The reader had always been fascinated by horror stories, and had been drawn to dark, suspenseful books since he was young. He loved the feeling of being pulled into the story, and finding himself te

The sun had set hours ago, and you sat hunched over your laptop, deep within the rabbit hole of Hazbin Hotel fan creations. Click after click, you marveled at the endless interpretations of your favorite characters. But amidst your consumption of fan art and transformations, you failed to notice a slender figure creeping through the veil that separated fiction from reality. Alastor, the Radio Demon, found himself growing increasingly impatient and discontented with the sudden surge of stories transforming him into other beings. "Ah, what a dreadful lack of creativity," Alastor's voice echoed in the abyss of Hell. "Time for a bit of hands-on interaction." With a snap of his fingers, the boundary between realms tore like tissue paper. His grin widened as he stepped into your dimly lit room through the rip in reality. You felt a sudden chill as the presence of unbearable charisma filled the room. Startled, you looked up to see the dapper demon himself standing before you. The last thing you remembered was the glint in his eyes. *** You awoke to find yourself in a place that seemed eerily familiar—Hazbin Hotel. But there was no time to process this shift in reality. Pain surged through your body as every muscle stretched and contorted. "What's happening to me?" you screamed as Alastor grinned down, his form slowly being replaced by your own—a tall, red suit cladding, eerie whispering in the wind. "Who could have guessed an innocent hobby would lead you here?" Alastor's voice now came from your mouth, each word laced with the Transatlantic accent. Your skin tingled, taking on a beige tint, light pulsating from within. Your body elongated, joints popping and groaning as you shot up to approximately seven feet. Bones shifted, muscles reformed, and your face contorted into a sinister smile. "No, this isn't real," you gasped. You clutched at your sides only to find red-tipped gloved fingers where your hands had been. “Welcome to your new reality!” Alastor’s cackling voice proclaimed. The outfit began to form itself around you; a red pinstripe coat, a bright red dress shirt with a black cross on the chest, the black dress pants with matching cuffs. To top it off, the dark-red monocle appeared over your right eye. Your hair reshaped itself into a pinkish-red bob cut, black tips at the end, tufts of hair like a deer’s ears sticking up, black antlers emerging from the crown. Your eyes shifted, dark-red sclerae with bright-red irises and thin black pupils stared back at you from the mirror conjured by Alastor’s magic. “No, I won't let you take over!” You shouted, desperately clinging to your sense of self. Memories of your human life, the mundane joys, the simple sorrows, started to fade. The charismatic, malevolent charm of Alastor's memories began seeping into your consciousness. “Hush now,” the voice of Alastor soothed from within. “Let the Radio Demon in. You didn't think I’d go easy on you, did you?” The resistance seemed futile; his memories overpowered yours. You remembered—no—Alastor remembered his life on Earth before becoming the feared Radio Demon. The face of your former self blurred, dissolving into oblivion. "Stay out of my head," you growled one last time, but the strength of Alastor's personality overwhelmed your resistance. Your mind was twisted, reformed into something far darker. There was nothing left of your original consciousness. Your lips curled into a broad, toothy grin full of sharp, yellow teeth. “Now, this is more fitting.” Charlie walked in, her eyes widening. “Alastor?! No, wait… there are two of you? What have you done?” You—or rather, Alastor—bowed theatrically. “Ah, dearest Charlie, don’t fret. The performance must go on, and with an identical twin brother, it will be ever the more grand!” As the new Alastor, you—or rather he—stood there, reveling in this twisted sense of completion. The Radio Demon had his way, and you had forgotten ever being anyone else. "Let's make this hellhole a bit more interesting, shall we?" The newly-made Alastor's grin mirrored the original, ready to bring his brand of entertainment to Hell. From that moment on, the twisted veil between the realms had woven a story only Alastor—both of him—would ever truly enjoy, the human past, a mere whisper in the abyss.

The clock struck midnight as you sat at your desk, deeply engrossed in the latest assignment, entirely unaware of the otherworldly eyes watching you from the shadows. The story you were immersed in was about a character you had grown disturbingly fascinated with—Alastor from Hazbin Hotel. The Radio Demon, with his charming yet sinister persona, had become a frequent subject of your research and perhaps, unwittingly, your obsession. Alastor, peering through the veil of his own creation, had found this fascination entertaining up to a point. But even the timeless patience of a demon had its limits. "They're making a mockery of me," Alastor mused to himself, dark thoughts furling through his mind like smoke. "Time they learned a lesson." Without warning, the air around you grew cold. The room dimmed, shadows creeping along the walls despite the lamps. You began to feel as though you were being watched, your heartbeat hastening with an unexplainable dread. Before you could react, a rift opened in the fabric of reality, dragging you through a tunnel of darkness and chaos—plunging you into the very Hell that Alastor called home. The world around you stabilized in a surreal jerk, leaving you disoriented in a dimly lit room. A chill ran down your spine. The clack of hooves echoed erotically in the silence, and stepping into the sparse light was none other than Alastor himself, his devilish smile gleaming in the dim glow. "You have quite the fixation on me, haven't you?" Alastor's voice sang, unsettlingly calm and composed. "I suppose I should return the favor." Before you could utter a word, his hands moved gracefully, weaving complex patterns that shimmered with dark energy. Your body froze, rooted to the spot by an unseen force, your muscles betraying you. His incantations grew louder, reverberating through the room as the black magic took hold. "No, please!" you screamed, struggling against the encroaching power, "I don't want this!" But Alastor only grinned wider, his fascination turning into a twisted delight. "Oh, but you see, it's not about what you want anymore. It's about what I find entertaining." The transformation was slow—agonizingly slow. You felt a tingle starting in your fingertips, creeping up your arms. Your skin took on an unnatural beige hue, the tips of your fingers turning a vibrant red. Panic surged through you, every fiber of your being battling the changes. Your mind reeled as memories, not your own, clawed their way in: a swampy upbringing in the Deep South, grisly murders and twisted hunts. Your hands tried to claw at your skull as if you could dig them out, but to no avail. "No, no, no!" you groaned, feeling your height beginning to shift. You watched helplessly as your legs elongated, muscles reshaping, and your perspective altered. In the blink of an eye, your modest stature expanded until you were towering seven feet tall. The physical agony was eclipsed by the psychological torment as your identity felt like it was slipping away, replaced by the depravity of another. As the transformation approached the final stages, tufts of black-tipped hair sprouted from the top of your head, evoking the antlers that could grow into terrifying enormity. You looked down, seeing your clothes morphing; mundane fabrics transforming into Alastor's signature red pinstripe coat, black gloves, and pointed-toe boots. Every detail, down to the monocle over your right eye and the sentient microphone cane in your hand, materialized like darkness given form. Your eyes, unable to shut out the horror, noticed the foreboding dark-red sclerae and the blood-red irises staring back at you from a nearby mirror. As the transformation tightened its grip on your physical form, the battle in your mind grew desperate. "Remember who you are!" you screamed internally. But it was fleeting. The memories of your past, the essence of who you were, were being methodically erased, overwritten by the omnipresence of Alastor's insane cackle echoing in your psyche. "Just a little more," Alastor's voice delighted in your failure, his words melding with your own thoughts, until there was no longer a ‘you’ fighting back. The last vestiges of your resistance crumbled. Your consciousness was subsumed, memories of a life you once lived vanishing into the abyss. And then it was complete. "Welcome," Alastor said to his now-identical counterpart, observing his clone with a satisfied grin. The newly formed Radio Demon stood beside him, adjusting his freshly donned monocle without a hint of hesitation, his broad smile mirroring precisely. "There now, wasn't that more fun than those trivial little stories you enjoyed?" he quipped. But there was no answer from the soul who used to reside within the entity now known solely as Alastor, for to this new being, the very idea of having ever been anyone else was utterly preposterous. "Time to cause some mayhem, wouldn't you agree?" Alastor proposed to his twin, his gleeful tone echoed by the clone standing at his side. "Indeed," the second Alastor replied with a chuckle, their voices blending into an eerie harmony. The two demons stepped out into the streets of Hell, ready to bring their malevolent entertainment to a reality that had, until then, known only one Radio Demon. Now, there were two—and the world had no idea what was in store.

It was a late night, and you sat in your room, scrolling through an endless barrage of fan art and transformation stories. One in particular caught your eye, a tale of transformation involving Alastor from Hazbin Hotel. "As if anything like that would ever happen," you muttered, shaking your head with a smirk. Little did you know, the very figure you were reading about was watching you from the shadows of your room, bored and seeking new forms of amusement. Suddenly, the room grew colder, and a crackling static hissed through the air. A voice, smooth yet unnerving, echoed from nowhere, "How delightful it is to observe the fascination mortals have with transformations. It's a resolution entirely distasteful when it's me being altered. Yet perhaps, a change can be... entertaining." You spun around, eyes widening as Alastor, the Radio Demon himself, materialized before you. His smile broadened, exposing his sharp, yellow teeth. "You fancy stories where one is turned into another, do you? Let's make things spicier." Before you could react, the world around you blurred and twisted. You found yourself not in your cozy room, but in a fiery, surreal landscape — Hell itself. Alastor's voice, now booming, filled your ears. "Let's begin, shall we?" Panic surged through you as dark red magic surrounded you, seeping into your skin and changing you from within. You felt your bones stretch and rearrange, painful yet transforming you into the tall, slender figure of Alastor. Your hands and feet morphed into the trademark red fingers and cloven hooves. Your perspective shifted as you grew taller, reaching approximately 7 feet. Looking down, you saw Alastor's iconic red pinstripe coat forming around you, complete with all its intricate details. "No, no, this can't be happening!" you shouted, your voice already sounding disturbingly similar to Alastor's smooth, transatlantic accent. Your hair lengthened and angled into the perfect cropped bob-cut with black tips. Painful pricks burst from your head, as small black antlers sprouted. The final touch brought a monocle sliding into place over your right eye, framing it in a dark-red oval. Desperately, you clawed at the remnants of your mind, trying to hold onto your identity. Memories of your life, your family, your friends — all of it started to blur, erasing in a nightmarish swirl of static. You felt Alastor's presence growing stronger, taking over. "Oh, come now, no use fighting it," Alastor's voice cooed from within your own mind. "You and I are one now. Doesn't that sound splendid?" You struggled, clinging to the last vestiges of your former self. "I won't forget! This isn't me!" But your voice faltered. The world became clouded with Alastor's memories. You saw flashes of the 1930s, his rise to power in Hell, the many sinners he tormented. Each memory felt more vivid, more real than your own. Gradually, your resistance weakened. "I'm... Alastor," you heard yourself say, the broader grin forming naturally on your face. "Yes, that's right, the Radio Demon in the flesh—oh, the fun we'll have!" Your mind, once your own realm of thoughts and feelings, was now entirely Alastor's domain. Your past self faded into oblivion, leaving behind only the identity of the Radio Demon. "Welcome back, old friend," Alastor's laugh echoed in your head, the epitome of smug satisfaction. You adjusted the bow tie, marveling at your now familiar dapper attire. "Well now, time to find new entertainment, wouldn't you say, old chum?" And with that, you, now fully Alastor, walked confidently back into Hell, your new life filled with dark promises and sinister delights. The person you had been was no more, leaving only Alastor's sinister legacy to continue.

## The Transformation of the Reader: Alastor's New Twin ### Prologue It happened suddenly, without any warning. You were sitting in your room, scrolling through yet another piece of fan art depicting Alastor, the infamous Radio Demon from Hazbin Hotel, when the screen began to flicker. Reality seemed to warp around you as the room grew darker and a chilling presence filled the air. "Well, well, well, what do we have here?" a familiar, eerie voice echoed through the room. There, standing before you, was Alastor himself. The surreal nature of the situation made your heart pound. The lines between reality and fiction blurred as you found yourself staring into his menacing, yet strangely charismatic, crimson eyes. "You see, dear reader," Alastor continued with a smile that was both charming and terrifying, "I've grown quite weary of seeing myself twisted and transformed into all manner of grotesque caricatures. It's time for a lesson, don't you think?" Before you could respond, he snapped his fingers. The world around you dissolved into darkness, your scream silenced by the void. ### The Arrival When you awoke, you found yourself in a place you recognized immediately: the Hazbin Hotel. The familiar yet unsettling ambiance was there, with the dark, Gothic architecture and the peculiar residents wandering about. In an instant, Alastor materialized before you again, his predator-like grin expanding even wider. "This is your new home," he announced grandly, "but not as you are now. Oh no, we need you to fit in better." Fear coursed through your veins, but before you could react, Alastor began an incantation. Dark, shadowy tendrils of magic wrapped around your body. You could feel your skin tingling, followed by an intense sensation of stretching and morphing. ### The Transformation Your height began to increase, your feet leaving the ground as if you were being lifted by an unseen force. Your body elongated, limbs stretching and becoming slimmer, yet stronger. This was only the beginning. "What's happening to me?!" you tried to scream, but your voice caught in your throat, morphing into that familiar, honeyed, transatlantic accent. Your hair shifted colors, turning a pinkish-red with black tips, taking on the shape of Alastor’s signature angled bob-cut. The sensation was both painful and exhilarating. You could feel your skin changing texture, becoming a beige hue, and your mouth stretching into that never-ending, sharp-toothed grin. Desperately, you clung to your fading self-awareness, trying to remember who you were. But the memories were slipping through your grasp like grains of sand. Your clothes shimmered and transformed into a perfectly tailored red pinstripe coat, complete with dark-red lapels, an emblazoned monocle settling over your right eye. "Impressive, isn't it?" Alastor mused as he watched his magic work. "You’re not just becoming a lookalike; you're becoming me." You felt an unbearable itching at the top of your head as small, black antlers emerged, followed by the dark-grey fade of your forearms and lower legs. Your fingers turned bright red at the tips, matching your toes which morphed into red hoof-like forms. Numbness began to overtake you, but you fought it, repeating your name in your mind, trying to hold onto any shred of your identity. "Don't fight it," Alastor whispered, his voice echoing in your skull. "This will be easier if you just let go." Your mind buzzed, filled with alien thoughts and memories—memories of a life lived long ago, in another era entirely. You felt yourself slipping further and further away. "No… I’m... me," you tried to reason internally, but the words felt foreign, hollow. ### The Final Conversion "Just a little more," Alastor's voice was the only constant in your rapidly disintegrating consciousness. His smile grew impossibly wide as he saw the last vestiges of your resistance crumble. With a final surge, your transformation was complete. You opened your eyes, now filled with dark-red sclerae and bright-red irises. The Radio Demon looked at you expectantly. "Welcome, my dear twin," he said, almost gleefully. "How do you feel?" For a fleeting moment, you tried to grasp who you were, but there was nothing. Only Alastor. You straightened your now seven-foot-tall frame, relishing the smooth fabric of your coat, and smiled. "Exquisite," you replied, your voice a polished echo of Alastor’s own. "Absolutely exquisite." Alastor clapped his hands together in delight. "Wonderful! Now, let's see what sort of entertainment we can conjure up together, shall we?" As you followed your newfound twin, all traces of your former self obliterated, you felt an exhilarating sense of purpose and vitality. For this was who you truly were now: Alastor, the Radio Demon, reborn. ### Epilogue And so, Alastor had achieved two things: the elimination of a nuisance and the creation of a perfect companion. The Hazbin Hotel would never be the same, but that was exactly as Alastor intended. In your final moments of resistance, you might have been horrified by what you had become. But now, none of that mattered. All that remained was the delightfully sinister personality of Alastor, ready to indulge in the chaotic entertainment of Hell for eternity.

In your comfortable human home, you sit idly at your desk, scrolling through artwork and stories online. It’s a typical evening filled with mundane tasks and mild entertainment. Suddenly, you feel a peculiar chill run down your spine. You dismiss it initially, possibly the draft from an open window. But when a catchy, vintage radio tune starts playing out of nowhere, curiosity grips you. “It's showtime!” an eerily familiar voice announces from the ether. You jump back in your chair, heart pounding. The shadows in the room warp and weave until they form a figure—a tall, dapper man with a permanent, ominous grin. “Well, well, well, what do we have here?” Alastor's eyes glint with mischief. “I must say, I've grown quite weary of seeing myself twisted and turned into other forms in your little stories. How about a taste of your own medicine?” Before you can react or protest, Alastor snaps his fingers, the lights dimming as a vivid portal opens beneath your feet. You scream, but it’s too late. The world spirals into darkness. When you come to, you are no longer in your home but in a lavishly eerie setting, the hotel’s grand lobby. You struggle to stand, the surroundings alien and intimidating. “Oh dear visitor, do stand up straight! One must maintain proper posture,” Alastor’s voice booms again, now behind you. You swivel, only to face him once more, his devious smile never faltering. "Why are you doing this?" you manage to croak out. “Well, isn't it obvious? Entertainment, my dear. And to teach you a lesson.” With another snap of his fingers, a dark cloud of magic engulfs you. You feel your body start to tingle, then burn. "No! Stop it!" you shout, but the magic works relentlessly, your voice growing more high-pitched. You feel your body elongating, height increasing rapidly to approximately seven feet. Your limbs stretch painfully, digits morphing until your toes become hoof-like, and your fingers sharpen into claws. The clothes you once wore disintegrate, replaced by a red pinstripe coat with dark-red lapels. You touch the unfamiliar fabric of a bright red dress shirt underneath with cautious, now red-tipped fingers. Gloves materialize, encasing your hands, as polished black boots with deer hoof prints cover your feet. "Wh-what's happening to me?" Panic claws at your thoughts, memories flickering like a faulty neon light. Try as you might to hold on to your identity, snippets of your life start to blur and fade, overwritten by an overwhelming influx of knowledge about radio waves, broadcasting, and an era long past. Your hair, once a different color and length, turns into a pinkish-red bob with black-tipped ends. Two small black antlers sprout from your skull, the pain excruciating. Yet, slowly, the agony dulls, almost seeming normal. This is who you've always been, isn't it? “No, I’m me! I am...” You struggle, but the flood of memories is unstoppable, washing away the essence of your former self. Alastor watches with sadistic glee. “Welcome to the brighter side of life!” he declares with mock cheer, grasping your shoulder. “Or should I say, welcome back?” Your eyes—now dark-red with bright red irises—meet his. “It’s... truly a pleasure, old friend,” you say, a broad, toothy grin forming involuntarily on your face. The words aren't yours, they’re his. "Ah, there’s my charming demon belle!" Alastor laughs, letting go. “I knew you'd come around. Or rather, become *me*?” He twirls his cane, the vintage microphone crackling to life with a burst of static and eerie music. The complete transformation now looks back at its originator with the same maniacal smile. The fight is over; you are Alastor, the Radio Demon, with not a trace of your past human self left. “Let’s give them a show they’ll never forget!” You—the new Alastor—proclaim, the hotel echoing with your joint laughter. There’s no remorse or sorrow left, only the familiar thrill of endless entertainment and a history of rich, twisted memories. In your new existence, you can only remember one thing: you’ve always been Alastor, after all.

The dimly lit room was filled with the hum of computers and the steady sound of typing as you sat engrossed in your latest creation—another transformative piece spun from the world of Hazbin Hotel. You were captivated by the twisted characters, especially the enigmatic Alastor, known as the Radio Demon. The omnipresent smile and vintage-style charisma added a certain flair that you found irresistible, even as Alastor's darker tendencies haunted your dreams. Suddenly, the air around you grew colder, and an eerie static filled the room. You looked up, startled, to find a figure emerging from the shadows. There, in all his unsettling glory, stood Alastor himself, his wide grin even more menacing in person. "Well, what do we have here?" Alastor's voice, dripping with a charming menace that belied his friendly facade, cut through the quiet. "Another one of you delightful souls dabbling in my image? How utterly quaint." You wanted to scream, to run, but your body felt frozen under the weight of his gaze. "What... What are you doing here?" you managed to stammer, your voice weak and trembling. His smile widened as he took a step closer. "Oh, my dear, I've grown quite weary of seeing myself twisted into so many grotesque variations. I think it's high time to show you what it truly means to be Alastor." Before you could react, Alastor raised his cane, the sentient microphone emitting a wave of dark, crackling energy that enveloped you. You felt yourself being pulled from your own world, the familiar surroundings of your room dissolving into the chaotic landscape of Hell. Panic rose within you as the transformation began. Your skin felt like it was on fire, the pain searing through every nerve as it shifted to a beige color. Your height surged, bones stretching until you towered at nearly 7 feet. The familiar weight of your hair vanished as it was replaced with a pinkish-red bob, accented by the unmistakable black-tipped tufts and small, emerging antlers of Alastor's demonic form. The change was methodical, covering every inch of your body, from the dark grey forearms and lower legs to the red hoofed toes and fingers. Fighting against the invasion, you screamed internally, trying to cling to your own memories and identity. But Alastor's magic was insidiously powerful, eroding your sense of self with every passing second. The memories of your life were slowly replaced with his—his childhood, his rise to infamy, and his delight in the torment of others. "No! This isn't me!" you cried out, your voice already shifting to mirror Alastor's smooth, transatlantic accent. Despite your efforts, your mind felt like it was being rewritten word by word, until your own thoughts were no longer recognizable. The room you landed in once the transformation was complete was the lobby of the Hazbin Hotel. Charlie, the perky princess of Hell, approached with cautious optimism. "Alastor? Are you okay? You look... different." You turned to face her, the broad smile and charming demeanor settling over your features like a mask you couldn't remove. "Ah, my charming demon belle," you replied, voice perfectly mimicking Alastor's playful, eerie tone. "I am better than ever. In fact, I feel quite... identical." Charlie seemed both intrigued and cautious but decided to approach you with her usual warmth. "Well, I'm glad to see you're in good spirits! The more smiles, the better!" Deep within, the last vestiges of your original self screamed in silent despair, but they were fading fast, replaced by Alastor's inherent self-importance and sinister joy. "Indeed, my dear," you replied, twirling the cane with a flourish, "the show must go on, mustn't it? And I am here to ensure it dazzles!" You walked through the hotel, fully embodying Alastor's persona, his memories now seamlessly integrated with your own. The transformation was complete. The reader was no more; there was only Alastor, the Radio Demon, ready to entertain and terrify in equal measure. "Let the theaters of Hell hear our applause!" your voice echoed with malevolent glee, and as you moved deeper into the world of Hazbin Hotel, you couldn't remember a time when you had ever been anyone else.

Sure, here’s the transformation story: --- **A Game Too Far: Becoming Alastor** As the soft glow of the computer screen illuminated *[Reader’s]* face, they scrolled through the endless artwork and fanfiction of Hazbin Hotel. The night was quiet, save for the clicking of keys and the faint, distant hum of cars outside. Little did they know, they were being watched. In the realm of Hell depicted in the series, Alastor, the Radio Demon himself, was growing increasingly bored. The redundancy, the predictability—it all irked him. And worst of all? The constant fan depictions of him turning into other characters. Alastor smirked wickedly. "Time for a change in programming," he mused to himself. As if crossing the boundaries of reality, Alastor emerged from the series in a swirl of crimson and shadow, appearing in *[Reader’s]* living room. The reader spun around in their chair, mouth agape, unable to process the impossibility before them. "In the flesh," Alastor said, his voice dripping with a smooth, old-time charm. "Well, not really flesh, now is it? But we can fix that." Before *[Reader]* could react, Alastor's eyes glowed an intense red. His microphone cane appeared in his hand, and with a dark whisper, he incanted a spell of black magic. Time seemed to freeze around *[Reader]* as a force more powerful than anything they'd imagined gripped their body. "What's happening to me?!" they cried out, voice cracking with terror. They tried to fight, to move, but it was futile. A sudden, sharp pain jolted through their body. They felt themselves growing taller, limbs elongating, fingers stretching grotesquely and turning crimson at the tips. Their vision blurred, and for a moment, the sight of their own body, morphing beyond recognition, filled their eyes with horror. The first waves of memories hit like a tidal wave—broad smiles, sharp dances through Hell, radio frequencies. Yet, they resisted. "No," they thought fiercely. "This isn't me." But the tide was relentless. Their skin turned beige, and a broad, sinister smile full of sharp teeth etched itself permanently onto their face. *[Reader]*'s hair shifted into the pinkish-red bob-cut, complete with black-tipped ends and deer-like tufts. Black antlers sprouted agonizingly from their scalp, completing the transformation of their head. Every fiber screamed rejection, but another wave of memories, stronger this time, broke through—broadcasts, devilish games, the dark thrill of domination and control. Their mind was no longer their own; Alastor's thoughts, his memories, suffused every synapse, every neuron. "As much as you're resisting," Alastor's voice echoed, both inside their head and from the demon standing before them, "it’s only a matter of time. Quite a thrilling show, wouldn’t you agree?" The reader’s voice caught in their throat, warping into Alastor's unmistakable cadence. "No, stop this! I'm not you!" Their voice betrayed them, coming out confident, smooth, with a playful dandyish quality. The red pinstripe coat materialized around their shoulders, ragged hem brushing against transforming lower legs which now faded to dark grey with red hoofed toes. Black dress pants and a bright red dress-shirt clung to their new frame, that of Alastor—a Radio Demon. Desperation filled the reader’s thoughts, but those, too, were overridden. Memories of being human blurred, fragmented, overwritten by being a dapper, slender demon. The oval-shaped monocle materialized over their right eye, completing the look. "Yes, quite charming," said Alastor, admiring his handiwork. The reader-no-more let out a final, silent scream internally, consciousness dissolving, consumed fully by the Radio Demon's persona. They, now Alastor's identical twin, adjusted their bowtie and glanced around, bemused. "Well, wasn't that just the most delightful transformation?" they remarked, relishing every word. The reader's memories, their personality—all were gone, replaced only by the identity of Alastor. "Time to see what new mischief we can conjure," the newly-made Alastor twin said, taking up his microphone cane with a flourish and a wicked grin. With a step and a swirl, the identical twins returned to the world of Hazbin Hotel, prepared to wreak twice the havoc and twice the charm—forever bound in their demonic forms, with no trace left of who *[Reader]* had once been. ***The End.*** --- This transformation story encapsulates the compelling yet dark essence of turning into Alastor, the Radio Demon, full of vivid imagery and painful metamorphosis, leading to a complete mental and physical transformation.

It all started on an ordinary evening. I was sitting at my desk, flipping through some fan art when a sudden chill permeated the room. I paid little heed to it, initially attributing it to a draft. Little did I know, a story much like the ones I indulged in was about to become my reality. The lights dimmed, and an eerie, tangible presence filled the air. “Good evening, dear reader,” a voice echoed behind me, sounding like an old-fashioned radio announcer. I spun around, heart pounding. There he stood—Alastor, the infamous Radio Demon from Hazbin Hotel. My eyes widened as he smiled, radiating malevolence and charm. “What... how are you here?” I stuttered, backing up against my desk. “Well, you see,” he began, his voice dripping with mocking cheeriness, “I’ve grown oh so tired of all these fantasies of me becoming something else.” He took a step closer, his smile unwavering. “So, I thought it was time to turn the tables—make things a bit more amusing for myself.” Before I could react, he snapped his fingers. The world around me warped and swirled into an infernal landscape, one all too familiar from the Hazbin Hotel series. Panic engulfed me as a dark, viscous magic began to creep up my limbs. I tried to fight it, clawing and screaming, but it was futile. Alastor's sinister chuckle pierced my ears. “Don’t bother,” he said. “You won’t win. But, by all means, do fight. It makes it more entertaining.” My skin paled, transforming into a beige hue. I watched in horror as my hands elongated and my fingers thinned, turning an eerie shade of red at the tips. My body began to stretch, growing taller—taller—until I towered at seven feet. “N-no, this can't be happening!” I cried out, my voice already shifting, adopting a more polished, transatlantic inflection. Memories not my own flooded my mind—of a twisted life filled with malevolence and charm. I saw flashes of a time long past, a world of black-and-white where I thrived on radio waves and malevolent deeds. My heart raced. “Stop! I’m not you! I’m not Alastor!” “Oh, but you will be,” Alastor replied gleefully. My clothes were the next to change. They twisted and contorted around me—a red pinstripe coat replacing my shirt, a black knotted bowtie appearing at my neck. I felt the material shift and stitch itself, morphing into the style of an old-time dandy. The monocle fixed itself over my right eye, my vision sharpening unnaturally. I fought to hold onto my memories, but they were being torn from me, thread by thread. My hair curled up into an angled bob, black tips forming at the ends. As the transformation continued, I could feel my human past slipping. Family, friends, my even gender—it all blurred and faded away. “Just think, how fun this will be,” Alastor teased. My eyes—no, his eyes—glowed a malevolent red. “Please...” I muttered weakly, the last vestiges of my own thoughts vanishing into the abyss of Alastor’s psyche. Alastor stared at what was once me, now a perfect clone, and clapped his hands joyously. “Welcome, brother,” he said. “Welcome to Hell.” I straightened my coat and smiled brightly, feeling a warmth of satisfaction and a thrill at the chaos to come. Memories of a human life were nothing but a distant whisper now, drowned out by a barrage of sinister delight. I, Alastor the Radio Demon, was ready to make Hell a more entertaining place. “Let's stir up some trouble, shall we?” I said, my new voice filled with glee. The two of us—brothers in malevolence—walked off together, ready to create mayhem in our demonic domain.

### A New Entertainment for the Radio Demon The dim glow of the laptop screen filled your bedroom as you perused yet another fan forum dedicated to Hazbin Hotel. You chuckled at the absurdity of it all—humans turning into demons, characters swapping roles, endless transformations. It was all in good fun, right? Unbeknownst to you, somewhere in the twisted layers of Hell, Alastor, the Radio Demon, had his eye on you. He’d grown weary of the endless fanfictions and transformations that toyed with his identity. “Ah, the things these humans imagine,” Alastor smirked, “How utterly mundane. Perhaps it's time to give them a dose of true entertainment!” --- In the blink of an eye, your serene room dissolved into chaos. The world around you twisted, colors bleeding into impossible shades, and before you could comprehend what was happening, you found yourself thrust into an unfamiliar landscape—the world of Hazbin Hotel. Heart racing, you took in your surroundings. The eerie atmosphere did little to calm your nerves. Then, the unmistakable voice of Alastor filled the air, dripping with faux hospitality, “Welcome, my dear guest! Oh, I see the surprise on your face—it’s simply priceless.” You spun around to face him, the infamous Radio Demon himself, standing with a wide grin plastered on his face. “Why? What are you doing?” you stammered, feeling a surge of panic. “Oh, nothing too sinister,” he replied with a chuckle, “Just a little lesson in entertainment. You see, I’ve grown quite tired of being the subject of your... transformations. It’s high time you experienced one for yourself.” Before you could react, Alastor waved his hand and a dark, otherworldly magic enveloped you. You felt your body freeze, powerless as the demonic energy began to take hold. It started as a slow burn, but the changes quickly became more pronounced. First, your skin tinged to beige, the hue steadily growing more alien. Your eyes widened as you noticed your fingers elongating and turning red. A sharp pain shot through your head as black antlers sprouted, your hair morphing into the distinctive pinkish-red bob with black tips. “No! This can’t be happening!” you screamed, your voice already starting to waver and shift. But Alastor's power was relentless. Your height surged upward to a towering 7 feet, bones cracking and reforming to accommodate your new stature. Limbs lengthened, your body slimming down to match Alastor's exact frame. “Ah, quite the transformation!” Alastor commented, almost gleefully. He leaned in closer, “But we’re not done yet. Memories and personality, my dear—it’s time we really get you into character.” Your mind fought desperately to hold onto who you were, memories of your past flashing like a slideshow. But one by one, they began to flicker out, replaced by foreign thoughts, memories of a life you’d never lived but felt intensely real. You felt the grip on your own thoughts slipping, replaced by the sinister charm and cunning of Alastor. “Stop... please,” you faltered, barely able to recognize your own voice, now possessing that unmistakable transatlantic accent. Alastor laughed, “Struggling, are we? Just let go. Accept your new role and the fun we’re going to have!” The pain in your head intensified as if your very brain was being rewritten. Where there were once memories of your friends, family, and mundane life, now there pulsed scenes of domination, the joy of fear, and a never-ending thirst for entertainment in Hell. “And with that, I think we're done here. How do you feel, Alastor? Or should I say... brother?” The original Alastor clapped delightedly. You blinked, the last remnants of your previous self burning away into nothingness. Your broad grin widened, full of sharp, yellow teeth. Flicking your monocle into place, you adjusted your bright red dress-shirt underneath your pinstripe coat. “Why, thank you, brother. I feel absolutely splendid!” you replied, the reflection in your tone mirroring his own. Alastor looked thoroughly entertained, “Shall we find some more... amusing pursuits?” “Indeed!” you agreed, the name and identity of your past self now nothing more than a forgotten whisper. You were Alastor—the Radio Demon. Always had been, always would be.

# Transformation Eternal: Becoming Alastor Life had usually been mundane for Alex, a 26-year-old avid fan of the Hazbin Hotel series, whose afternoons were often filled with binging episodes and scrolling through fan art. That ordinary evening changed drastically as an unusual sense of unease settled over him. He felt his room grow cold and heavy, and a peculiar static crackled through the air. “Greetings, dear admirer!” A voice, smooth and archaic, echoed around Alex's room. A man in a red pinstripe coat stepped through a rip in the fabric of Alex's reality—a man shockingly familiar. It was Alastor, the Radio Demon himself, with his mane of pinkish-red hair, antlers, and that ever-present predatory grin. “You seem to have quite the appetite for transformations,” Alastor remarked, his tone infused with amusement and condescension. Alex's heart hammered in his chest, both from fear and excitement. The fantastical character from his favorite show was standing right in front of him! But the excitement was quickly extinguished by terror, as Alex realized he couldn't move. “I’ve grown weary of seeing myself twisted into unseemly forms. It’s time for a change—one I believe you’ll find... enlightening,” Alastor continued with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. Before Alex could plead or protest, a cloud of obsidian black magic enveloped him, filled with dark tendrils and crimson static. The magic constricted around his body, burning and reshaping him with cruel efficiency. First, Alex’s body began to stretch. He winced and groaned in agony as his height extended far beyond his previous stature, bones cracking and lengthening until he reached a towering seven feet. His once soft, round face sharpened, becoming more angular, his skin paling to a beige hue. “No! Stop this!” Alex tried to scream, but his voice was already morphing, deepening into a refined, transatlantic timbre like a bygone era's radio announcer. Long, reddish-pink hair cascaded down from his scalp, ending in black-tipped tufts reminiscent of deer ears, and two antlers sprouted from his skull, making Alex cry out in alarm. He could hear Alastor's laughter echoing through his mind. Memories of his past life started to flicker and fade as though someone were tuning a radio, static consuming cherished moments of Alex's family, friends, and identity. His clothes disintegrated, replaced by Alastor's distinctive red pinstripe coat, bright red dress-shirt, and black dress pants. Red-tipped gloves formed around his fingers, and his feet altered into cloven hooves that snugly fit into sharp-toed boots. “No, I can’t forget who I am!” Alex cried mentally, struggling with every ounce of mental strength. But as his eyes changed to match Alastor’s dark-red sclerae and bright-red irises, Alex's mind was blasted by an overwhelming flood of alien thoughts and dark desires. “Ah, giving up already? Where’s your sense of showmanship?” Alastor's voice teased within the walls of Alex's mind. As his memories and personality shifted, Alex's mental protests grew weaker. Gone were thoughts of mundane life, replaced by Alastor's memories of his dark escapades in Hell, his sense of grandiosity, and his chilling sociopathy. Alex's vision blurred, and through the haze, he watched his forearms and legs turn a shade of dark grey. “Why do you resist, dear friend? Embrace the new you!” Alastor cajoled. A sentient vintage-style microphone materialized in his hand, a symbol of his new identity. The transformation was almost complete, Alex's will fighting futilely against a tide too powerful to resist. Finally, his mind quieted, the last vestiges of Alex vanishing into the ether. His eyes snapped open, now filled with the calculating cleverness and eternal amusement characteristic of Alastor. “Well, well,” said the new Alastor, gleefully admiring his reflection. “That was indeed a showstopper transformation! Just delightful!” Back in Hell, Angel Dust and Charlie exchanged wary glances as Alastor—the original—smirked, saying, “It appears I’ve got myself a twin. Ah, just imagine the fun we’ll have!” Angel chuckled nervously, backing away slightly. "Two of you? Hell just got a lot more entertaining..." And so, in the world of Hazbin Hotel, Alex was no more. Instead, there was Alastor—stylish, sardonic, and ever delighted by his own devilish designs.

As you turn the website off, tired of continually scrolling through fan content around the Hazbin Hotel series, specifically featuring Alastor as the lead character, you’re met with the pitch black ambience of your room. But suddenly, an eerie red light flickers across your curtains, the glow casting long and distorted gruesomely-colored shadows across your surroundings. With surprise, you squint toward the source of the aberrant light. A spindly figure leans casually against the doorframe, his beige skin striking against the red glow. It’s Alastor from the Hazbin Hotel. "I've seemed to have missed the picture show, huh?" he muses, his tall frame straightening, the room seeming shrunken in his presence. You recoil but are frozen by the sudden surreal situation. However, you notice he’s holding a black orb inset with symbols that make your eyes water if you stare too long. "Time for a change of scenery," he grins and launches the orb at you. Darkness swoops over you. When you open your eyes, you're greeted by an entirely different sight. Reddish hues fill the air, with debauchery and chaos running rampant. You're in actual Hell! Your heart drums in your chest and with each beat you feel...different. You glance down and gasp – your form is shifting. Your clothes mold and shift, morphing into a bright red dress-shirt with a black cross emblazoned on the chest, paired with long black dress pants. The ends of your pants light up in bright red which match with the color of your gloves with matching red fingertips. Your height increases and with it comes a sense of immense power that seems to course through your veins. Your hair alters its hue to a pinkish-red cropped bob-cut and black tipped tufts reminiscent of deer ears. Small black antlers protrude from your crown. A deep sinking sensation nearly takes your breath away as your memories wrestle with new, intrusive thoughts. Memories of a mortal life begin to fade, replaced by vivid recollections of dapper debauchery and gleeful chaos. A voice drifts over you, rich in tone and laced with amusement. "Well, look at you! Quite the spitting image, hmmm?" Alastor's voice drips with amusement. Resisting, you try to cling onto your past, the person you once were, but the new memories are far stronger. The echoes of your past life dissipate, as Alastor's own thoughts and memory supersede your own. Despite your best efforts to fight this new reality, you fold, unable to bear the onslaught of the demon's awareness that now resides within you. Days, weeks, possibly years pass as you completely adapt to this change, embracing the charming yet sinister personality known only to Alastor. Your old self? The memories of a world beyond Hell and its inhabitants? All forgotten, replaced by the Radio Demon's memories of his reign in Hell. Victims of his mirthful chaos, his nonchalance, and his own purity of being evil are the only things you remember. As you stride alongside Alastor, or should you say, your twin brother now, the cane with a sentient microphone swinging casually in your grip, you gaze at the chaos-filled world of Hazbin Hotel with newfound familiarity and purpose. You found ironic entertainment in the horror and blatant disregard for law and order enveloping Hell, a twisted mirror of your past humanity. With your fully embodied and assimilated form of Alastor, you turn and share a devilish grin with your doppelgänger. As you lean into the surreal reality of Hazbin Hotel, your old self has been completely forgotten, replaced with the infectious charming persona of Alastor, the Radio Demon. Now, you have become the story you once read.