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"Broadcast That Never Was: Alastor to News Reporter TF/TG/MC"

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Certainly! Here is your requested transformation story in a detailed, fantasy style, with quotes and full narrative transformation, concluding in a seamless reality shift and a grounding human coda, as per your instructions. The result is a thorough, immersive tale of magic and self-discovery—erasure and reinvention—unfolding in vivid, cinematic prose.

---

**The Broadcast That Never Was**

Alastor was many things, but bored was never one of them—until today. The lights of Hell flickered with crimson static, and the Radio Demon himself, tall and dapper, floated through the hazy corridors of the Hazbin Hotel, humming an old tune through a rift of radio static. His monstrous smile—cheek to cheek, terrifying and eternally fixed—cut through the perpetual gloom like a serrated moon.

He twirled his cane lazily, its sentient microphone glancing at him with unblinking, inanimate eyes.

"Oh, dearest! How *dull* it has become, even for Hell!" he mused aloud, in that vintage, crackling lilt that so often made others shiver.

Suddenly—unexpectedly—the world seemed to stutter, the red-tinted air waning into darkness. Echoes of distant jazz slipped away, replaced by a cold, unfamiliar silence.

Something was wrong.

Alastor blinked—a strange feeling, for he could not remember the last time he'd needed to. The room was collapsing, the ornate Victorian decay fading, smearing like paint in rain. A tingle rippled from his chest to his fingertips. He dropped his cane as it slumped cold and lifeless, the soul in the microphone snuffed out with an inaudible sigh.

His ever-present smile began to *shrink*, terror clawing through the cracks of his unmoving porcelain expression. He gasped, clapping long clawed fingers to his changing mouth as the unearthly grin withered to human proportions. His lips plumped, growing soft and full, taking on a rosy sheen as lipstick appeared in hues of coral.

Alastor staggered. He clutched his chest as something *new* pressed beneath his palm—a supple, yielding fullness, swelling outwards until a woman's curves filled his shirt. His torso pinched inward and his hips broadened, thighs thickening, his frame condensing downward with a feeling strangely akin to falling through a tight tunnel. His fine-jointed demon hands trembled—the extra finger winked out, leaving five stumpy digits—and he stared, horrified, as claw-tipped hooves became short-nailed, human.

He was *shrinking*. The world seemed to bloat around him as he curled, compressing from seven feet of supernatural terror to hardly over five feet—legs drawn up, balance unsteady now atop modest human shoes instead of pointed demon boots. His broad shoulders softened, arms and neck becoming gracefully slender. The antlers atop his head shrank to nothing, snuffed out in a cloud of vanishing memories. His pink-and-black hair darkened and flourished, tumbling long and thick, tickling his cheek. Something burst within as his Adam’s apple receded, voice muffling momentarily—then rising, bell-clear, free from radio static and masculine rumble.

"Hhh—*oh!*” The shock of hearing her own higher-pitched, articulate woman's voice startled a soft gasp from her.

A *wet pop* echoed between her thighs; she shuddered, her entire groin twisting, inverting on itself, suffused with an alien pressure. What had once marked her as male retreated, vanished, a sudden, intimate void replaced by a strange warmth, unfamiliar but *intuitively right.* Her mind reeled:-

*"No, no, I am Alastor, I—"*

But memories were leaking away, outpaced by a deluge of sensations—*skirts*, business heels; a faint scent of light perfume; a comfortable, professional weight of a microphone resting in her grip. Her cane—the cane—had become a simple black microphone, cold, inert, and so *real* in her feminine palm.

Gone were Alastor's magicks, the flickers of Voodoo symbols, the taste for voodoo and venison and dominance. She tried to conjure shadows but found only empty air. She tried to project her voice with the old radio static trickle, but what left her lips was only the pure, poised cadence of a trained news reporter.

A gray pencil skirt hugged her hips, jacket snug at her curves. Her chest was supported by unfamiliar undergarments and a fine necklace brushed her collarbone—a subtle but elegant statement. She blinked, running her human tongue over her straight, flat teeth—no fangs, no threat, just a woman's mouth, capable of smiling, frowning, expressing a thousand gentler shades of emotion.

Beneath her fingertips, her flesh was soft and warm. She ran a hand through her hair, only to find it lush and long, cascading in dark waves instead of cropped pink-red. The hotel, the hellscape—it was *gone*, replaced by a spotless, bustling studio filled with the hum of computers and the clatter of news scripts.

“...What is…? I was just—" she whispered, and heard herself perfectly, the voice clear, feminine, real.

But who—*who*—was she?

Her mind was mist, memories fizzling like old film burning through the reel: Deals, cannibalism, demonics, all swallowed by a tide of something softer, sharper, infinitely mundane and human.

She grasped at the remnants—her persona, her story. *Charlie,* she tried. *Angel Dust*, *Niffty*, *Vaggie*, even herself: “Alastor, the Radio Demon," she declared, but each word sounded like nonsense, a child’s daydream. The memory faded on her tongue, receding like tide from the shore.

The face in the studio’s monitor—a beautiful, poised woman with serious, attentive eyes—was her own.

*"My name—my real name… Alison? Audrey? Amanda…”*

As the fog dissipated, knowledge crystallized. She was *Amanda*, of course. Amanda Khoury. Renowned reporter, desk anchor, always first on the scene. Amanda, who had fought her way from school teaching to evening news, winning respect for her calm poise and relentless pursuit of the truth.

*“I’m…me,”* she thought, and a sense of gentle relief suffused her. *I’ve always* been me. How silly, to think otherwise!

The final vestiges of crimson hellfire winked out behind her eyes. For a moment, there was only blankness, a space between dreams—then reality snapped back, brisk and bright. Amanda jolted upright in her chair, blinking in the sharp light as teleprompter text scrolled and camera operators readied the final countdown.

An earpiece crackled: "Back in five, Amanda. Closing on the wildfire evacuation story!"

Amanda touched the lapel of her blazer, grounding herself. The spongy dream—the impossible, feverish fantasy of a devil’s grin and magic flickers—vanished. Only her own, caring, authoritative voice filled her mind. She grinned—her own, natural, variable grin—and straightened the black necklace at her throat, reassured by its small anchor.

She pressed her fingers around the black microphone, heart thumping with the adrenaline she always got, just before broadcast.

"Coming back in three… two…"

Amanda looked into the camera, unflinching, alive, and entirely herself.

“Good evening, everyone. I’m Amanda Khoury with Channel Eight News. Our top story tonight: thousands are being evacuated across Santa Rosa County as a newly sparked wildfire grows out of control. We have team coverage from the field as firefighters and first responders race to save homes and lives. Stay with us for the latest updates and evacuation routes—next, after the break.”

She smiled encouragingly, her eyes warm—no trace of the demon now, nor any memory of him at all. Somewhere, in another universe, the Radio Demon never was.

Amanda Khoury was—and always had been—nothing more and nothing less than herself: human, clever, compassionate. A woman at the crossroads of countless stories, always ready to bring the world the truth.

---

**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 your requested transformation story in a detailed, fantasy style, with quotes and full narrative transformation, concluding in a seamless reality shift and a grounding human coda, as per your instructions. The result is a thorough, immersive tale of magic and self-discovery—erasure and reinvention—unfolding in vivid, cinematic prose. --- **The Broadcast That Never Was** Alastor was many things, but bored was never one of them—until today. The lights of Hell flickered with crimson static, and the Radio Demon himself, tall and dapper, floated through the hazy corridors of the Hazbin Hotel, humming an old tune through a rift of radio static. His monstrous smile—cheek to cheek, terrifying and eternally fixed—cut through the perpetual gloom like a serrated moon. He twirled his cane lazily, its sentient microphone glancing at him with unblinking, inanimate eyes. "Oh, dearest! How *dull* it has become, even for Hell!" he mused aloud, in that vintage, crackling lilt that so often made others shiver. Suddenly—unexpectedly—the world seemed to stutter, the red-tinted air waning into darkness. Echoes of distant jazz slipped away, replaced by a cold, unfamiliar silence. Something was wrong. Alastor blinked—a strange feeling, for he could not remember the last time he'd needed to. The room was collapsing, the ornate Victorian decay fading, smearing like paint in rain. A tingle rippled from his chest to his fingertips. He dropped his cane as it slumped cold and lifeless, the soul in the microphone snuffed out with an inaudible sigh. His ever-present smile began to *shrink*, terror clawing through the cracks of his unmoving porcelain expression. He gasped, clapping long clawed fingers to his changing mouth as the unearthly grin withered to human proportions. His lips plumped, growing soft and full, taking on a rosy sheen as lipstick appeared in hues of coral. Alastor staggered. He clutched his chest as something *new* pressed beneath his palm—a supple, yielding fullness, swelling outwards until a woman's curves filled his shirt. His torso pinched inward and his hips broadened, thighs thickening, his frame condensing downward with a feeling strangely akin to falling through a tight tunnel. His fine-jointed demon hands trembled—the extra finger winked out, leaving five stumpy digits—and he stared, horrified, as claw-tipped hooves became short-nailed, human. He was *shrinking*. The world seemed to bloat around him as he curled, compressing from seven feet of supernatural terror to hardly over five feet—legs drawn up, balance unsteady now atop modest human shoes instead of pointed demon boots. His broad shoulders softened, arms and neck becoming gracefully slender. The antlers atop his head shrank to nothing, snuffed out in a cloud of vanishing memories. His pink-and-black hair darkened and flourished, tumbling long and thick, tickling his cheek. Something burst within as his Adam’s apple receded, voice muffling momentarily—then rising, bell-clear, free from radio static and masculine rumble. "Hhh—*oh!*” The shock of hearing her own higher-pitched, articulate woman's voice startled a soft gasp from her. A *wet pop* echoed between her thighs; she shuddered, her entire groin twisting, inverting on itself, suffused with an alien pressure. What had once marked her as male retreated, vanished, a sudden, intimate void replaced by a strange warmth, unfamiliar but *intuitively right.* Her mind reeled:- *"No, no, I am Alastor, I—"* But memories were leaking away, outpaced by a deluge of sensations—*skirts*, business heels; a faint scent of light perfume; a comfortable, professional weight of a microphone resting in her grip. Her cane—the cane—had become a simple black microphone, cold, inert, and so *real* in her feminine palm. Gone were Alastor's magicks, the flickers of Voodoo symbols, the taste for voodoo and venison and dominance. She tried to conjure shadows but found only empty air. She tried to project her voice with the old radio static trickle, but what left her lips was only the pure, poised cadence of a trained news reporter. A gray pencil skirt hugged her hips, jacket snug at her curves. Her chest was supported by unfamiliar undergarments and a fine necklace brushed her collarbone—a subtle but elegant statement. She blinked, running her human tongue over her straight, flat teeth—no fangs, no threat, just a woman's mouth, capable of smiling, frowning, expressing a thousand gentler shades of emotion. Beneath her fingertips, her flesh was soft and warm. She ran a hand through her hair, only to find it lush and long, cascading in dark waves instead of cropped pink-red. The hotel, the hellscape—it was *gone*, replaced by a spotless, bustling studio filled with the hum of computers and the clatter of news scripts. “...What is…? I was just—" she whispered, and heard herself perfectly, the voice clear, feminine, real. But who—*who*—was she? Her mind was mist, memories fizzling like old film burning through the reel: Deals, cannibalism, demonics, all swallowed by a tide of something softer, sharper, infinitely mundane and human. She grasped at the remnants—her persona, her story. *Charlie,* she tried. *Angel Dust*, *Niffty*, *Vaggie*, even herself: “Alastor, the Radio Demon," she declared, but each word sounded like nonsense, a child’s daydream. The memory faded on her tongue, receding like tide from the shore. The face in the studio’s monitor—a beautiful, poised woman with serious, attentive eyes—was her own. *"My name—my real name… Alison? Audrey? Amanda…”* As the fog dissipated, knowledge crystallized. She was *Amanda*, of course. Amanda Khoury. Renowned reporter, desk anchor, always first on the scene. Amanda, who had fought her way from school teaching to evening news, winning respect for her calm poise and relentless pursuit of the truth. *“I’m…me,”* she thought, and a sense of gentle relief suffused her. *I’ve always* been me. How silly, to think otherwise! The final vestiges of crimson hellfire winked out behind her eyes. For a moment, there was only blankness, a space between dreams—then reality snapped back, brisk and bright. Amanda jolted upright in her chair, blinking in the sharp light as teleprompter text scrolled and camera operators readied the final countdown. An earpiece crackled: "Back in five, Amanda. Closing on the wildfire evacuation story!" Amanda touched the lapel of her blazer, grounding herself. The spongy dream—the impossible, feverish fantasy of a devil’s grin and magic flickers—vanished. Only her own, caring, authoritative voice filled her mind. She grinned—her own, natural, variable grin—and straightened the black necklace at her throat, reassured by its small anchor. She pressed her fingers around the black microphone, heart thumping with the adrenaline she always got, just before broadcast. "Coming back in three… two…" Amanda looked into the camera, unflinching, alive, and entirely herself. “Good evening, everyone. I’m Amanda Khoury with Channel Eight News. Our top story tonight: thousands are being evacuated across Santa Rosa County as a newly sparked wildfire grows out of control. We have team coverage from the field as firefighters and first responders race to save homes and lives. Stay with us for the latest updates and evacuation routes—next, after the break.” She smiled encouragingly, her eyes warm—no trace of the demon now, nor any memory of him at all. Somewhere, in another universe, the Radio Demon never was. Amanda Khoury was—and always had been—nothing more and nothing less than herself: human, clever, compassionate. A woman at the crossroads of countless stories, always ready to bring the world the truth. --- **END**

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