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Question: Write a POV transformation story of a human reader instantly turning into Moxxie (from the Helluva Boss series), complete with art style shift (the reader now being in a cartoon world of the Helluva Boss series, and the reader now becoming a cartoon character with the same art style as the other Helluva Boss characters, rather than being a real life person), gender change (if the reader is a female), clothes change, age change, height regression (shrinking from an average 5.7-6 foot height to only 3.9 feet tall), reality change (the reader's real world becoming the world of Helluva Boss), and mind/mental change (with the reader's personalities and memories being completely replaced with Moxxie's personality and memories, despite the reader's best efforts of fighting his/her new personality and memories, making the reader completely forget he was a normal person, even forgetting that the transformation had just occurred seconds ago, and only remembered ever being a male imp and a husband to Millie, always being an imp named Moxxie). For Moxxie's appearance (after the reader turned into him), he is an imp with red skin and white freckles on his cheeks, and he is shorter than Blitzo since he is 3.9 feet tall. Like all imps, he has a short reptilian-looking snout filled with white sharp teeth and without a nose, as well as having four fingered hands (instead of five as in humans), and he lacks any visible ears. His white pointy hair leads up to his curvy black and white striped horns. He also has yellow sclera with black slit pupils. Moxxie has a long red thin devil-like imp tail with a quadrilateral barb at the end, as well as lanky digitigrade legs ending in what appears to be cloven red hoofed feet, reminiscent of artiodactyls. Moxxie's usual outfit consists of a navy-black coat with red buttons and white cuffs, black toe-less pants a white shirt that has a black turtleneck, a large red bow-tie, and fingerless gloves. Moxxie is the I.M.P's weapon specialist; and as such, has a vast knowledge of weapons and often brings a variety of them along during jobs. For Moxxie's personality, he is often the most vocal and realistic of the employees (his boss is Blitzo) regarding the company as a whole despite its dysfunctional environment and is bullied consequently. He is also shown to be insured about himself since he’s not physically strong since Striker, Lin and Joe was giving him a hard time since they believe physical strength is what makes a person strong. Moreover, he is an imp who is easily annoyed and rather clumsy, as he trips over their ritualistic book on the way through the portal to the living world. Despite being a murder-for-hire imp, it seems Moxxie is queasy with unnecessary killing beyond their targets. He also is uncomfortable with the idea of killing targets who have families, and attempts to give people second chances. Moxxie is also shown to have a comical side, as when he talks about killing an entire family, he claims it might be alright if it was just a bad dad or a mob family, saying "That's understandable" in an accent. For Moxxie's preferences (likes and dislikes); he likes cooking, culinary arts, musical theater, classical music, opera, his mother's kindness, being put in charge of missions, and Blitzo's approval as his boss. However, Moxxie dislikes Blitzo prying into his personal life, theme parks, theme park mascots, killing the innocent, pop music, Stolas' wrath, his father's (Crimson) abuse, Loona calling him fat, being the butt of the joke, and Millie stealing his spotlight. There should also be quotes from the characters in this story (including quotes from the reader) so we know what they're saying and what they're thinking. Also, it is a POV reader story, so it should not be in an author's point of view (my, I, mine, etc), and it should be from the point of view of the reader (you, your, etc).
One moment, you're sitting comfortably in your chair—cushioned, rosy cheek on hand, eyes poring over the freshly printed page of a comic book. The next, you feel your world decidedly not yours anymore. Your skin pricks as if someone has turned the AC off and left the electric heater on full. A quick glance at your arms reveals a startling sight. The familiar skin, replacing it with a vibrant, yet unfamiliar red hue; freckles popping like dalmatian spots on your cheeks. A sudden wave of dizziness hits. Looking down at your hands, you see your fingers merge, from five to just four-barely similar to the human hand you'd grown accustomed to. You slump down in your seat, a gasp escaping your lips as you shift uncomfortably. The clothes on your back feel ill-fitted, with a certain tightness around your neck, and looseness around your legs. You look down to see a long, navy-black coat, a large red bow tie adorning what seems to be a white shirt with a black turtleneck. Your fingers react on their own accord, twitching to the vest buttons and pulling close to the fabric. The pants are a strange design, toe-less and airy, much to your surprise. A slow tilt of the head reveals a pair of gloved hands, now poking out of the sleeves, as white as the cuffed ends of your coat. You seem smaller. The once roomy chair dwarfs your figure, and the ground is a far reach away from your feet. Or should it be accurately regarded as hooves? Your head feels weighted, as if burdened by a crown. The mirror on the mantelpiece catches your attention. Oh, it's not a crown. It's a pair of striped horns curving proudly from your head, amongst a clump of stark white hair. Your eyes meet your reflection's, and indeed, they're a glaring shade of yellow framed with deep, penetrating slit pupils. One second you're breaking out in a cold sweat, haunted by the shift of reality, and the next, you're hit with a wave of calm. Past memories fade into oblivion, replaced by tales of gun-wielding imp adventures at Blitzo's command. You're familiar with the odor of gunpowder stain, and the satisfaction derived from perfectly executed missions. "Millie! Where is it?" The words come out instinctively, your voice laced with an impatience that isn't yours. But isn't it now? Isn't you Moxxie? Millie...the memories flood in. The familiarity of her name in your mind is a comfort in the storm of jumbled thoughts, of new and lost identities. You can't remember the comic book or the warmth of your room anymore—all semblance of your previous life succumbing to the struggles of a determined imp. Passions new yet intimate stir from within-- the musical theater, the taste of opera. Phantom smells of cooking waltz in, bringing a hint of fleeting joy. Yet, beneath the newfound bravado, remains an undercurrent of insecurity, the torment of being on the receiving end at Blitzo's place, the disdain you feel for Loona's taunts, the slight twinge of worry when you ponder upon Striker, Lin, and Joe's words about strength—it all feels too real, too yours to dispute. "Any second now," your thoughts whisper in Moxxie's voice, "I'll be off to another successful operation. With Millie, of course." A pause. A glance at the mirror again. "I am Moxxie," you tell your reflection firmly, asserting your identity. Your new identity. The inhibited cartoon world of Helluva Boss watches in silence. "I am Moxxie, from Helluva Boss," you insist further. For all intents and purposes, you were now Moxxie, with his charms, hopes, fears, and mission. You were Moxxie—an imp of origins untold and a reality unseen, yet curiously undeniable. The transformation, as impossible and sudden as it seemed, was complete.
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