reality/world change (the reader's real world warping and turning into the world of Helluva Boss), and mind/mental change (with the reader's personalities and memories being completely replaced with Fizzarolli's personality and memories, despite the reader's best efforts on fighting these mental changes and his attempts to call the reader's parents for help, making the reader permanently and completely forget about his past self and only remember being Fizzarolli the jester imp). The transformation into Fizzarolli is permanent (meaning it's forever) and completely irreversible. For Fizzarolli's appearance (after the kid reader turned into him), he is a tall, slender male imp with a jester getup. Like all imps, he has a short reptilian-looking muzzle with sharp teeth in it, and he lacks any visible ears or nostrils. He lacks any hair on his head and his body. His eyes have lime sclera and pink irises, his sharp teeth are neon blue, and he has a devil-like imp tail with black stripes, however the stripe in the middle is white. His cybernetic arms and legs are retractable, able to extend and bend far more than normal jointed limbs could and have a light blue circle on each shoulder and light blue spots on his knuckles. The majority of Fizzarolli's head is covered in a huge burn scar, with the only parts unaffected being the tip of his mouth and a small part of the back of his head, which show his original red skin. His face also has black dots at the ends of his mouth, and he has a forked tongue that has a couple of black stripes on it as well. He used to have exceptionally large horns for an imp, but were damaged and cauterized by the fire. He wears a bright red and blue jester cap with bells, a white ruff, and a black collar with bells located below it. His jester hat's stripe patterns resemble those of his horns' as a child, being asymmetrical from both sides. The front side of his outfit is bright red with yellow trim at the bottom with yellow hearts, while the back is bright blue with white trim at the bottom and black hearts. He wears white and purple striped pants along with white and purple striped sleeves with bright red cuffs and yellow trim edging, and yellow balls on his shoulders with light red hearts. He also wears black, heeled shoes with yellow hearts on the front, black gloves with red spots on the knuckles, and yellow cuffs. For Fizzarolli's personality, he is a theatrical demon, with a fast-talking demeanor and a crude sense of humor. Extremely vulgar in nature, he constantly makes sexual jokes and puns, to the degree he pairs up with Asmodeus in openly condescending sentimental relationships and offering lewd suggestions. He was shown to be especially condescending towards Blitzo, with whom he has a bad history with, which stems from an accident that happened at Cash Buckzo's circus fifteen years prior to the episode "Oops", however Fizzarolli found it in him to forgive Blitzo after the latter rescued him from Crimson and Striker. Early in the series, Fizzarolli seemed to embody Blitzo's comments about being an overrated sellout clown, given how he did not seem to mind having his image exploited by Mammon's corporate marketing because it made him popular and famous for being a Sins name-brand figure. This included having no issue with his likeness being marketed for a line of sex toys, despite how it secretly creeped him out. He also dislikes the creepy fans who enjoy the Robo Fizz sex toys, even secretly ordering the staff at Ozzie's to keep a creepy fan far away from him after they proclaimed they owned four. Despite his normal jovial nature Fizzarolli suffers from extreme self-worth and self-image issues, the latter of which mostly originating from the severe injuries he received from a circus fire that he was involved in when he was younger. Because of this, he feels like he needs to do whatever Mammon tells him to do, as he feels he must repay the man for all the fame and success being his brand figure has brought, despite how horribly he is treated. He also believes unless he keeps propitiating the fame and admiration he will be nothing and will lose Asmodeus, as he's only ever seen him as he claims it "his best", and believes he is barely worthy of working with a king of sin because of his disfigurement. For Fizzarolli's preferences, he likes ridiculing Blitzo (formerly), fame, working for Mammon, eating burgers, juggling, playing with airhorns, and spending time with Asmodeus (who he has a gay/homosexual relationship with), but he dislikes pirates (when he was a child), blood, sharp objects, obsessive fans, Mammon's abuse to Fizzarolli, Striker's breath, being exploited, disappointing Mammon, performing under pressure, and going outside alone. There should also be quotes from the characters in this story so we know what they're saying and what they're thinking.
You looked at your hands, small and delicate, only to see them warp and expand into nightmarish robotic limbs, ones you had only seen on the tv screen. "Oh no, M-Mom! Dad!" you cried out, a somber look of fear and worry washing over your seven-year-old face. You scrambled towards your parents' bedroom, the world around you swirling and contorting in ways your young mind couldn’t grasp. As you stumbled down the hallway, your clothes changed - a pajama turned into a jester's regalia, bright red and blue, complete with bells and hearts. No matter how hard you scrubbed at them, the fabric would not revert to your comfort clothes. "C-circus..." you muttered, quaking. Your mind wracked with glowing memories of that program, Helluva Boss, a show far too mature for childlike you. Reality chilled the room, the air conditioning replaced by an ominous hum and a disturbing feeling of infernal heat. Your world changed, no longer the suburban home you'd grown up in. Screams of the damned, lurid neon lights replaced the comforting glow of your nightlight. You knew this world. The world of Helluva Boss. No... This wasn't supposed to be real! Your mind, once a playground of innocuous thoughts, a place where superheroes reigned and schoolwork bore down, changed. Lust, dark humor, and vanity percolated your thoughts. You tried to resist their onslaught, clutching your tiny head. “Please, no...” What came out of your throat next didn't belong to you, it was the voice of another, one you'd only heard through the screen. "Ah, look at you tryin' to resist! How cute!" The voice was throaty, manic, conniving. It belonged to Fizzarolli. You looked into the mirror. A tall, slender male imp with a jester getup, short reptilian-looking snout, and a large burn scar stared back at you, feeling a devil-like striped imp tail grow out of your spine, wiggling around during your transformation. No trace of your boyish face was left. You were no longer the seven-year-old boy who loved ice cream and comic books. You were a demon of Hell. As you squirmed into your new reality, every memory of yours started to fade, replaced by memories of working for Mammon, a muddied relationship with a fellow demon named Blitzo, and clandestine meetings with a demon named Asmodeus. Your past was a fading mirage, the grip slackening with every moment. You reached out, the memories of your parents’ bedroom, the kitchen, your weekend camping trips, morphing into twisted nightmares. You heard the chiming laughter of that demon in your head. "Ah, no use callin' out for the folks now! This is our reality, kiddo!" Desperate to hold onto your fading humanity, you called out to your parents one more time. "Mom! Dad!" But fear seized you as your shout morphed into laughter. Laughter that wasn't yours. Laughter of the demon you'd become. Fizzarolli. "Welcome to the Helluva Boss world,” Your new voice, Fizzarolli’s voice was accompanied by the incessant ringing of the jester bells attached to your outfit. “And you ain't getting out anytime soon, kiddo!" And just like that, your transformation was complete. You were Fizzarolli. Time and reality distorted around you like a Möbius strip, shifting until you possessed no memory of your former life. You could only remember your charred, one-horned face and your life as an imp demon who lived as a clown. Forever. The young boy was lost, buried in the deep recesses of Hell’s madness, never to resurface.
I looked at my hands, small and delicate, only to see them warp and expand into nightmarish robotic limbs, ones I had only seen on the tv screen. "Oh no, M-Mom! Dad!" I cried out, a somber look of fear and worry washing over my seven-year-old face. I scrambled towards my parents' bedroom, the world around me swirling and contorting in ways my young mind couldn’t grasp. As I stumbled down the hallway, my clothes changed - a pirate themed pajama set into a jester's regalia, bright red and blue, complete with bells and hearts. No matter how hard I scrubbed at them, the fabric would not revert to my comfort clothes. "C-circus..." I muttered, quaking. My mind wracked with glowing memories of that program, Helluva Boss, a show far too mature for childlike me. Reality chilled the room, the air conditioning replaced by an ominous hum and a disturbing feeling of infernal heat. My world changed, no longer the suburban home I'd grown up in. Screams of the damned, lurid neon lights replaced the comforting glow of my nightlight. I knew this world. The world of Helluva Boss. No... This wasn't supposed to be real! My mind, once a playground of innocuous thoughts, a place where superheroes reigned and schoolwork bore down, changed. Lust, dark humor, and vanity percolated my thoughts. I tried to resist their onslaught, clutching my tiny head. “Please, no...” What came out of my throat next didn't belong to me, it was the voice of another, one I'd only heard through the screen. "Ah, look at you tryin' to resist! How cute!" The voice was throaty, manic, conniving. It belonged to Fizzarolli. I looked into the mirror. A tall, slender male imp with a jester getup and a large burn scar stared back. No trace of my boyish face was left. I was no longer the seven-year-old boy who loved ice cream and comic books. I was a demon of Hell. As I squirmed into my new reality, every memory of mine started to fade, replaced by memories of working for Mammon, a muddied relationship with a fellow demon named Blitzo, and clandestine meetings with a demon named Asmodeus. My past was a fading mirage, the grip slackening with every moment. I reached out, the memories of my parents’ bedroom, the kitchen, our weekend camping trips, morphing into twisted nightmares. I heard the chiming laughter of that demon in my head. "Ah, no use callin' out for the folks now! This is our reality, kiddo!" Desperate to hold onto my fading humanity, I called out to my parents one more time. "Mom! Dad!" But fear seized me as my shout morphed into laughter. Laughter that wasn't mine. Laughter of the demon I'd become. Fizzarolli. "Welcome to the Helluva Boss world,” My new voice, Fizzarolli’s voice was accompanied by the incessant ringing of the jester bells attached to my outfit. “And you ain't getting out anytime soon, kiddo!" And just like that, my transformation was complete. I was Fizzarolli. Time and reality distorted around me like a Möbius strip, shifting until I possessed no memory of my former life. I could only remember my charred, one-horned face and my life as a demon imp. Forever. The young boy was lost, buried in the deep recesses of Hell’s madness, never to resurface.
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