The Internet

Log In or Register

Write (with AI)

"News of Truth: Transformation of Alastor into Anna Varani"

Bookmark
0 Points

Certainly! Here is a **fantasy transformation story** of Alastor from *Hazbin Hotel* turning into a real-life female human news reporter, following all of your detailed criteria. This story includes sensory descriptions, transformations of body and personality, dialogue, and a shift between realities:

---

Alastor strolled through the red-smeared halls of the Hazbin Hotel, cane tapping rhythmically against the checkered floors, his permanently grinning teeth catching the glint of hellfire chandeliers. His radio-lit voice crackled with cheer, though something in the wine-dark air today felt off: a persistent, peculiar hum around the back of his skull, as though reality’s dial had begun to slip between stations.

He lifted his sentient microphone cane and declared, “Ah, what a perfectly ghastly day for jazz and jeopardy! Wouldn’t you agree, dear?”

There was no one to answer—only a hush, alien and weightless.

The crimson wallpaper bled into an unfamiliar shade. The floor undulated beneath, and his antlered head spun, staticky voice distorting: “Now… what form of nonsense is this?”

He reached to steady himself, but his hands—they flickered, seams trembling, fingers thinning and changing as if pixels and paint peeled back to something new. A chill shot up his arm. His glove seemed tighter, forcing his clawed fingers shorter, splaying—until they resolved into five normal, pink-tipped digits. He blinked, and the familiar hue of his eyes wavered. The world’s colors smudged and deepened.

His spine shuddered with a wrenching, electric pop. He doubled over, clutching his chest, antlers dwindling away to nothing. His whole body writhed, feeling as if it were being poured into a new mold. His waist pinched inward, his broad shoulders shrank, and his hips billowed outward with soft, growing curves.

He gaped as, with a shocking rush, flesh blossomed under his high-collared coat—unmistakably, a pair of voluptuous womanly breasts, straining against his pinstriped suit.

Alastor’s mouth, once a perpetual, leathery horror of teeth, drew inward, lips swelling and curving in plump lines, glossing over with a glimmer of pink lipstick. His cheeks tingled as the mask of his old mirth dissolved. For the first time in eternity, he felt his face—able to frown, to smile, to make any expression at all.

He tried to speak—“What… is happening to me?”—but his voice emerged pure, clear, and distinctly feminine, the crackling radio static eerily absent.

His hair streamed down, thickening and falling in a glossy black sheet over narrow, slumping shoulders. His legs shrank and smoothed, muscles giving way to softer curves as he felt his stature diminish, the ground rising up toward him—7 feet collapsing down to just over 5.3. A wrenching, intimate pulse in his throat—his Adam’s apple smoothed, voice growing high, bright, and utterly unrecognizable.

Then came a shocking, internal shudder—a wet, sucking “pop”—and a clarity of new sensation. The private shape of his body rewrote itself, manhood inverting, twisting deeper in, blossoming into new, different anatomy. For the first time, Alastor understood in an alien flash: *I… am a woman?*

His elegant red-and-black suit split and unraveled, melting into a chic gray skirt suit, hugging every feminine contour. A red button-down blouse bloomed beneath, feet sliding into a pair of simple black flats. The cane in his hand stiffened, the sentient microphone snuffed out—leaving only a stark, practical black news microphone.

He staggered, frantically patting himself down, eyes tracing each new limb, every unexpected curve. “No, no, no… This cannot— it simply cannot—”

But the world itself began to unspool—the lurid cartoon sceneries of Hell shimmering, shattering, giving way to fluorescent lights, computer monitors, and the steady drone of newsroom air. The animated, painted colors bled away as her—her—skin flushed to a human tan, drawn lines vanishing. She was flesh and blood, textured and real.

But worse, or perhaps better: her whole mind, her history, began to fray. The names, the deals, Charlie, laughter and violence, her shadow games—dissolving beneath a sudden flood of strange *true* memories. Childhood in a sunlit city, years in school, ambition, academics. Her career. Journalism. Old college friends. Newsrooms, deadlines, live coverage, the studio’s bustle. Caring for her small, affectionate team. The edge and clarity of reporting. Authority. Compassion.

*No, I must hold on—* She clutched at fading threads, but the demon’s grin, the showman’s monologue, the taste for disaster—these faded, replaced by the quick, sharp methods of a newswoman’s mind, cunning but humane, ruthless when she must be, and always, always honest.

Into that black void, her real—her genuine—person poured in. The face in the glass was her own, a poised woman with thoughtful eyes, correcting her posture and touching up her lipstick in preparation for a live segment.

A jolt snapped her awake—a blinking light, a soft chiming tone from the production booth.

She blinked, startled. Had she nodded off? A daydream?

The commercials ended. The news director’s voice crackled through her earpiece: “We’re live in ten, Anna.”

She straightened her spine, grasped the mic, and smiled—a real, dazzling, truly human smile that could be shy or wry or warm. There had never been a grin she couldn’t drop or change. There was no echo of those old, impossible mysteries. She was herself—*Anna*—and she always had been.

She turned to the camera, lips parting, and spoke in a voice that was strong and real and all her own.

“Hello, good evening, I’m Anna Varani for Channel 5 News. Tonight, a breakthrough: scientists at the University Medical Center have announced a landmark discovery in cancer treatment, offering new hope to families across the country. Our correspondent Jenna Lyons is live at the scene—Jenna, what can you tell us?”

As Anna listened, she felt only the steady, grounding reassurance that she was exactly who she’d always been: a thoughtful, worldly, utterly human journalist. Alastor was nothing but a blurry dream, hardly remembered; perhaps only a flicker out of the corner of her mind’s eye—quickly forgotten as she did the work she loved, surrounded by the friends and team she truly cared for.

And so, on a cool weekday evening, Anna smiled—one she chose, one that suited the woman she truly was.

---

**The End.**

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 transformation story of Alastor (a character, voiced by Amir Talai, from an adults cartoon/animated series Hazbin Hotel) turning into a female human news reporter (from real life), complete with gender change (Alastor turning from male to female, a pair of womanly breasts grows on his chest, while his mouth shrank to a normal-sized human mouth with his lips plumping up into a woman's lips with lipsticks applied to it, as body becomes more curvy and feminine (with his waists curving inwards while his hips and thighs pump up with feminine fat to make him sexier), while his Adam's apple in his throat vanished to make his voice higher-pitched and feminine, while his male genitals (testicles and a penis) invert itself and sucks into his body with a wet "pop" to turn into a vagina, ovaries, and uterus, making Alastor realize that he is now a girl), voice change (not only becoming higher-pitched and feminine, but also loose a radio static-like effect in his voice), clothes change (Alastor's clothes instantly turn into a woman's skateboarding outfit), age change, height regression (turning from 7 feet tall to somewhere around 5.3 feet tall), supernatural powers loss (losing his supernatural powers/abilities, while his thin cane with a sentient vintage style microphone on it becoming lifeless and instantly transforming into a black news microphone), art style and reality change (Alastor's world in Hazbin Hotel's depiction of Hell becoming the real world on Earth, with his body's art style turning from 2D-animated into live-action to match everyone from this new reality), and mind/mental change (with Alastor's personality and memories becoming fuzzy, being completely replaced with a female news reporter's personality and memories (as his, now her, face loses her permanent grin and making her able to make various emotions like a normal person), despite her best efforts of fighting these new personality and memories (she then remembers her real/true name that starts with "A"), and as the mind clears up, the hellish world around her starts fading into blackness and, after turning back to normal (her real life has always been a human woman), and once her real memories come back to her, she jolts back to consciousness, waking up from her daydream (which she has completely forgotten about) and back to her true reality (therefore she is back to her true self) and she opens her eyes and wakes up to reality and finds herself back in a news station she had always remembered ever since she got a job there them years ago, and she realizes that she was daydreaming on a commercial break. She has completely forgotten that she was ever Alastor the Radio Demon (who never existed), later realizing that she was imagining being Alastor all this time and realizing that her previous self as Alastor was not real (confirming that she was never a man (she had always been a woman) and that she was never a demon to begin with (since demons never existed), even she knew that she was never Alastor (she does not know anyone named Alastor), that was impossible, since Alastor was never real (he was just an adults animated character and he never existed) and she knows that she was and always always had been a human woman and she had always been herself), although she doesn't understand on what she had imagined/dreamt a minute ago during the commercial break, and she remembered that she was and always had been a normal human woman who lived a life of an educator and a news reporter (and she knew that she always had been a human woman, which is her real and true self), and she goes back into her job as the news reporter greets the viewers (with her own name and the news channel's name) before she announces a recent and important news story (you can make up an important news story for the end of this story)). 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), 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. For the news reporter woman's appearance (after Alastor turned into her), she is an average-sized human woman, about 159 centimeters (5.3 feet) tall and weighing around 59 kilograms (130 lbs), and with light tan skin, long dark hair, beautiful normal (human) eyes, flat human teeth, and a curvy and sexy body. Her outfit is a business suit, which appears to be a gray skirt suit, consisting of a blazer-style jacket and a knee-length pencil skirt. She also wears a light red button-down shirt underneath the jacket and black flats. Additionally, she has on a black necklace. She is caring and thoughtful to her friends and she herself is authoritative, smart, and cunning. There should also be quotes from the characters in this story so we know what they're saying and what they're thinking.

Response: Certainly! Here is a **fantasy transformation story** of Alastor from *Hazbin Hotel* turning into a real-life female human news reporter, following all of your detailed criteria. This story includes sensory descriptions, transformations of body and personality, dialogue, and a shift between realities: --- Alastor strolled through the red-smeared halls of the Hazbin Hotel, cane tapping rhythmically against the checkered floors, his permanently grinning teeth catching the glint of hellfire chandeliers. His radio-lit voice crackled with cheer, though something in the wine-dark air today felt off: a persistent, peculiar hum around the back of his skull, as though reality’s dial had begun to slip between stations. He lifted his sentient microphone cane and declared, “Ah, what a perfectly ghastly day for jazz and jeopardy! Wouldn’t you agree, dear?” There was no one to answer—only a hush, alien and weightless. The crimson wallpaper bled into an unfamiliar shade. The floor undulated beneath, and his antlered head spun, staticky voice distorting: “Now… what form of nonsense is this?” He reached to steady himself, but his hands—they flickered, seams trembling, fingers thinning and changing as if pixels and paint peeled back to something new. A chill shot up his arm. His glove seemed tighter, forcing his clawed fingers shorter, splaying—until they resolved into five normal, pink-tipped digits. He blinked, and the familiar hue of his eyes wavered. The world’s colors smudged and deepened. His spine shuddered with a wrenching, electric pop. He doubled over, clutching his chest, antlers dwindling away to nothing. His whole body writhed, feeling as if it were being poured into a new mold. His waist pinched inward, his broad shoulders shrank, and his hips billowed outward with soft, growing curves. He gaped as, with a shocking rush, flesh blossomed under his high-collared coat—unmistakably, a pair of voluptuous womanly breasts, straining against his pinstriped suit. Alastor’s mouth, once a perpetual, leathery horror of teeth, drew inward, lips swelling and curving in plump lines, glossing over with a glimmer of pink lipstick. His cheeks tingled as the mask of his old mirth dissolved. For the first time in eternity, he felt his face—able to frown, to smile, to make any expression at all. He tried to speak—“What… is happening to me?”—but his voice emerged pure, clear, and distinctly feminine, the crackling radio static eerily absent. His hair streamed down, thickening and falling in a glossy black sheet over narrow, slumping shoulders. His legs shrank and smoothed, muscles giving way to softer curves as he felt his stature diminish, the ground rising up toward him—7 feet collapsing down to just over 5.3. A wrenching, intimate pulse in his throat—his Adam’s apple smoothed, voice growing high, bright, and utterly unrecognizable. Then came a shocking, internal shudder—a wet, sucking “pop”—and a clarity of new sensation. The private shape of his body rewrote itself, manhood inverting, twisting deeper in, blossoming into new, different anatomy. For the first time, Alastor understood in an alien flash: *I… am a woman?* His elegant red-and-black suit split and unraveled, melting into a chic gray skirt suit, hugging every feminine contour. A red button-down blouse bloomed beneath, feet sliding into a pair of simple black flats. The cane in his hand stiffened, the sentient microphone snuffed out—leaving only a stark, practical black news microphone. He staggered, frantically patting himself down, eyes tracing each new limb, every unexpected curve. “No, no, no… This cannot— it simply cannot—” But the world itself began to unspool—the lurid cartoon sceneries of Hell shimmering, shattering, giving way to fluorescent lights, computer monitors, and the steady drone of newsroom air. The animated, painted colors bled away as her—her—skin flushed to a human tan, drawn lines vanishing. She was flesh and blood, textured and real. But worse, or perhaps better: her whole mind, her history, began to fray. The names, the deals, Charlie, laughter and violence, her shadow games—dissolving beneath a sudden flood of strange *true* memories. Childhood in a sunlit city, years in school, ambition, academics. Her career. Journalism. Old college friends. Newsrooms, deadlines, live coverage, the studio’s bustle. Caring for her small, affectionate team. The edge and clarity of reporting. Authority. Compassion. *No, I must hold on—* She clutched at fading threads, but the demon’s grin, the showman’s monologue, the taste for disaster—these faded, replaced by the quick, sharp methods of a newswoman’s mind, cunning but humane, ruthless when she must be, and always, always honest. Into that black void, her real—her genuine—person poured in. The face in the glass was her own, a poised woman with thoughtful eyes, correcting her posture and touching up her lipstick in preparation for a live segment. A jolt snapped her awake—a blinking light, a soft chiming tone from the production booth. She blinked, startled. Had she nodded off? A daydream? The commercials ended. The news director’s voice crackled through her earpiece: “We’re live in ten, Anna.” She straightened her spine, grasped the mic, and smiled—a real, dazzling, truly human smile that could be shy or wry or warm. There had never been a grin she couldn’t drop or change. There was no echo of those old, impossible mysteries. She was herself—*Anna*—and she always had been. She turned to the camera, lips parting, and spoke in a voice that was strong and real and all her own. “Hello, good evening, I’m Anna Varani for Channel 5 News. Tonight, a breakthrough: scientists at the University Medical Center have announced a landmark discovery in cancer treatment, offering new hope to families across the country. Our correspondent Jenna Lyons is live at the scene—Jenna, what can you tell us?” As Anna listened, she felt only the steady, grounding reassurance that she was exactly who she’d always been: a thoughtful, worldly, utterly human journalist. Alastor was nothing but a blurry dream, hardly remembered; perhaps only a flicker out of the corner of her mind’s eye—quickly forgotten as she did the work she loved, surrounded by the friends and team she truly cared for. And so, on a cool weekday evening, Anna smiled—one she chose, one that suited the woman she truly was. --- **The End.**

Comment Section

Post your own comment or use AI: