You are alone, wrapped in the familiar comfort of your real world routines, a digital window open to yet another outlandish Hazbin Hotel fan story, when the room hums with a crackle of static. Goosebumps tickle your skin. The lights flicker, shadows stretch—not the usual tricks of the afternoon sun.
You try to blink the distortion away, but instead, you notice: the static rattle isn’t from your monitor.
It’s from behind you.
You twist around.
There—impossibly—stands Alastor, the Radio Demon himself, cherry-red pinstriped coat flaring, devilish grin slicing across his face. His presence feels immense—impossibly present—crackling with power, the room warping to his wavelength. He surveys your stunned expression, tilting his head with mock sympathy.
“How curious!” His voice is a crisp, old-timey broadcast, a thousand watts of charm mixed with a twisted delight. “You readers certainly enjoy inflicting change upon others, don’t you? Transform this, rewrite that, always another tale!”
You try to stammer out a reason, or an apology. But your tongue is thick with fear. He waves away your words.
“Why not experience a taste of your own medicine?” Alastor claps his hands once, unspooling red, pulsing symbols through the air, their shapes ancient and ominous. You try to run, but the floor turns to shadow, swallowing your feet. Cold licks up your legs, then your torso, your senses prickling—
—and then everything goes black.
---
Awareness returns all at once.
You’re standing—no, towering, your head inches below a chandelier—your body unfamiliar and wrong. Shoulders broad, arms long and slender, your whole frame stretched to seven feet of sharply dapper proportions. You glance down and see only crimson pinstripes, black gloves tipped in red, hooved-toe boots tapping against a checkered floor. In the glint of glass, you see a face not your own, skin the color of faded ivory, bob-cut hair glowing a sinister pink-red, tipped with black, antlers sprouting from the crown.
Your lips are curled in a rictus grin so wide it hurts. You try—desperately—to frown, to make your face do *anything* else, but your hands just slide off those high-cheeked, smiling lips.
“Why—why can’t I stop smiling?!” you gasp, or try to. But the voice isn’t your own. It’s smooth, resonant, vibrating with vintage elegance and warped joy.
Alastor’s grin sharpens, his eyes glowing with carmine delight. “Ah! That’s your true nature now, dear twin!” He gestures to you—a perfect mirror, a second Radio Demon, even his monocle’s twin on your eye. “Smiling is in our bones, and in our souls. It is power. It is everything.”
The pressure inside your mind builds. Flickers of strange, vibrant visions pulse behind your eyes—nostalgia for speakeasies drowned in jazz, the coppery scent of blood lacing the thrill of a well-played prank, the pride in every perfectly timed broadcast, your fingers always itching to twist the dial or don a new hat. You try to clutch at your old memories—your name, your family, your very self—but they begin to slip like sand through your fingers.
No—no, you don’t want this! You strain, clawing at your mind, but the new you presses closer, louder, like a blaring signal crushing all other frequencies. You feel your past evaporate: hobbies, fears, loved ones, all replaced with crimson-tinted snapshots of a life you never lived—but have always known, haven’t you? This is home. This—the sound of static applause, the rush of a possessed microphone twisting in your grip, the taste of black coffee with sharp, bitter aftertones—this is you.
“You’re fighting the wrong ghost, friend,” Alastor whispers, and his shape flickers—broadening demonic—before settling back to humanoid. “You’re awakening from your human dream. You were always my twin, always by my side! We both adored Mother’s jambalaya, broadcasted together—I call you—”
Your name is almost his, but with a twist, ringing out in your mind, every syllable bright with meaning, ancient and comforting.
“Welcome back, my dear *Malastor*!” Alastor beams, swinging an arm around your shoulders—your twin’s comfort, eerie in its familiarity.
You blink, and all resistance is gone—there has never been a you besides this. You recall the tastes, the jazz, the night you died in 1933, and the sudden awakening—immortal, indomitable—here in Hell, a twin demon forever at Alastor’s side. Of course. How silly to think otherwise.
---
**Epilogue**
Radio static fizzes through the hall of the Hazbin Hotel. You—Malastor—stride beside your brother Alastor, the two of you grinning in perfect, eternal tandem.
Charlie Morningstar greets you, eyes wide with interested delight. “Alastor! You never told me you had a brother!”
Alastor bows extravagantly, his smile a red slash. “Dearest Charlie, allow me to present my *identical* twin—Malastor, the other Radio Demon! We thought your little project might require a touch more…entertainment.”
You bow as well, monocle glittering, voice crisp and vintage: “Charmed, demon belle. And I must say, your hotel is positively bustling with *potential*…for drama, at the very least!”
Vaggie narrows her single visible eye, clutching her spear tighter. “Great. Like one of him wasn’t enough.”
Angel Dust scuttles over, eight limbs whirring, eyes saucer-wide. “Okay, okay, why does *he* get a twin and I don’t?!” He grins, then pouts at Husk. “C’mon, Husky, don’t you wanna see *double* the fun?”
Husk groans, wings twitching, a card fluttering from under his cap. “If either of you touch my soul, so help me—ugh. Once was bad enough. Twice? Gimme a break.”
You and Alastor exchange a look—broadcasting signals without words—and burst into synchronized laughter, your smiles locked, indomitable.
Niffty darts between you, cleaning supplies in hand, eye twinkling. “Oh! Twins! Now this hotel’s *really* got style! Can I fix your coats? Ooh, that stitch is loose—”
Alastor ruffles her hair (careful to avoid her ever-busy hands; you’re already learning that lesson). “We wouldn’t dream of interfering, Miss Niffty. You’re the sparkle in our radio.”
Charlie beams. “I’m glad to have both of you on board! Maybe, together, we can really help people.”
You and Alastor exchange another look. You both speak at once, a duet echoed in the static-laced undertones of old radio.
“Of course, my dear!”
“But do keep your expectations…moderate, won’t you?”
You can taste the drama to come, the swirl of intrigue and wicked delights. The Hazbin Hotel has two Radio Demons now—Alastor and Malastor, the smiling, twin titans of static and chaos, ready to broadcast their legend across Hell.
And through it all, your grin—wide, bright, unstoppable—remains. Your past is radio silence. Here, at last, you are home.
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.
Prompt: Write a POV second-person transformation story of a human reader completely turning into an entirely-identical clone of Alastor (a character, voiced by Amir Talai, from an adults cartoon/animated series Hazbin Hotel), complete with gender change (if the reader is a female, her breasts vanish as her throat gains an Adam's apple to give her a more masculine voice identical to Alastor and her female privates (vagina, ovaries, and uterus) from her crotch/nether region invert itself and pushes out into male private parts (a penis and testicles); however, this is optional and only if the reader is female), instant clothes change, age change (becoming the age of 30s-40s years old, exactly as left off from Alastor's death from his human life in 1933, thus becoming immortal in the process), height progression (growing from a normal height to 7 feet tall), voice change, and mind/mental change (with the reader's personalities and memories being permanently and completely replaced with Alastor's personality and memories, despite the reader's best efforts of fighting the new personality and memories, making him/her completely forget about his/her past self and he then remembers, or rather realizes, that he had always been the twin brother of Alastor the Radio Demon himself, and he remembers his name being similar to Alastor's name but completely distinct from Alastor's name). For Alastor's appearance (after the reader turned into his clone), 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 Alastor is getting bored and wanted something new and more entertaining in Hell. Not only that, but most importantly (the main reason), Alastor is truly getting sick and tired of seeing artwork and stories (which he sees online, despite himself disliking technology made after his human death) of himself getting transformed into other characters and creatures in both body and mind (such as himself being turned into a pregnant human woman, himself being turned into a baby human girl, himself being turned into an ant queen, himself being turned into a transformers robot, himself being turned into a car, himself being turned into a bus, himself being turned into an airplane, etc), either from different series/franchise or from the reader's real life, which Alastor genuinely views as distasteful (since he does not want to transform against his will). So to teach the reader a lesson, Alastor (by some supernatural means) briefly left the series' Hell and into the real life Earth to kidnap the reader and sent him/her to the world of Hazbin Hotel before he uses supernatural black magic at the reader which turned him/her into his clones, thus turning the reader into Alastor's identical twin brother (the reader notices that his/her grin was now unnaturally wide and permanent, he/she tries to push his/her grins down with his/her own hands/fingers to get rid of the smile in order to frown or show fear but he/she cannot due to making emotions other than smiling were completely impossible (the reader even asks in horror on why can't he/she stop smiling, before Alastor tells the reader that it is his/her nature to smile), the reader also tries to fight those new memories and personality of Alastor flooding his/her heads, he/she is horrified and not wanting to be completely transformed in either body or mind, but is fighting a losing battle, and Alastor tells him/her of them that this is his true self and he is waking up from his false human dream, making the reader truly and fully believe in Alastor and realizes that he had always been Alastor alongside the original Alastor, having been born as humans from the same human parents, enjoying their mother's cooking and their favorite food jambalaya, both of the Alastors being radio show hosts and serial killers on Earth before the two of them were killed, two Alastor twins arriving in Hell as completely identical sinner demons nicknamed "The Radio Demons", as they continued their radio shows in Hell, and, despite finding Charlie Morningstar's (the princess of Hell) belief in redemption laughable, the Alastor twins want to help Charlie run the redemption hotel "Hazbin Hotel", albeit for their own amusement), and the reader's mind have been completely replaced with Alastor's mind, before original Alastor welcomes his twin brother (the reader) back home. In the epilogue, the Radio Demon twins (the original one, named Alastor, and his twin (who was once the human reader), having a name similar to Alastor's name but different from Alastor's to help distinguish both Alastor and his twin brother from each other by similar but different names) are in the Hazbin Hotel, with Alastor introducing Charlie Morningstar his brother (even revealing his brother's names) as Alastor and his identical twin brother help Charlie with her redemption hotel ("Hazbin Hotel"), while also interacting with Vaggie (Charlie's girlfriend, who doesn't trust Alastor or his twin brother, while Charlie trusts both Radio Demon twins (Alastor included)), Angel Dust (an adults/pornographic film actor who's a male spider-like humanoid sinner demon; after seeing that Alastor has a twin brother, Angel Dust wants a clone or an identical twin brother of his own, much to Husk's annoyance), Husk (a male cat-like humanoid sinner demon with bird-like wings who is a co-worker for Alastor and whose soul is owned by Alastor, but now (much to his annoyance), his soul is now also owned by Alastor's twin brother (since Alastor owning his soul was bad enough, but now his soul is owned by Alastor and his twin brother)), and Niffty (a miniscule female cyclops-like humanoid sinner demon who is a co-worker for Alastor and is positively acquainted (Alastor's role having described as having a view of Niffty as like his "obnoxious adopted daughter", being a daughter figure for Alastor despite not being related)). There should also be quotes from the characters in this story 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).
Response: You are alone, wrapped in the familiar comfort of your real world routines, a digital window open to yet another outlandish Hazbin Hotel fan story, when the room hums with a crackle of static. Goosebumps tickle your skin. The lights flicker, shadows stretch—not the usual tricks of the afternoon sun. You try to blink the distortion away, but instead, you notice: the static rattle isn’t from your monitor. It’s from behind you. You twist around. There—impossibly—stands Alastor, the Radio Demon himself, cherry-red pinstriped coat flaring, devilish grin slicing across his face. His presence feels immense—impossibly present—crackling with power, the room warping to his wavelength. He surveys your stunned expression, tilting his head with mock sympathy. “How curious!” His voice is a crisp, old-timey broadcast, a thousand watts of charm mixed with a twisted delight. “You readers certainly enjoy inflicting change upon others, don’t you? Transform this, rewrite that, always another tale!” You try to stammer out a reason, or an apology. But your tongue is thick with fear. He waves away your words. “Why not experience a taste of your own medicine?” Alastor claps his hands once, unspooling red, pulsing symbols through the air, their shapes ancient and ominous. You try to run, but the floor turns to shadow, swallowing your feet. Cold licks up your legs, then your torso, your senses prickling— —and then everything goes black. --- Awareness returns all at once. You’re standing—no, towering, your head inches below a chandelier—your body unfamiliar and wrong. Shoulders broad, arms long and slender, your whole frame stretched to seven feet of sharply dapper proportions. You glance down and see only crimson pinstripes, black gloves tipped in red, hooved-toe boots tapping against a checkered floor. In the glint of glass, you see a face not your own, skin the color of faded ivory, bob-cut hair glowing a sinister pink-red, tipped with black, antlers sprouting from the crown. Your lips are curled in a rictus grin so wide it hurts. You try—desperately—to frown, to make your face do *anything* else, but your hands just slide off those high-cheeked, smiling lips. “Why—why can’t I stop smiling?!” you gasp, or try to. But the voice isn’t your own. It’s smooth, resonant, vibrating with vintage elegance and warped joy. Alastor’s grin sharpens, his eyes glowing with carmine delight. “Ah! That’s your true nature now, dear twin!” He gestures to you—a perfect mirror, a second Radio Demon, even his monocle’s twin on your eye. “Smiling is in our bones, and in our souls. It is power. It is everything.” The pressure inside your mind builds. Flickers of strange, vibrant visions pulse behind your eyes—nostalgia for speakeasies drowned in jazz, the coppery scent of blood lacing the thrill of a well-played prank, the pride in every perfectly timed broadcast, your fingers always itching to twist the dial or don a new hat. You try to clutch at your old memories—your name, your family, your very self—but they begin to slip like sand through your fingers. No—no, you don’t want this! You strain, clawing at your mind, but the new you presses closer, louder, like a blaring signal crushing all other frequencies. You feel your past evaporate: hobbies, fears, loved ones, all replaced with crimson-tinted snapshots of a life you never lived—but have always known, haven’t you? This is home. This—the sound of static applause, the rush of a possessed microphone twisting in your grip, the taste of black coffee with sharp, bitter aftertones—this is you. “You’re fighting the wrong ghost, friend,” Alastor whispers, and his shape flickers—broadening demonic—before settling back to humanoid. “You’re awakening from your human dream. You were always my twin, always by my side! We both adored Mother’s jambalaya, broadcasted together—I call you—” Your name is almost his, but with a twist, ringing out in your mind, every syllable bright with meaning, ancient and comforting. “Welcome back, my dear *Malastor*!” Alastor beams, swinging an arm around your shoulders—your twin’s comfort, eerie in its familiarity. You blink, and all resistance is gone—there has never been a you besides this. You recall the tastes, the jazz, the night you died in 1933, and the sudden awakening—immortal, indomitable—here in Hell, a twin demon forever at Alastor’s side. Of course. How silly to think otherwise. --- **Epilogue** Radio static fizzes through the hall of the Hazbin Hotel. You—Malastor—stride beside your brother Alastor, the two of you grinning in perfect, eternal tandem. Charlie Morningstar greets you, eyes wide with interested delight. “Alastor! You never told me you had a brother!” Alastor bows extravagantly, his smile a red slash. “Dearest Charlie, allow me to present my *identical* twin—Malastor, the other Radio Demon! We thought your little project might require a touch more…entertainment.” You bow as well, monocle glittering, voice crisp and vintage: “Charmed, demon belle. And I must say, your hotel is positively bustling with *potential*…for drama, at the very least!” Vaggie narrows her single visible eye, clutching her spear tighter. “Great. Like one of him wasn’t enough.” Angel Dust scuttles over, eight limbs whirring, eyes saucer-wide. “Okay, okay, why does *he* get a twin and I don’t?!” He grins, then pouts at Husk. “C’mon, Husky, don’t you wanna see *double* the fun?” Husk groans, wings twitching, a card fluttering from under his cap. “If either of you touch my soul, so help me—ugh. Once was bad enough. Twice? Gimme a break.” You and Alastor exchange a look—broadcasting signals without words—and burst into synchronized laughter, your smiles locked, indomitable. Niffty darts between you, cleaning supplies in hand, eye twinkling. “Oh! Twins! Now this hotel’s *really* got style! Can I fix your coats? Ooh, that stitch is loose—” Alastor ruffles her hair (careful to avoid her ever-busy hands; you’re already learning that lesson). “We wouldn’t dream of interfering, Miss Niffty. You’re the sparkle in our radio.” Charlie beams. “I’m glad to have both of you on board! Maybe, together, we can really help people.” You and Alastor exchange another look. You both speak at once, a duet echoed in the static-laced undertones of old radio. “Of course, my dear!” “But do keep your expectations…moderate, won’t you?” You can taste the drama to come, the swirl of intrigue and wicked delights. The Hazbin Hotel has two Radio Demons now—Alastor and Malastor, the smiling, twin titans of static and chaos, ready to broadcast their legend across Hell. And through it all, your grin—wide, bright, unstoppable—remains. Your past is radio silence. Here, at last, you are home.
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