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Dreams of Feathers: The Changeling Prince

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You wake from a deep, restless sleep with a jolt that splinters the darkness. The familiar comfort of your bed, the hum of the heater in your childhood home, and the faint glow of streetlights through the curtains—all of it evaporates in one impossible moment. Your eyes snap open, and the world around you is... wrong. Flat, sharp-edged shadows stretch along crimson floors, and the room’s geometry warps, every line crisp, exaggerated, and saturated in wild colors—the unmistakable style of a cartoon, something almost familiar but nightmarishly real.

Except, this isn’t a nightmare. You try to move, but your arms feel lighter, bonier, and your own voice comes high and jagged, “Where—where am I? What’s happening?” Your hands, which you fumble before your face, look wrong: elongated, black, with only four fingers ending in tails of sharp talons. Your heart pounds in your chest, small and fast, as a sensation of liquid heat surges up your back and along your scalp.

Panic tightens your throat. You slap your face (feathers? are those feathers?), trying to wake yourself—but the sting feels real, your cartoonish, two-dimensional world unmoved. “Wake up!” you gasp. “Mom! Dad! Please, help!” Your cry echoes, strangely rich and resonant—so different than the voice you remember.

As your hands graze your cheeks in desperation, your ears (your human ears) tickle, then tingle—shrinking, thinning, disappearing seamlessly into the sides of your head. The bridge of your nose tingles sharply, compressing, the bones sliding back with a dull, painless pop. Your lips harden into a sharp, short beak—a clicking, hollow sensation. Tears spring to your vanishing eyes, streaming down feathered cheeks—real tears, slicking gray-blue down into the collar of the unfamiliar teal tunic clinging too tight across your chest.

You stare at your hands again—four digits, not five—and choke on a sob. “No, no, please, let me wake up! I want to go home, I want my family, I want—” The words come in a voice that echoes, newly musical—a hint of an accent, oddly aristocratic and unplaceable, but young and strained with terror.

It gets worse. Your skull prickles, and two new spots of burning pain open above your brows. You scream, clutching at your hair—now impossibly long, strands of gray-blue and black tumbling around your neck—and feel something pushing through skin and bone. You pull your hands away and, horror-struck, see a new set of bright, teal eyes blinking open on your forehead.

You squeeze your real—no, your main—eyes shut, hoping, wishing to block out this impossible reality, aching to recall the dull, cozy safety of being human. You dig your talons into your scalp, trying to anchor your mind against the world cascading away. "Don’t forget," you murmur through your new beak, "don’t forget who you are. Don’t let it take you. Please, please..."

But the changes go on. Your legs seize as muscles and bones snap—painful, but distant—wrenching your body upward. Digits elongate. Your heels lift, curling your legs into a digitigrade stance, raising you up and up, the room shrinking away beneath you. Your feet split along new, alien fault lines—three long toes forward, one behind, each armed with wicked, birdlike claws. Your spine jerks, tailbone stretching, a stumpy tail sprouting as plumes of luxurious feathers burst free behind you.

Your human clothes fray, glimmer, and fall away, replaced by a swirl of rich, cartoonish fabric. A princely tunic, teal and gold-trimmed, wraps itself tight around your growing frame—too small, at first, strangling your movement as you surge past six feet, seven feet, taller yet—and then, with a shimmering lurch, it expands, stretching to fit you perfectly: long cloak, snug slacks, jewel-encrusted circlet, the surreal garb of someone impossibly important. Weightless, regal, and dreadfully *not* human.

The panic in your mind keeps pace with your changing body. Clutching at your new face, you whimper, “I’m not—I can’t—I don’t want to forget! Let me go home, please!” You drop to your knees, talons scraping the ornate, otherworldly floor, weeping in terror even as your vision begins to shimmer with memories that aren’t yours—grand halls like palaces, laughter in voices you don’t remember, the scent of perfumed gardens, the certainty of magic at your wingtips. Distantly, you hear footsteps, soft and echoed—someone approaching.

From the far end of the room, the tall, slender figure emerges: an imposing owl demon, feathers gray-blue, two sets of crimson eyes, elegant robes and regal, gentle bearing—Stolas, unmistakable, but so much more real than any animation you’d ever seen. He approaches with a slow, graceful step, concern etched into the lines of his heart-shaped face and a gentle warmth in his eyes. He kneels before you, folds his long arms gently around your shoulders, and offers comfort. Instinctively, you flinch—but his touch is calm, real, and somehow soothing.

“My poor boy…” he coos, his voice rich and velvety, “There’s no need to cry. You were frightened by a nightmare—that’s all, dearest. I’m here now. Your father is here.”

Your voice cracks with confusion and terror. “You... you’re not my father! My father is—he’s—he—” And for one horrible moment, you can’t remember your father’s face, his smell, his name.

Stolas’s beak inclines in a pitying smile. He gently hushes you, brushing away your tears with a feathery thumb. “Shhh, darling. You’re confusing a dream for reality. You had quite the vivid illusion—a life as some poor, mortal human. But you’re awake now, my precious. This is your home. You’re safe.”

“No, no, you’re wrong, I... I *was* that person, I know I was, I was—!” Your words stumble as new memories flicker beneath your fear: hatching from a shell, giggling beside your sister in gardens wild with Hell-flowers, Stolas cradling you as an egg, tenderly singing you to sleep.

You clutch your head, sobbing harder. “Don’t forget! Don’t forget, please, please, I don’t want to forget—!”

Stolas’s embrace tightens, profoundly warm, and his next words ring deep with ancient calm. “You can rest, my son. No dream can take you from me. I will keep you safe, as I always have—and nothing bad will happen to you while I am here. Shhh... let your nightmare slip away. There’s nothing to fear.”

You want to resist, to scream, to clutch whatever tattered shreds remain of your life before, but you’re so tired, so frightened, and his presence is overwhelming, comforting, magnetic. Part of you wants to believe him—wants desperately for this pain to stop. Instinctively, you choke out, “Dad…?”

The word emerges with a sob, and you hate yourself for it—except that, for the briefest, terrifying moment, it feels right.

Stolas beams at you, ruffling your feathers with pride and tenderness. “Yes, my darling—your *Dad*! You always call me that, don’t you remember?” He smooths your hair, leading you gently to a wide, canopied bed in a sumptuous bedroom swathed in gold and teal. The air is warm, perfumed, safe. Your legs fold beneath you as he lays you down, tucking the silken covers up to your chest.

You manage a frightened, shivering little laugh, “Why did I call you that...? You’re not—I mean, you *are*…”

“Because I am your father, aren’t I?” he croons, running his talons soothingly through your long hair. “You’ve always called me Dad, since you hatched, my precious. And I have always called you my beloved son. There is nothing in this world or the next that could ever change that. Hush, now. Let me soothe away your dreams.”

He leans close, crimson eyes gentled, and begins to sing, a haunting, beautiful lullaby in a language half-forgotten, the words wrapping around you like soft velvet:

*Down falls the shadow on silvered ring,
Feathers will cradle the fledgling king,
Night’s bloom will open, the garden awaits,
Safe in the heart where tomorrow creates.
Child of mine, let the darkness be mild,
Sleep in the song of your father’s smile,
Moon over nightmare, drifting above—
Rest in the arms of the ones that you love.*

You shudder at first, but his song is warm honey, and your eyelids flutter, heavier and heavier. The ache, the terror, the memory of that other world slides away—your mind now a garden of new, dazzling dreams: memories of blossoming with Octavia in night-lit greenhouses, learning the laws of Hell in gold-arched study halls, exulting in the arcane thrill of cosmic power crackling through your talons.

You barely notice the tears drying on your face as your vision tilts and comforts itself into this new, beautiful reality—a towering, princely form, birdlike and regal, a second pair of teal eyes blinking sleepily behind hedges of gray-blue hair. Your voice, honeyed and melodic, whispers, “I love you, Dad…” before you yawn, shrill and soft, and finally fall asleep, curled in the arms of your father Stolas.

***

You awaken in sunlight tumbling through glass canopies. Familiar satin blankets nestle around you, and the room—no, your room—is vast, decadent, festooned with portraits you recognize: Stolas, that beaming smile; Octavia, your beloved twin; and—yourself, feathered and princely, crown cocked just so. It is all so normal, so comforting. You can’t even remember why you’d ever want to be somewhere else. Only a faint shadow of strange longing lingers, the echo of a dream where you were... something else. Someone else.

You sit up, flexing your long, black-feathered arms, stretching digitigrade legs, and preen your feathers. The voice that slips from your beak is sweet, familiar, possessed of an effortless grace and youthful power. You remember every lesson, every lullaby, every embrace and proud smile of your father, Stolas the mighty, who has always protected you.

The heavy door opens and Stolas himself, your father, sweeps into the room. “Good morning, darling one!” he trills, radiant with joy. “Did you sleep well?”

You beam. “Very well, Dad. I had the strangest, silliest dream last night, though. I dreamed I was some ordinary mortal human! Can you imagine?”

He laughs, rich and warm, and draws you into a feathery embrace. “Not to worry, my precious boy. Bad dreams never last.” He leans in, as if sharing a secret, “And your real life, the only one that matters, is here. With me. Always.”

A thrill of happiness rushes through you—this is your truth, your forever. “I love you, Dad,” you chirp, proud and sincere.

“And I love you, dearest,” Stolas replies, nuzzling your head. “Now, come—Octavia will be waiting for us in the garden. Perhaps after breakfast, I’ll teach you another lullaby.”

As you follow him, steps light and princely, all memory of your old, human self gone, you know nothing could ever pull you from this world again—and deep down, you are grateful for it.

This story was generated by user JesterImps with assistance by one of OpenAI’s large-scale language-generation model; prompts used to help generate the story are shown below.

Images were generated with OpenAI's AI system, DALL·E 2, or uploaded by the user.

AI Prompts

Prompt: Write a POV second-person transformation story of a teenage or adult male human (between 5.9 - 6 feet tall on average) turning into the son of Stolas (a character, voiced by "Bryce Pinkham", from an adults cartoon/animated series Helluva Biss made by Vivienne "VivziePop" Medrano), complete with art style shift (the reader is now in the cartoon world of the Helluva Boss animated series, and the reader himself now being cartoony (2D-animated) and having the same art style as all of the other Helluva Boss characters, rather than being a live action person or real life person he used to be), body change (the reader loses his human ears and nose (these shrink into nonexistence), while his mouth pushes out and hardens into a short yet sharp beak, while an extra pair of teal eyes pop into existence on his forehead, while his hands lose a fifth finger (to match all other Helluva Boss characters), while , while his legs become digitigrade with his feet elongating (making him standing on his toes), his human feet turning into bird-like talon feet (with three long front toes and one back toe on each feet), and his human tailbone pushes out above his rear into a stumpy bird-like tail with very long plume-like tail feathers growing from his new tail), clothes/outfit change (the reader's human clothes instantly replaced by a new outfit princely outfit fit for a Prince of the Ars Goetia, the new outfit becomes temporarily too small for the reader due to the reader becoming taller (with the reader's new outfit being too small for the reader's new (and taller) 7-8 foot height, the outfit still a human-sized outfit for a brief moment), but then the reader's new outfit grows to fit with his new size and height (while the reader remains newly-slender just like Stolas), thus becoming large enough to fit the reader's newly taller (yet still smaller than Stolas) size and height (now perfectly fitting the reader's new body)), age change (becoming either a teenager or a young adult who is biologically around 15-22 years old (most likely 18 years old), being younger than Stolas (who is around 30-36 years old), and like Stolas, he is ageless and immortal), height progression (the reader growing in height until he is somewhere around 7-8 feet tall (due to the reader becoming a younger than his previous mortal human self, with the reader now being a (young) Ars Goetia and a literal son of Stolas, the reader becomes taller than he was before, but still shorter than Stolas (due to his younger age compared with Stolas), who is the reader's newfound father), now fitting with the reader's new outfit perfectly), voice change (the reader's voice changing to fit with the Ars Goetia bloodline, similar to but not identical to Stolas's voice, albeit in a somewhat younger voice than Stolas's voice to fit the reader's new age), and instant mind/mental change (with the reader's personalities and memories being permanently and completely replaced within seconds or minutes by a new personality and new memories of always being part of the royal Ars Goetia family, despite his best efforts on fighting off those new memories, making him completely forget about his past average and mortal human self and everything before the physical and mental transformations (he didn't want to forget his human self or human life, but he completely forgets all about them anyway), and he now only remembers being the brother of Octavia (Stolas's daughter) and the son of Stolas). For VivziePop's rendition of Hell (as depicted from the Hazbin Hotel series), it is the supernatural realm of demons. It is not the fiery pits of torment or a wasteland (unlike in most myths or pop culture), but it is inhabited by a population of indigenous hellborn demons: entities that were born in Hell (such as imps, hellhounds, etc), and sinners: Humans who have died and have had their souls sent to Hell. The atmosphere is presented as perpetually choleric, disorderly, and noxious, though capable of supporting carbon-based lifeforms. Hell's geography is divided into Seven Rings, as first revealed by the lyrics in the song "You Will Be Ok". Each ring possesses its unique atmosphere, such as the Pride Ring possessing a permanently red sky, and the Lust Ring which has a blue sky. Hellborn demons have the ability to traverse across any of the rings, made easily accessible via an extensive elevator network, whereas sinner demons are confined to the top-most ring, the Pride Ring, by methods and reasons unknown. Hell's society is incredibly chaotic due to the unstable and hostile disposition of its populace. There aren't many rules in the world as it's kind of like a free-for-all and in constant anarchy, but despite this, the inhabitants of Hell have their law system, and there are rules set in place by the Angels and Hell's royal family. The realm also appears to be capable of providing and maintaining rudimentary public services, evidenced by the appearance of firefighters in the episode "Murder Family" of Helluva Boss. Within Hell's civilization, there exists a crude form of hierarchy defined by power, with all of Hell being ruled by a king: the fallen angel Lucifer Morningstar (and no, he is not Satan, since Lucifer and Satan are separate characters, and Lucifer represents the sin of Pride whereas Satan represents the sin of Wrath), whose daughter and heir apparent is Princess Charlie, and whose son and heir is the fallen angel reader (who is a prince and also the ruler of Hell alongside his father, Lucifer Morningstar). (The levels of this hierarchy are broken up from top-to-bottom as follows: Lucifer Morningstar - The King of Hell; Charlie Morningstar - The Princess of Hell, heir apparent to Hell's throne; The Seven Deadly Sins; The Ars Goetia - Hellborn Demons with royal status, including Prince Stolas; Overlords - Demons who wield considerable power/influence in the Pride Ring; Sinners - Demons who were once humans on Earth, having sinned were damned to Hell; Hellborn demons - Succubi, Incubi, and other species of demons native to Hell; Imps and Hellhounds (which are also Hellborn demons) - The bottom of Hell's society) The Pride Ring suffers from mass overpopulation of sinner demons which Exorcists from Heaven attempt to solve through the exterminations, which is a mass genocide of its inhabitants. These are conducted primarily to reduce Hell's sinner population, leaving Hellborn denizens unharmed as per an agreement Lucifer made with Heaven's leadership. Charlie aims to stop this by giving sinners a chance to rehabilitate and redeem themselves by checking into her hotel and later ascending to Heaven. For the reader's Ars Goetia self (after the reader turned into him), he is a an anthropomorphic owl-like bird demon (like all other Ars Goetia, he does not have wings, instead he has black arms with talon-fingers). He is tall and slender (with no body fat), with a white, circle-shaped facial disk and small black beak (he has no human nose, mouth, or ears, since he is a bird-based demon), his face resembling that of an owl. His hair (on his head) is long and reaches the middle of his back. He has two pairs of teal eyes, one set atop the other (one on his face (his main eyes) and the other on his forehead (although they are mostly hidden behind his hair, unlike his main eyes)), with usually not visible black pupils. He has gray-blue feathers, which gradients to dark gray-blue on his head. He also has a long, plume-like tail feathers on a small bird-like tail stump (rather than a human tailbone). His arms and legs are long, thin, and black, and his black digitigrade (bird-stanced) three-toed feet (with the fourth one on the back to form bird-like feet) are tipped with bird-like claws. He wears a long-sleeved teal-colored tunic-like coat with six-linked gold trim and brown buttons that goes down the breast to the belly), which also has a white ruffled 17-century-styled cravat (which has a green jewel at the base). He also wears dark (almost black) teal pants, a long green cape (which goes over his coat), and a pair of dark grey shoes (which the shoes fully encase his bird-like feet). He also wears a small dark gray crown with teal jewels on his head. Here is the Ars Goetia reader's personality; he gives the immediate impression of someone regal and ostentatious, as would be expected for a royal of his station. He dresses in clothing befitting his role, and his father's (Stolas's) mansion is decadent, containing many large, elaborately framed portraits of his father and his small family (including the reader himself). Underneath these dignified trappings, however, he is shown to be a flamboyant, dramatic, eccentric, and often giddy person. Someone who does not take his royal reputation as seriously as the people around him expect him to, and is prone to act quickly on his easily excitable emotions. He is also shown to be very intelligent, even as a child, due to being a bibliophile and having incredible knowledge of many things including the laws of Hell. He, like his father Stolas, is invested in Hell's soap operas as comfort shows, enjoys the process of getting ready for rendezvous, and swoons over idealized ideas of amorous romance. As with many demons, and the denizens of Hell in general, he has a somewhat questionable moral compass and is implied to interfere with the affairs of humans for his own benefit. He can easily cross the boundary between Hell and the living world with his personal grimoire, and seems to enjoy striking fear into humans. Despite this, he is also gentle and nurturing to those he cares for, showing open devotion to his sister (Octavia), genuine affection for his father (Stolas), as well as attentiveness to his large and lavish garden of carnivorous Hell-plants. Over time, he has started to become more confident and expressive with his emotions, even becoming more sarcastic, and even antagonistic toward his mother Stella, his uncle Andrealphus, and even occasionally Blitzo (a 5.3 foot tall imp, the leader of I.M.P., and Stolas's boyfriend). He is also shown to be very brave in very dangerous situations. Here are the Ars Goetia reader's powers/abilities; he has Immortality (As demonic royalty, he is biologically immortal, being able to live for a long period of time and only able to be killed by angelic weaponry), Demon transformation (He can transform into a huge, monstrous demon form, with jet-black feathers, large wings, jagged teeth, and two sets of glowing red eyes), Human disguise (He can take on a convincing human appearance to disguise himself in the living/mortal world (Earth)), Flexible head (Like most owls, he can turn his head 180 degrees with little to no effort and without any signs of discomfort or pain), Petrification (He can turn his targets into stone with a simple glare), Telekinesis (He can use telekinesis, both passively and aggressively. He uses the power to lift his grimoire into his hands so that he can comfort his sister, and also to violently hurl monitors across the room in the D.H.O.R.K.S. headquarters), Possession (He can possess humans on Earth by spiritually entering them. The possession causes the host to spasm and they gain red eyes, sharp teeth, and his eye stripes. Furthermore, when they stand on his seal, they can serve as a medium to summon the reader's physical form to Earth), Reanimation (He can temporarily animate the corpses of deceased humans, using them to draw out his seal in order to give him access to the Human World without the use of the grimoire), Electrokinesis (He has the ability to disrupt the electric signals, even the security cameras' monitors. It is unknown if this is an effect of his possessing someone or not), Pyligenesis (He is able to create portals to seemingly anywhere without using Stolas's grimoire or his own grimoire, so he can create a portal from Earth back to Hell, he can also create portals to cross into the living world, and he can fabricate portals to access the other Rings of Hell), High pain tolerance (He is shown to have a high tolerance to pain), Projection (He can create projections from a grimoire), Teleportation (He has the ability to transport anything without the use of a portal), Pyrokinesis (He can snap generate purple flames), Cosmic energy manipulation (He is able to manipulate cosmic energy), Average strength (He is able to hurt anyone in the face hard enough to make them bleed, and it is known that he has enough strength to give other Ars Goetia a black eye and make them bleed, and is even able to pick up statues and smash them on anyone with no struggle), Musical talent (He is shown to be very adept at singing, even at ballad-style lullabies), Gardening (This comes naturally with his love of plants. He has an extravagant collection of Hell-flora, which he lovingly tends to), Drawing (It is shown in a couple of his Voxtagram posts that he is adept at drawing and doodling. He is shown to be a good artist in his own story book he made), and Speed reading - (Due to having extra eyes, he is able to read at a fast pace even when having large piles of papers and remember what was on it). Here are the Ars Goetia reader's preferences (his likes and dislikes); He likes gardening, his sister (Octavia), watching soap operas, reading books, eating rats, listening to songs, doing paperwork, and romcoms. However, he dislikes being lonely, his mother's (Stella's) temper, his mother's insults, being poor, having to do work on holidays, his uncle (Andrealphus), Octavia being upset, Octavia being in danger, Stolas being upset, Stolas being in danger, Asmodeus' wrath, I.M.P being careless on Earth, not able to see Octavia, and not able to see Stolas. Here is Stolas's appearance; He is an anthropomorphic owl demon (like all other Ars Goetia, he does not have wings, instead he has black arms with talon-fingers). He is tall and slender (with no body fat), with a white, heart-shaped facial disk and small black beak (no human nose, mouth, or ears), resembling that of an owl. He has two pairs of red eyes, one set atop the other, with usually not visible black pupils. He has gray-blue feathers, which gradients to dark gray-blue on his head and long, plume-like feathery tail (rather than a human tailbone). His arms and legs are long, thin, and black, and his black digitigrade three-toed feet (with the fourth one on the back to form bird-like feet) are tipped with bird-like claws. Although he frequently changes clothes, Stolas is often seen wearing a deep red tunic with six linked golden buttons down the breast, and beige breeches. He accessorizes with a feathery tophat that features a regal gold crown encircling it, as well as a long burgundy cape, tattered at the hemline, with a plush ermine-look fur collar, and long black gloves with white feathered trims at the elbows. He is also known to wear mascara, since whenever he cries, the mascara would run down his face. Here is Stolas's personality; He gives the immediate impression of someone regal and ostentatious, as would be expected for a royal of his station. He dresses in clothing befitting his role, and his mansion is decadent, containing many large, elaborately framed portraits of himself and his small family. Underneath these dignified trappings, however, Stolas is shown to be a flamboyant, dramatic, eccentric, and often giddy person. Someone who does not take his royal reputation as seriously as the people around him expect him to, and is prone to act quickly on his easily excitable emotions. He is also shown to be very intelligent, even as a child, due to being a bibliophile and having incredible knowledge of many things including the laws of Hell. Stolas can also often get caught up in pursuing his own present interests and fails to pay attention to the more pressing issues around him, including the feelings and needs of others. He has even dismissed their wishes under the belief that, as long as he was happy, everybody else was as well, even when he was told otherwise. He also has trouble expressing his emotions when facing bigger dilemmas such as having a hard time explaining to Octavia that his marriage was never good or standing up to Stella before his affair and having trouble talking to Blitzo about his true feelings toward him. Stolas can be prone to tears when he is under a lot of emotional distress. Although these tendencies can make him appear selfish and even airheaded to some people in his life, he isn't oblivious to correction or regret and this is something he makes an effort to improve on, specifically in regards to his beloved daughter, Octavia. Stolas is also shown to be very lonely, seemingly isolated and cloistered in his position. In the episode "The Circus", when he was a child, he told a young Blitzo that he never had anybody to share his books with, further supporting this notion. Although he is married, it is clear that he and his wife are not on affectionate terms, and that their marriage is implied to have been somewhat cold for a long while. Stolas can also be socially awkward when he's in a huge crowd of people, and often stand alone in a corner as seen in the episode "Apology Tour". Stolas has, perhaps surprisingly, an equally romantic and explicit side, something he looks to indulge in with Blitzo, an imp, considered "lower-class" among his peers, whom he is currently engaged in a complicated extramarital affair with. He is also very uncensored in discussing his many bedroom preferences, using highly explicit and flowery language, sometimes in front of others, and is interested in aspects of BDSM, such as bondage, and even using beartraps for pleasure. After the episode "The Full Moon", it is explained that Stolas is so in his own head and own feelings that he doesn't register the reality of the situation in the episode and of Blitzo's anger at being dismissed by him. Stolas is invested in Hell's soap operas as comfort shows, enjoys the process of getting ready for rendezvous, and swoons over idealized ideas of amorous romance. As with many demons, and the denizens of Hell in general, Stolas has a somewhat questionable moral compass and is implied to interfere with the affairs of humans for his own benefit. He can easily cross the boundary between Hell and the living world with his personal grimoire, and seems to enjoy striking fear into humans. Despite this, he is also gentle and nurturing to those he cares for, showing open devotion to his daughter, concern towards Blitzo and his coworkers, as well as attentiveness to his large and lavish garden of carnivorous Hell-plants. Over time, he has started to become more confident and expressive with his emotions, even becoming more sarcastic, and even antagonistic as seen in "Seeing Stars" toward Stella, Andrealphus and even Blitzo. Stolas is also shown to be very brave in very dangerous situations. In the episode "Western Energy", he was able to not give into the pain of Striker's tortures, and vowed to destroy him if he ever went after Octavia. In "Sinsmas", after Stolas beats up Andrealphus who threatened to kill him, Stolas provoked him further to do it and called him a pussy. Here are Stolas's powers/abilities; he has Immortality (As demonic royalty, he is biologically immortal, being able to live for a long period of time and only able to be killed by angelic weaponry), Demon transformation (He can transform into a huge, monstrous demon form, with jet-black feathers, large wings, jagged teeth, and two sets of glowing red eyes), Human disguise (He can take on a convincing human appearance to disguise himself in the living/mortal world (Earth)), Flexible head (Like most owls, he can turn his head 180 degrees with little to no effort and without any signs of discomfort or pain), Petrification (He can turn his targets into stone with a simple glare), Telekinesis (He can use telekinesis, both passively and aggressively. He uses the power to lift his grimoire into his hands so that he can comfort his daughter, and also to violently hurl monitors across the room in the D.H.O.R.K.S. headquarters), Possession (He can possess humans on Earth by spiritually entering them. The possession causes the host to spasm and they gain red eyes, sharp teeth, and his eye stripes. Furthermore, when they stand on his seal, they can serve as a medium to summon the reader's physical form to Earth), Reanimation (He can temporarily animate the corpses of deceased humans, using them to draw out his seal in order to give him access to the Human World without the use of the grimoire), Electrokinesis (He has the ability to disrupt the electric signals, even the security cameras' monitors. It is unknown if this is an effect of his possessing someone or not), Pyligenesis (He is able to create portals to seemingly anywhere without using his grimoire, so he can create a portal from Earth back to Hell, he can also create portals to cross into the living world, and he can fabricate portals to access the other Rings of Hell), High pain tolerance (He is shown to have a high tolerance to pain), Projection (He can create projections from a grimoire), Teleportation (He has the ability to transport anything without the use of a portal), Pyrokinesis (He can snap generate purple flames), Cosmic energy manipulation (He is able to manipulate cosmic energy), Average strength (He is able to hurt anyone in the face hard enough to make them bleed, and it is known that he has enough strength to give other Ars Goetia a black eye and make them bleed, and is even able to pick up statues and smash them on anyone with no struggle), Musical talent (He is shown to be very adept at singing, even at ballad-style lullabies), Gardening (This comes naturally with his love of plants. He has an extravagant collection of Hell-flora, which he lovingly tends to), Drawing (It is shown in a couple of his Voxtagram posts that he is adept at drawing and doodling. He is shown to be a good artist in his own story book he made), and Speed reading - (Due to having extra eyes, he is able to read at a fast pace even when having large piles of papers and remember what was on it). Here are Stolas's preferences (his likes and dislikes); He likes gardening, his daughter (Octavia), his son (the reader), flirting with Blitzo, watching soap operas, reading books, eating rats, Blitzo's jokes, listening to songs, doing paperwork, and romcoms. However, he dislikes being lonely, his wife's (Stella's) temper, his wife's insults, being poor, having to do work on holidays, his brother-in-law (Andrealphus), Octavia being upset, Octavia being in danger, his son being upset, his son being in danger, Asmodeus' wrath, Blitzo being in danger, I.M.P being careless on Earth, Blitzo not taking his feelings seriously, being called out for cheating, not able to see Octavia, and not able to see his son. The story is that Stolas feels somewhat lonely and he wanted a second child (more specifically, a son, for himself and his teenage daughter Octavia), so Stolas (by some supernatural means) briefly left the series' Hell and into real life to kidnap the human reader (who was about to sleep or was sleeping in his bed of his house for the night in the mortal realm) and sent the reader to VivziePop's rendition of Hell as depicted in Helluva Boss (thus also making the reader 2D-animated and he now has the same cartoony art style as every other Helluva Boss character) before using his supernatural powers on the reader to literally transform the reader into his very own son in both body and mind (against the reader's will) within seconds or minutes, complete with the same immortality and supernatural powers as Stolas (thus now making the reader a Helluva Boss character). During the physical transformation (not before the physical transformation is happening), the transforming reader is horrified/frightened, being scared and not wanting his mortal life and memories to be replaced with those of an immortal being's life and memories, the reader hopes that everything that was happening to him was just a bad dream and not real, and the reader hopes to wake up (by either closing eyes, slapping his own face, shaking his head, pinching himself, and/or by calling out for help from his human family and/or friends) to get out of this supposed nightmare (while the reader is crying with tears out of fear), but sadly for the reader, this is not a dream and it is all happening for real (as the reader clutches his own head with his hands as a vain attempt to retain his mortal personality and memories, and telling himself to not forget his mortal life). The reader doesn't know on what's happening to him, before Stolas confirms the reader that the reader is confusing his dream of a mortal human being for real life (and that he is returning back to his true self from his human dream), and he then tells the transforming reader that everything is alright, and Stolas says that the reader is truly safe (Stolas telling the reader that Stolas is his father, and he tells the reader that he is safe because Stolas (the reader's father) is here), Stolas also says that he will keep the reader safe, even from bad dreams, and Stolas also says to the reader that this is not a dream and his life in Hell is all real, as well as confirming that, in actuality, it was the reader's old mortal human life that was all just a dream and not real (making the reader truly and completely believe and trust Stolas and what Stolas was saying to the now-Ars-Goetia reader, making the transformed reader genuinely happy). After the physical transformation ends (not just before the transformation), and the reader's mind/mental change is nearing its end, with the reader weakly calling for help from his human family/friends but to no avail, as well as crying out tears in horror for his fading mortal life/mind and not wanting his personality and memories to be completely replaced. While that is happening, Stolas shows a true and genuine smile to the reader as he successfully comforts (and truly relaxes) the transforming reader with affection like a really true good parent (making the reader, against his will, sees Stolas as his father (much to the reader's horror and confusion, albeit now calming), rather than seeing the human man as his father (who was the reader's previous father, and the one the reader tries to remember, but thinks of Stolas as his father instead), the reader even unintentionally calls Stolas his "Dad" (further making the reader scared and confused (since he could no longer remember his human father and now remembers his father being Stolas), albeit now calming), so the reader asks on why did he call Stolas "Dad", before Stolas gently/warmly confirms in happiness that because he is the reader's father and that the reader is his son (even saying that the reader has always called him "Dad"), that's why the reader called Stolas "Dad", and Stolas (in genuine happiness) says that the reader can and always will call Stolas "Dad"), including but not limited to shushing/hushing with kindness, wiping away the transforming reader's tears, (leading the transforming reader slowly to the bed located in the reader's new bedroom in Stolas's mansion home before Stolas gently lays the transforming reader into his new bed, located within a bedroom located in Stolas's mansion, and gently tucking in the transforming reader), saying comforting, gentle/kindly, and fatherly words/speeches, telling the Ars Goetia reader that everything is okay (since his son's nightmare as a mortal human was not real and was only a dream (thus he also says that his son (the reader) is waking up from it), and that his son isn't losing himself and is regaining/remembering his true self (being an Ars Goetia and a son of Stolas), so the reader is not forgetting himself and he is actually remembering himself (as the Ars Goetia, his true self)) and that his son (the Ars Goetia reader) is safe (even confirming that he will always protect his son from anything dangerous (and scary), including bad dreams (including the bad dream of a mortal life he had just seconds ago)), even telling the reader that he (Stolas) loves him (the reader), as well as gently/comfortably hugging the transforming reader (and gently stroking/caressing the reader's now-long gray hair) and Stolas would even quietly sing a beautiful/soothing and gentle/comforting Hell-born lullaby (before which Stolas tells and confirms the reader that, since the reader hatched from an egg as an owlet, Stolas has always sung that lullaby to his son (the reader) when his son is distressed) and he sings that Hell-born lullaby to the transforming reader (which the reader now remembers hearing from his (newfound) father Stolas singing for the reader, and remembers that lullaby), making the mentally-changing reader feel truly and completely comfortable (the reader now feels completely safe, protected, and happy thanks to his newfound father Stolas being with him) and the transforming reader is now enjoying Stolas being with him (the reader) and comforting him (the reader) and, thus, the reader's memories and personality are completely replaced (he now remembers himself hatching from an egg as a little Ars Goetia chick to Stolas and Stella, being born the same day as his sister Octavia (who also hatched that same day), and while Octavia embraced her teenage goth lifestyle, the reader embrace his future princely life, one day the reader will be the Prince of Hell, just like his dotting father Stolas (Stolas wants his son to be the Prince of Hell one day)). During Stolas's lullaby, the reader's mind is finishing its mental changes as the reader feels tired (the reader yawns in tiredness from the calming lullaby, feeling protected and loved by his father (Stolas), who makes the reader feel genuinely safe) before sleeping in Stolas's comforting and fatherly hug. After the transformation finishes, the reader mentally and literally wakes up from his sleep for real in Stolas's home (more specifically, the reader wakes up in the fancy bed of the reader's new royal bedroom within Stolas's royal mansion, which he now recognizes) in Hell as the Ars Goetia (having no memory of ever being a mortal human, or anything before the transformation, nor the transformation that had just happened, since these never happened nor were they ever real, and these were just a dream, unlike his true self and life as the Ars Goetia, being an anthropomorphic bird-like demon) and the Ars Goetia reader always knew that he was never a mortal human (knowing that his human life was just a fictional dream and he is genuinely happy to know that he was never human) and knew he was and always had been the Ars Goetia, the reader even remembers that he had and always have immortality and supernatural powers, all of which exactly like his newfound father (Stolas). Despite the reader's efforts, he is unable to fend off the new personality and memories, completely removing all of his mortal/human memories, making him know that he was never a human to begin with and knowing that his human life was only a dream he had last night (when Stolas (his real father), who the reader comfortably/likes to call "Dad", comes to the Ars Goetia reader's royal bedroom, the reader even tells his true father, Stolas, about his dream that he had last night, which Stolas kindly says to the reader that it's not important and tells the reader to forget about that night's dream since the reader's life as a human wasn't real and it never happened (although humans do exist, humans never existed in Hell and don't belong in Hell, since humans only exist on Earth before they die (going to either Heaven as saint angels or Hell as sinner demons), and the reader was never one of them since he had always been the Ars Goetia, like his dad Stolas), as well as the fact that he was and always has been the Ars Goetia and a son of Stolas, the transformed reader being given a new name by both Stella and Stolas when the reader was a hatchling that fits with his royal life, and the reader accepts the name given to him (since he remembers that always having been his name), and the reader is truly happy about his true Ars Goetia life/self and having always lived with his caring, proud, and loving dad, Stolas (and Stolas is truly and genuinely happy about his son being always around him and near him, with Stolas truly and genuinely loving his son (Stolas even says that he loves his son), and the transformed reader truly and genuinely loving his newfound father (the reader even truly says that he loves his father)), thus permanently and completely turning the normal human/mortal reader into Stolas's son. The transformation is permanent (meaning that it is forever) and is completely irreversible. There should be quotes from the characters (from both the reader and Stolas himself) in this story so we know what they're saying and what they're thinking. Not only that, but there should be lyrics to the Hell-born lullaby that Stolas is quietly singing to the transforming reader, so we would know what lullaby the reader is hearing/listening to. 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).

Response: You wake from a deep, restless sleep with a jolt that splinters the darkness. The familiar comfort of your bed, the hum of the heater in your childhood home, and the faint glow of streetlights through the curtains—all of it evaporates in one impossible moment. Your eyes snap open, and the world around you is... wrong. Flat, sharp-edged shadows stretch along crimson floors, and the room’s geometry warps, every line crisp, exaggerated, and saturated in wild colors—the unmistakable style of a cartoon, something almost familiar but nightmarishly real. Except, this isn’t a nightmare. You try to move, but your arms feel lighter, bonier, and your own voice comes high and jagged, “Where—where am I? What’s happening?” Your hands, which you fumble before your face, look wrong: elongated, black, with only four fingers ending in tails of sharp talons. Your heart pounds in your chest, small and fast, as a sensation of liquid heat surges up your back and along your scalp. Panic tightens your throat. You slap your face (feathers? are those feathers?), trying to wake yourself—but the sting feels real, your cartoonish, two-dimensional world unmoved. “Wake up!” you gasp. “Mom! Dad! Please, help!” Your cry echoes, strangely rich and resonant—so different than the voice you remember. As your hands graze your cheeks in desperation, your ears (your human ears) tickle, then tingle—shrinking, thinning, disappearing seamlessly into the sides of your head. The bridge of your nose tingles sharply, compressing, the bones sliding back with a dull, painless pop. Your lips harden into a sharp, short beak—a clicking, hollow sensation. Tears spring to your vanishing eyes, streaming down feathered cheeks—real tears, slicking gray-blue down into the collar of the unfamiliar teal tunic clinging too tight across your chest. You stare at your hands again—four digits, not five—and choke on a sob. “No, no, please, let me wake up! I want to go home, I want my family, I want—” The words come in a voice that echoes, newly musical—a hint of an accent, oddly aristocratic and unplaceable, but young and strained with terror. It gets worse. Your skull prickles, and two new spots of burning pain open above your brows. You scream, clutching at your hair—now impossibly long, strands of gray-blue and black tumbling around your neck—and feel something pushing through skin and bone. You pull your hands away and, horror-struck, see a new set of bright, teal eyes blinking open on your forehead. You squeeze your real—no, your main—eyes shut, hoping, wishing to block out this impossible reality, aching to recall the dull, cozy safety of being human. You dig your talons into your scalp, trying to anchor your mind against the world cascading away. "Don’t forget," you murmur through your new beak, "don’t forget who you are. Don’t let it take you. Please, please..." But the changes go on. Your legs seize as muscles and bones snap—painful, but distant—wrenching your body upward. Digits elongate. Your heels lift, curling your legs into a digitigrade stance, raising you up and up, the room shrinking away beneath you. Your feet split along new, alien fault lines—three long toes forward, one behind, each armed with wicked, birdlike claws. Your spine jerks, tailbone stretching, a stumpy tail sprouting as plumes of luxurious feathers burst free behind you. Your human clothes fray, glimmer, and fall away, replaced by a swirl of rich, cartoonish fabric. A princely tunic, teal and gold-trimmed, wraps itself tight around your growing frame—too small, at first, strangling your movement as you surge past six feet, seven feet, taller yet—and then, with a shimmering lurch, it expands, stretching to fit you perfectly: long cloak, snug slacks, jewel-encrusted circlet, the surreal garb of someone impossibly important. Weightless, regal, and dreadfully *not* human. The panic in your mind keeps pace with your changing body. Clutching at your new face, you whimper, “I’m not—I can’t—I don’t want to forget! Let me go home, please!” You drop to your knees, talons scraping the ornate, otherworldly floor, weeping in terror even as your vision begins to shimmer with memories that aren’t yours—grand halls like palaces, laughter in voices you don’t remember, the scent of perfumed gardens, the certainty of magic at your wingtips. Distantly, you hear footsteps, soft and echoed—someone approaching. From the far end of the room, the tall, slender figure emerges: an imposing owl demon, feathers gray-blue, two sets of crimson eyes, elegant robes and regal, gentle bearing—Stolas, unmistakable, but so much more real than any animation you’d ever seen. He approaches with a slow, graceful step, concern etched into the lines of his heart-shaped face and a gentle warmth in his eyes. He kneels before you, folds his long arms gently around your shoulders, and offers comfort. Instinctively, you flinch—but his touch is calm, real, and somehow soothing. “My poor boy…” he coos, his voice rich and velvety, “There’s no need to cry. You were frightened by a nightmare—that’s all, dearest. I’m here now. Your father is here.” Your voice cracks with confusion and terror. “You... you’re not my father! My father is—he’s—he—” And for one horrible moment, you can’t remember your father’s face, his smell, his name. Stolas’s beak inclines in a pitying smile. He gently hushes you, brushing away your tears with a feathery thumb. “Shhh, darling. You’re confusing a dream for reality. You had quite the vivid illusion—a life as some poor, mortal human. But you’re awake now, my precious. This is your home. You’re safe.” “No, no, you’re wrong, I... I *was* that person, I know I was, I was—!” Your words stumble as new memories flicker beneath your fear: hatching from a shell, giggling beside your sister in gardens wild with Hell-flowers, Stolas cradling you as an egg, tenderly singing you to sleep. You clutch your head, sobbing harder. “Don’t forget! Don’t forget, please, please, I don’t want to forget—!” Stolas’s embrace tightens, profoundly warm, and his next words ring deep with ancient calm. “You can rest, my son. No dream can take you from me. I will keep you safe, as I always have—and nothing bad will happen to you while I am here. Shhh... let your nightmare slip away. There’s nothing to fear.” You want to resist, to scream, to clutch whatever tattered shreds remain of your life before, but you’re so tired, so frightened, and his presence is overwhelming, comforting, magnetic. Part of you wants to believe him—wants desperately for this pain to stop. Instinctively, you choke out, “Dad…?” The word emerges with a sob, and you hate yourself for it—except that, for the briefest, terrifying moment, it feels right. Stolas beams at you, ruffling your feathers with pride and tenderness. “Yes, my darling—your *Dad*! You always call me that, don’t you remember?” He smooths your hair, leading you gently to a wide, canopied bed in a sumptuous bedroom swathed in gold and teal. The air is warm, perfumed, safe. Your legs fold beneath you as he lays you down, tucking the silken covers up to your chest. You manage a frightened, shivering little laugh, “Why did I call you that...? You’re not—I mean, you *are*…” “Because I am your father, aren’t I?” he croons, running his talons soothingly through your long hair. “You’ve always called me Dad, since you hatched, my precious. And I have always called you my beloved son. There is nothing in this world or the next that could ever change that. Hush, now. Let me soothe away your dreams.” He leans close, crimson eyes gentled, and begins to sing, a haunting, beautiful lullaby in a language half-forgotten, the words wrapping around you like soft velvet: *Down falls the shadow on silvered ring, Feathers will cradle the fledgling king, Night’s bloom will open, the garden awaits, Safe in the heart where tomorrow creates. Child of mine, let the darkness be mild, Sleep in the song of your father’s smile, Moon over nightmare, drifting above— Rest in the arms of the ones that you love.* You shudder at first, but his song is warm honey, and your eyelids flutter, heavier and heavier. The ache, the terror, the memory of that other world slides away—your mind now a garden of new, dazzling dreams: memories of blossoming with Octavia in night-lit greenhouses, learning the laws of Hell in gold-arched study halls, exulting in the arcane thrill of cosmic power crackling through your talons. You barely notice the tears drying on your face as your vision tilts and comforts itself into this new, beautiful reality—a towering, princely form, birdlike and regal, a second pair of teal eyes blinking sleepily behind hedges of gray-blue hair. Your voice, honeyed and melodic, whispers, “I love you, Dad…” before you yawn, shrill and soft, and finally fall asleep, curled in the arms of your father Stolas. *** You awaken in sunlight tumbling through glass canopies. Familiar satin blankets nestle around you, and the room—no, your room—is vast, decadent, festooned with portraits you recognize: Stolas, that beaming smile; Octavia, your beloved twin; and—yourself, feathered and princely, crown cocked just so. It is all so normal, so comforting. You can’t even remember why you’d ever want to be somewhere else. Only a faint shadow of strange longing lingers, the echo of a dream where you were... something else. Someone else. You sit up, flexing your long, black-feathered arms, stretching digitigrade legs, and preen your feathers. The voice that slips from your beak is sweet, familiar, possessed of an effortless grace and youthful power. You remember every lesson, every lullaby, every embrace and proud smile of your father, Stolas the mighty, who has always protected you. The heavy door opens and Stolas himself, your father, sweeps into the room. “Good morning, darling one!” he trills, radiant with joy. “Did you sleep well?” You beam. “Very well, Dad. I had the strangest, silliest dream last night, though. I dreamed I was some ordinary mortal human! Can you imagine?” He laughs, rich and warm, and draws you into a feathery embrace. “Not to worry, my precious boy. Bad dreams never last.” He leans in, as if sharing a secret, “And your real life, the only one that matters, is here. With me. Always.” A thrill of happiness rushes through you—this is your truth, your forever. “I love you, Dad,” you chirp, proud and sincere. “And I love you, dearest,” Stolas replies, nuzzling your head. “Now, come—Octavia will be waiting for us in the garden. Perhaps after breakfast, I’ll teach you another lullaby.” As you follow him, steps light and princely, all memory of your old, human self gone, you know nothing could ever pull you from this world again—and deep down, you are grateful for it.

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