The Internet

Log In or Register

Write (with AI)

"Alastor Puppetry Gone Wrong 2"

Bookmark
0 Points

You stand hunched in midnight shadows, fingers slick with the nervous sweat of anticipation as you leaf through an ancient magical tome, its pages pulsing with unearthed, infernal energy. The candlelight dances across arcane diagrams: veves and sigils, looping in red-glowing trails more vibrant than blood. Your heart thrums in your chest—tonight's the night. You, a mere human, will summon the infamous Radio Demon: Alastor, Overlord of Hell, manipulator of souls, king of polite menace.

You call out the words—half Creole, half forgotten tongues—voice trilling over rough syllables. The walls vibrate, the air thickens, and a tremor shakes through your bones.

He appears.

Alastor’s arrival is all static and spectacle—like a twisted broadcast. The first thing you see is his seven-foot shadow cast long and spindly, limbs and torso impossibly slim save for his broad, square shoulders. His hair—cut into a bob, pinkish-red with black tips—flares dramatically, twin tufts raised like deer ears, crowned by jagged black antlers. His monocle catches the candlelight, eyes simmering in dark-red sclerae and radiant crimson, radio-dial pupils narrowing on you. That smile—gnashing yellow teeth, wide as if he were carved open—never wavers.

“I must say, darling,” he croons, vintage-radio filter twisting your reality, “this is a rather unexpected venue for my talents!” His cane, microphone-head swirling with eldritch sound effects, taps impatiently against your floor.

You offer a lopsided smile and—without preamble—snap the book shut. Red sigils flare, crawling from your hands: your spell shackles his powers. The world grows hushed, as if waiting. You feel it—the leash is real, and his confusion is palpable.

“Now, let’s have a little fun,” you say, voice trembling, yet giddy.

You flick a finger, and a dainty porcelain cup—filled with sweet, milky tea—levitates to his lips. Alastor recoils, monocle glinting.

“Tea? And *sweet*? Oh, you *shock* me, good sir/madam.” But your book glows, forcing his hand to steady the cup, his grin twitching with the effort not to scowl.

He sips. You smirk.

A dog, summoned from thin air—fluffy and yapping—leaps at Alastor, licking his faded-grey forearm. His whole frame shudders, and you twist the spell: his fingers must pet the dog, stroking fur with the gentlest possible touch. His radio-buzzing voice nearly staggers. “Almost…unbearable!”

You raise the book; now, Alastor must wear a neon clownish suit—outfit alteration requires only your word. His bowtie inflates to cartoonish proportions, his monocle swaps sides, and his boot-tips bend comically upward. For a fleeting moment, his gentlemanly posture breaks, his body forced into an undignified chicken-dance that would horrify any observer of higher manners.

“You do realize,” he hisses patiently through the ever-present grin, “I abhor buffoonery?”

But you chuckle, flipping through your spellbook for another trick.

Green chains swizzle in the air—controlled by your magic, not his. A brief tug, and Alastor must play a game of charades: clumsy, not his usual elegance. He struggles against the chain’s magic to pantomime “teacup” and “dog”, brandishing his microphone like a prop. Despite the discomfort, you feel no malice; your amusement is whimsical, playful—a taste of power over the master manipulator.

But you forget, even the strongest magic is fleeting.

Your book sputters, the sigils flicker. Alastor feels it—a crackle in the broadcast. His smile broadens with true malice. The chains snap; your spell dissipates. He stands tall, undiminished, demonic power returned, his outfit returned to normal, monocle glittering.

His eyes fix on you. “Now, what a curious specimen you are,” he whispers, theatrical, voice rising like the crescendo at a picture show. “But, tell me…what *do* humans taste like?”

You barely register the motion before he’s upon you. His jaw opens impossibly wide—almost to his ears—teeth gnashing, the blood-red veves blurring around him. Your scream is lost to the static as he shreds into your flesh, sharp claws rending, teeth sinking into muscle, sinew, and bone with brutal, gleeful efficiency. Gore spatters your book, your vision fading as he devours you, piece by piece.

When you awake, there is no pain—only a profound, dizzying sense of wrongness, and a new city sprawling out beneath your feet. Pentagram City, vast and wicked, rises around you. You look down: your hands are thin and clawed, your feet end in red-tipped hooves. Your skin is beige, fading to dark green at the limbs, donned in a pinstripe coat that is now brilliant emerald with white piping. Antlers sprout, smaller for now, from your crown.

You touch your face. Your permanent grin is…gone? You flex your mouth, forcing smiles, then frowns, then an astonished “O”—all possible. Your eyes, reflected in a broken window, blaze with dark-green sclerae and deep-green irises.

You laugh—a voice that is your own, yet crackles with old-time radio static, almost Alastor’s but painted in green.

Alastor materializes beside you, shadow bending, monocle flashing. He regards you, bemused, and grins wider. “My, my—what a splendid twist! An echo of myself…in green, no less! Welcome, *workforce*! Now, let’s see what you’re truly made of—oh, and do behave. I *do* dislike unruliness.”

With a gesture, eldritch-green chains coil around your neck, tugging you forward. You feel them tug tight—choking, oppressive—when defiance sparks in your chest.

But, as quickly as they manifest, the chains dissolve. You’ve learned: obedience keeps you free.

Alastor leads you through Pentagram City, to a grand, if ramshackle, hotel. As you cross the threshold, Charlie Morningstar greets you—bright, hopeful, her charming smile radiant. She welcomes you; her optimism warms you more than expected. The hotel thrums with possibility, sinners and outcasts buzzing with the hope of redemption.

Inside, you mingle. You offer greetings, join in their dances, speak kindly, laugh gently. You hide your true intentions—longing to be redeemed, to escape Hell’s grasp and your new green-mirror existence.

But there is a strange comfort here, too. For now, you are not chained, not devoured, and not lost—not entirely.
You are not just another Alastor. You are yourself—seeking hope in the darkness, redemption among demons.
And, perhaps one day, you’ll trade emerald furrows for celestial wings, and leave this shadowed smile behind forever.

This story was generated by user MorningstarSon2 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 second-person story of a human reader summoning Alastor (a character, voiced by Amir Talai, from an adults cartoon/animated series Hazbin Hotel) from Hell to Earth just to manipulate Alastor with the human reader's magic book (all for the reader's enjoyment, nothing malicious, just for fun). For Alastor's appearance, he is a slim (having an unnaturally thin torso, neck, arms, and legs, except his shoulders are broad), dapper sinner demon with beige-colored skin, and usually has an unnaturally broad smile (reaching from each cheek's upper area) full of sharp, yellow teeth (he has no ability to frown due to this permanent smile). He is approximately 7 feet tall. He sports a pinkish-red cropped, angled bob-cut with black tips at the ends and two large, black tipped tufts of hair extending from the top of his head, evoking the ears of a deer. The style has an undercut at the back, and two small black antlers protruding from the crown, which can grow in size in his full demonic form. Alastor's eyes have dark-red sclerae, bright-red irises and thin black pupils (which can change into the shape of radio dials when shifting into his full demon form). He also has four fingers (like all Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss characters), unlike real world humans. His forearms and lower legs fade to dark grey, and he has red hoof-toed feet and red clawed fingers. Alastor wears a red pinstripe coat with dark-red lapels piped with white, which is ragged along the bottom hem. Underneath this he wears a bright red dress-shirt with a black cross on the chest, and long black dress pants with matching bright red cuffs. He also wears a dark-red oval-shaped monocle, rimmed with black, over his right eye. He accessorizes with a black knotted bowtie with a bright red center, black gloves with red at the fingertips, and black pointed-toe boots with red deer hoofprints emblazoned on the soles. Alastor also carries a thin cane with a sentient vintage style microphone attached to it, which he uses to play sound effects and broadcast his voice. His voice also sounds like it is coming from an old-fashioned vintage radio. Alastor has many supernatural powers, such as demon transformation (the ability to turn into a more powerful demon form), flexibility (able to contort his body into numerous unnatural poses), demonic magic (able to cast magic thanks to the high power-level he has accrued in the demon ranking system, this magic takes the visual form of glowing red symbols that resemble Voodoo veve, which float around him), shadow manipulation (able to summon shadows and manipulate them into doing his bidding), spatial warping (able to get around with the help of his shadow, allowing teleportation through this ability), portal creation (able to transport others to his location easily via the portals he makes), pyrokinesis (able to summon small balls of fire for display purpose), phytokinesis (able to make plants wilt with a single stare), manifestation, photokinesis (able to project red glowing light from his eyes as well as his microphone), and outfit alteration (capable of changing the outfits of his targets as well as his own with a snap of a finger). He is also capable of various other abilities including deal-making (as Alastor is known to be a deal-maker demon; deal-maker demons like Alastor can increase their power by dealing in souls, which is a very powerful commodity in hell, so they’re seen as very manipulative and not to be toyed with, deal-making is not something every demon can do, as such it is not to be taken lightly as it doesn’t generally work out well for the other party), broadcasting (when he was a living human, Alastor's profession was as a radio show host, and he continues his broadcasts in Hell as a demon, ensuring that Hell's denizens are aware of his activities over the airwaves, earning him the title of "The Radio Demon"), bilingualism (Alastor can speak English fluently as well as some broken Creole French), cooking (Alastor is noted to be "a big foodie" and mentions having admired his mother's cooking, specifically her Jambalaya), musical/dancing/theatrical talent (Alastor is known to display moderate vocal abilities and excels at dancing, with some people noting tap to be a style he excels in specifically, he also shows a flair for theatrical showmanship), and wide intellect (Alastor is known to be quite a cunning individual, resulting in him accruing a large amount of power through his tricks and deal-making). Alastor stands out from many of the more chaotic residents of hell for his well maintained amiable persona. He gives a first-impression of a good-natured and charming man, wearing a permanently wide grin on his face at all times. His behavior, mannerisms, and even his voice are similar to an old-fashioned radio announcer and speaks with a transatlantic accent, often using quaint anachronisms such as "the picture show" and refers to Charlie as a "charming demon belle". This playful dandyish exterior, however, obscures a much darker side to him - one with high levels of self-importance - and he will not hesitate to use physical violence when others don't act in line with his very particular values or expectations. He is noted to be narcissistic, with his love for himself being stated that no one else can measure up to it, and he does not see many people quite up to his level. Alastor is described as a man of duality. He values good manners, affability and intelligence very highly in others, and will actively look down on those who do not meet his standards, however he will often play fast and loose with these arbitrary rules in regards to himself and his own conduct. Alastor has an odd sense of morality, which is described as "not normal", and has been noted to be quite sadistic, even cannibalistic, devouring lesser demons or those that have incurred his anger. Despite this, he keeps close friends with the other cannibals of Hell, including the denizens at the Cannibal Town. His smiling is a very self enforced form of ego and a show of power and dominance; he looks down on anyone who lets their true emotions show, and even when faced with a rival in strength, if they let slip a frown, Alastor will see them as truly weak. His smile is also to be more unpredictable and unnerving, and gives him a feeling of complete control over himself. While Alastor is powerful, he is aware that there are other demons and entities that rival him in terms of power, such as other Overlords. For this reason, he is wary around such demons, as they could potentially harm him if he is not careful. Despite everything, Alastor does genuinely seem to want to help Charlie run the Hazbin Hotel, albeit for his own amusement, and hopes for its failure over siding with her idealism. Alastor also dismisses the idea that redemption is possible as laughable, nevertheless, he fulfills his role as patron as promised, providing the hotel with staff, and protecting Charlie and her business from outside threats. He views the whole endeavor as a fun distraction from his decades of boredom. Despite consistently having a confident and cheerful demeanor, he harbors a vulnerable side that becomes apparent when confronted with reminders of being "chained". In this instance, his facade of certainty crumbles, and he succumbs to panic attack. According to Mimzy (Alastor's friend), when Alastor was alive he would become a "kitten" (not literally a kitten) if he drank enough rye whiskey while jazz music was on. Here are Alastor's preferences (his likes and dislikes); he likes himself (including his own fashion style), his son, smiling, doodling, gossip and drama, invading others' personal space, his mother and her cooking, jazz music, strong liquor, cooking, seeing people fail, playing pranks, bitter tastes (especially those of black coffee), theater, dancing, the Stock Market Crash of 1929, venison, being in charge, Charlie's potential, pineapple on pizza, and making jokes. However, he dislikes Lucifer Morningstar (the king of Hell and Charlie Morningstar's father) and his "tacky" circus décor, Susan (a Cannibal Town resident), being touched (including his hair being touched), dogs, frowning, tea, anything sweet, Angel Dust's sexual remarks, being humbled, post-30s' technology, anyone ruining his outfit, being controlled and reminded of it, the idea of the hotel failing, and Mimzy bringing destruction to the hotel. The story is that the human reader, who is using a magical spellbook to summon in Alastor, summoning him from Hell to Earth (much to Alastor's surprise). The reader did this, since he/she wants to toy with Alastor, which the reader does (and much to Alastor's confusion), just for fun and with no malicious intentions, mainly involving around using magic to force Alastor to do anything he dislikes (such as petting dogs) and use things he dislikes (such as drinking tea), along with making Alastor's body act not-so gentlemanly (distasteful to Alastor) for the reader's entertainment. Sadly, the reader's magic wears off, letting Alastor free (much to Alastor's relief), and Alastor turns to the reader, wondering what human flesh tastes like before he brutally kills the human (blood and gore involved) through cannibalism (shredding the human's flesh with his teeth and devouring/eating the human). After the human's death, the human then manifests back in Pentagram City (located in the Pride Ring of Hell, as depicted by VivziePop) as a sinner demon (confirming that he/she had died, hence why he/she is no longer mortal) due to his/her sinful trespassing into the Hazbin Hotel, and now, due to Alastor killing the human reader and the reader being involved with Alastor, the reader is identical to Alastor in every way in body, voice, outfit, height, age, etc (other than having bright green-colored outfit instead of having a red-colored outfit, bright-green hair instead of red hair, and the dark-green sclerae and deep-green irises instead of red ones, thus making the reader basically a green Alastor now (with the same supernatural powers and abilities as Alastor's), while the reader, unlike Alastor (who has a permanent grin and could not make other facial expressions), also retains his/her ability to make facial expressions (happy, sad, angry, fear, etc) and not just a permanent grin, so the reader does not have a permanent grin). When Alastor (who had already teleported himself back to Hell before the reader manifested in Hell as a sinner demon) came up to the reader (within Pentagram City), the reader is then pulled to Alastor by the eldritch-esque glowing green chains that manifested around the reader's neck by Alastor himself (Alastor can do this at will, and he also does this to Husk if Husk reminds Alastor of himself (Alastor) being controlled), since the reader's soul is now owned by Alastor (just as Niffty's soul and Husk's soul are both owned by Alastor, so both Niffty and Husk work for Alastor (with Niffty loving to work for Alastor while Husk grumpy and not enjoying working for Alastor although he has to), just like how the reader now works for Alastor). Although the sinner demon (formerly the human himself/herself) no longer could come back home on Earth, he/she secretly (without Alastor knowing) wants to be rehabilitated (in short, redeemed) so he/she (without Alastor knowing) could hopefully one day be accepted by Heaven and manifest in Heaven as a saint angel (which are unlike heavenborn angels, which were always born angels, since the saint angels were once humans before they died), so the sinner demon (formerly the human himself/herself), being led by Alastor (without the chains, since the chains are only manifested around the reader if the reader disobeys Alastor), enters the Hazbin Hotel (now with purpose) and the reader is welcomed by Charlie Morningstar, and the sinner demon (formerly the human himself/herself) starts trying to redeem himself/herself and socializes with the Hazbin Hotel's other clients/patrons in a healthy/positive and non-sinful manner, in hopes that one day he/she will be redeemed and be accepted by Heaven so that he/she will be converted into a saint angel and he/she will live forever in peace in the heavenly afterlife without any fears of following Alastor's rules and plans (and without any fears of ever having to see Alastor again).

Response: You stand hunched in midnight shadows, fingers slick with the nervous sweat of anticipation as you leaf through an ancient magical tome, its pages pulsing with unearthed, infernal energy. The candlelight dances across arcane diagrams: veves and sigils, looping in red-glowing trails more vibrant than blood. Your heart thrums in your chest—tonight's the night. You, a mere human, will summon the infamous Radio Demon: Alastor, Overlord of Hell, manipulator of souls, king of polite menace. You call out the words—half Creole, half forgotten tongues—voice trilling over rough syllables. The walls vibrate, the air thickens, and a tremor shakes through your bones. He appears. Alastor’s arrival is all static and spectacle—like a twisted broadcast. The first thing you see is his seven-foot shadow cast long and spindly, limbs and torso impossibly slim save for his broad, square shoulders. His hair—cut into a bob, pinkish-red with black tips—flares dramatically, twin tufts raised like deer ears, crowned by jagged black antlers. His monocle catches the candlelight, eyes simmering in dark-red sclerae and radiant crimson, radio-dial pupils narrowing on you. That smile—gnashing yellow teeth, wide as if he were carved open—never wavers. “I must say, darling,” he croons, vintage-radio filter twisting your reality, “this is a rather unexpected venue for my talents!” His cane, microphone-head swirling with eldritch sound effects, taps impatiently against your floor. You offer a lopsided smile and—without preamble—snap the book shut. Red sigils flare, crawling from your hands: your spell shackles his powers. The world grows hushed, as if waiting. You feel it—the leash is real, and his confusion is palpable. “Now, let’s have a little fun,” you say, voice trembling, yet giddy. You flick a finger, and a dainty porcelain cup—filled with sweet, milky tea—levitates to his lips. Alastor recoils, monocle glinting. “Tea? And *sweet*? Oh, you *shock* me, good sir/madam.” But your book glows, forcing his hand to steady the cup, his grin twitching with the effort not to scowl. He sips. You smirk. A dog, summoned from thin air—fluffy and yapping—leaps at Alastor, licking his faded-grey forearm. His whole frame shudders, and you twist the spell: his fingers must pet the dog, stroking fur with the gentlest possible touch. His radio-buzzing voice nearly staggers. “Almost…unbearable!” You raise the book; now, Alastor must wear a clownish neon-green suit—outfit alteration requires only your word. His bowtie inflates to cartoonish proportions, his monocle swaps sides, and his boot-tips bend comically upward. For a fleeting moment, his gentlemanly posture breaks, his body forced into an undignified chicken-dance that would horrify any observer of higher manners. “You do realize,” he hisses patiently through the ever-present grin, “I abhor buffoonery?” But you chuckle, flipping through your spellbook for another trick. Green chains swizzle in the air—controlled by your magic, not his. A brief tug, and Alastor must play a game of charades: clumsy, not his usual elegance. He struggles against the chain’s magic to pantomime “teacup” and “dog”, brandishing his microphone like a prop. Despite the discomfort, you feel no malice; your amusement is whimsical, playful—a taste of power over the master manipulator. But you forget, even the strongest magic is fleeting. Your book sputters, the sigils flicker. Alastor feels it—a crackle in the broadcast. His smile broadens with true malice. The chains snap; your spell dissipates. He stands tall, undiminished, demonic power returned, monocle glittering. His eyes fix on you. “Now, what a curious specimen you are,” he whispers, theatrical, voice rising like the crescendo at a picture show. “But, tell me…what *do* humans taste like?” You barely register the motion before he’s upon you. His jaw opens impossibly wide—almost to his ears—teeth gnashing, the blood-red veves blurring around him. Your scream is lost to the static as he shreds into your flesh, sharp claws rending, teeth sinking into muscle, sinew, and bone with brutal, gleeful efficiency. Gore spatters your book, your vision fading as he devours you, piece by piece. When you awake, there is no pain—only a profound, dizzying sense of wrongness, and a new city sprawling out beneath your feet. Pentagram City, vast and wicked, rises around you. You look down: your hands are thin and clawed, your feet end in red-tipped hooves. Your skin is beige, fading to dark green at the limbs, donned in a pinstripe coat that is now brilliant emerald with white piping. Antlers sprout, smaller for now, from your crown. You touch your face. Your permanent grin is…gone? You flex your mouth, forcing smiles, then frowns, then an astonished “O”—all possible. Your eyes, reflected in a broken window, blaze with dark-green sclerae and deep-green irises. You laugh—a voice that is your own, yet crackles with old-time radio static, almost Alastor’s but painted in green. Alastor materializes beside you, shadow bending, monocle flashing. He regards you, bemused, and grins wider. “My, my—what a splendid twist! An echo of myself…in green, no less! Welcome, *workforce*! Now, let’s see what you’re truly made of—oh, and do behave. I *do* dislike unruliness.” With a gesture, eldritch-green chains coil around your neck, tugging you forward. You feel them tug tight—choking, oppressive—when defiance sparks in your chest. But, as quickly as they manifest, the chains dissolve. You’ve learned: obedience keeps you free. Alastor leads you through Pentagram City, to a grand, if ramshackle, hotel. As you cross the threshold, Charlie Morningstar greets you—bright, hopeful, her charming smile radiant. She welcomes you; her optimism warms you more than expected. The hotel thrums with possibility, sinners and outcasts buzzing with the hope of redemption. Inside, you mingle. You offer greetings, join in their dances, speak kindly, laugh gently. You hide your true intentions—longing to be redeemed, to escape Hell’s grasp and your new green-mirror existence. But there is a strange comfort here, too. For now, you are not chained, not devoured, and not lost—not entirely. You are not just another Alastor. You are yourself—seeking hope in the darkness, redemption among demons. And, perhaps one day, you’ll trade emerald furrows for celestial wings, and leave this shadowed smile behind forever.

Comment Section

Post your own comment or use AI: