Certainly! Here’s *Alastor’s transformation into Niffty* as a magical, dramatic, and unsettling short story in the **Hazbin Hotel** universe, exploring the overwhelming power of identity and the uncontrollable nature of change.
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### "Static to Suds"
Alastor, the infamous Radio Demon, strode through the grand, echoing halls of the Hazbin Hotel. Neat and orderly—just the way he liked them. Though he was an Overlord of Hell, it always pleased him to see things in their proper place. His cane tapped rhythmically on the parquet, sending soft bursts of old radio static echoing through the air.
He paused in the shadow of a grand staircase, his red eyes gleaming and that impossibly wide grin – all pointed teeth, no warmth – locked firmly in place. The manor was too quiet for his taste. Too… clean. He preferred a dash of chaos, a sprinkle of drama. He glanced at his glowing microphone, lips parted for a witty jab when—
*A whisper. Slimy, off-pattern. “You’ve never really understood what it’s like to be… replaced, have you?”*
Alastor cocked his head, foxlike, jutting out an antler. “Well, darling, if you’d like to discuss—”
A crack zipped through the marble floor beneath his hooves. *Splat!*
Violet-pink light exploded around him—red Voodoo sigils caught in a cyclone with a hundred tiny cleaning rags and sewing needles. The world tilted, spinning on a needlepoint. His cane clattered away as his hand spasmed viper-tight, then fell slack and soft, his fingers curling in terror and confusion.
His ears—no, *antlers*—flattened, then seemed to melt down into his skull as the tufts of hair shrank, recoil like a recoiling spring. His skin, once bleak beige, lightened, taking on a waxy porcelain pallor. *His* posture, so rigid and gentlemanly, began to twist and compress as if some unseen hand was wringing him down like a soaked towel.
Alastor’s smile, unbreakable—*forever*—trembled, faltered, and for the first time since his birth in Hell, he made a sound of pain.
“Oh—ah…! What is this…?”
His spine creaked horridly. His shoulders, once tall and broad, caved inwards as his waist shrank—*tightening* so violently that it stole his breath. His chest tingled, then began *pushing out,* flesh swelling, skin stretching into the undeniable softness and roundness of womanly breasts. He choked, grasping at his rapidly shifting body, feeling layers of muscle and fat rearrange; his hips and thighs flared outward, swelling plump with a feminine, seductive curve.
“Non… non…! This can’t be—”
He gasped again, and his voice, so assured, so *radio-static-laced* and deep, slid upward, dissolving into a much higher, girlier register. The ambient static of his speech *evaporated.* He whimpered as the pressure in his throat pressed inward—his Adam’s apple smoothing and vanishing. Fingertips fluttered to his neck in horror.
Suddenly, *hot wetness* and a sickening squelch blossomed in his crotch. Alastor doubled over, clutching himself—just in time to feel the last piece of his old self *invert,* his genitals twisting, shrinking, sliding viscously inward with a wet, embarrassing *POP*, leaving only new, foreign curves. A womb, a uterus, and the heavy shame of knowing this could not reverse.
He looked down in time to see—*Had he always had breasts?!*—and saw as his limbs shrank and slimmed, his already-slender arms and legs becoming impossibly petite, his hooves compressing, toes fusing, then reforming. Clothes *melted* from red pinstripe to flouncy 1950s pink, erupting into a candy-colored maid dress so frilly it almost made him want to scream.
A black neckerchief circled her—*her*—now slender throat. She—*no, HE, dammit*—could barely keep up as gloves shrank, skirt ruffled further, with an apron blooming across her chest in three hot-pink splotches. His height, which had always commanded fear and respect, plummeted—he, now she, was *falling,* her entire world shrinking until the floorboards seemed large enough for a wild game of hopscotch.
Alastor—no, *not Alastor*, not anymore—clapped a now-tiny gloved hand to her eye, and her brow scrunched downward. *Her eye.* There was only one now—a massive, cyclopean orb dominating her face, hot-pink at the edges, iris glowing a cheery yellow.
“What… What did you do to me?!” she squeaked—her words tiny, *bubbly*, like a burst of soda water, utterly devoid of the confidence, the power, the static.
A sudden, dizzying rush of *memories* hit her. She tried to summon red voodoo sigils, reaching for cruel, delicious old power. Nothing. Instead, images blipped through her mind: the feel of a mop in hand, the terror and euphoria of cleaning mess after mess—the compulsion was so *invasive* that her fingers began twitching, needing—*needing*—a towel or sponge.
“Ugh! Is that… *grime*? Over there??!!” she trilled, and her single eye dilated, all else replaced with a field of filth. Against her will, the newly born Niffty *sprinted* toward a dingy stain, unearthed a rag as if by instinct, and began scrubbing wildly, humming a ridiculous, peppy tune.
*No no no! Don’t clean! You’re Alastor, you’re—* “A mess like this just makes me feel so icky-icky-icky!!” she chirped, voice bubbling with delight even as inner horror screamed, *Fight, fight…*
It was *useless.* Her personality—confident, sly, sadistic—began unraveling, tugged away on a strand of pink ribbon, replaced by a hyperactive, slightly sadistic love of cleaning. All memories of deal-making faded; the taste of brutal pranks and jazz melted into a fondness for fanfiction, for sewing, for catching bugs.
Something skittered nearby. Her cyclops eye snapped wide, pupils shrinking to a razor point. “Oh, a little *buggy*, are we?! Time to *die*, insect!!”
Her hand—small, but absurdly strong—snatched a stiletto-needle from her apron. She dove, working on pure muscle memory, and stabbed the tiny cockroach into the floor with frightening precision, a squeal of glee bursting from her fanged mouth. “Take *that*, you little squirmy thing! Bugs belong in pieces, not in my hotel!” She giggled, a peal of high laughter echoing down the hall. “Ew, ew, ew! I just hate bugs—always have, always will!”
The interior struggle faded. The tightening, tugging terror grew softer, fuzzier, until finally it was all gone. She blinked, blankly gazing at herself in the reflection. Not a trace of static. Not a trace of the infamous Radio Demon. Only Niffty—the 22-year-old, cyclopean, ditzy little maid—remained.
Niffty stood up, dusted the now-pristine floor, and flashed a gleaming, confident, pleased-with-herself smile—the sort that could slice glass. “Ooo, another perfectly clean room! Now, where did I leave my *fanfic* notebook? Gotta finish writing about Husk getting caught in another mouse trap! That’ll teach him to be a lazy kitty!”
She skipped out, dress bouncing, whistling a cheery, shrill melody. The halls—once haunted by the shadow of the Radio Demon—now simply echoed with the tireless energy of Hell’s most enthusiastic little maid.
And Alastor, the once-mighty Overlord, was gone. Only Niffty remained. And there wasn’t a single spot left on the floor.
---
**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.
Prompt: Write a transformation story of Alastor (a character, voiced by Amir Talai, from an adults cartoon/animated series Hazbin Hotel) turning into Niffty (a character, voiced by Kimiko Glenn, also from from an adults cartoon/animated series Hazbin Hotel), complete with gender change (Alastor turning from male to female, a pair of womanly breasts grows on his chest, while his 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), 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 Niffty's outfit), age regression (becoming 22 years old despite her child-like size, voice, and appearance), height regression (turning from 7 feet tall to 3.4 feet tall), and mind/mental change (with Alastor's personality and memories becoming fuzzy, being completely replaced with Niffty's personality and memories (as his, now her, face loses her permanent grin and making her able to make various emotion), despite her best efforts of fighting these new personality and memories (after seeing the filth in at least one area with her cyclops eye, she, against her will, feels Niffty's unstoppable urge to clean up and, after seeing a bug scurrying about nearby with her cyclops eye, she, also against her will, also feels Niffty's unstoppable urge to kill any bug she sees, and she is unable to stop any of Niffty's urges), making her completely forget she was ever the infamous Radio Demon and an overlord, and she remembers that she is a cyclops demon who, as she always had, works as a maid, cook, and pest control for the Hazbin Hotel, and she remembers her name having always been Niffty). 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 Niffty's appearance (after Alastor turned into her), she is a small (3.4 foot tall), cyclops demon with pointed limbs, white skin, no nose, and one large eye. Her eye sports a light yellow iris, thick eyelashes, a hot-pink sclera with a yellow gradient, and a large pie eye-cut pupil. When feeling homicidal, her pupil shrinks and her eye gains black veins. Her red-pink hair is kept into a slightly messy bob cut with a curl on each side, and a single light yellow streak located at the top. Her mouth has sharp light pale yellow teeth inside and black lips, and small hot-pink dots on each of the corners. Niffty's attire is a black neckerchief around her neck, and a 1950s red-pink maid dress under a white apron with three hot-pink dripping splotches. She also wears long black gloves which covers most of her hands and arms, along with matching-colored tights. Here are Niffty's abilities and skillsets; she has Immortality (as a Sinner, Niffty is biologically immortal, being unable to die from illnesses and unable to age, remaining the same age as when she died, thus can not die of old age and other natural causes, and she also cannot die from any kind of damage to the body, and will recover from any injury, however, she can only be permanently killed with angelic weaponry), Fire immunity (when Alastor summoned Niffty from the Hotel's fireplace, she was entirely unaffected by the fire, and when she and Sir Pentious were baking cookies, Niffty was unaffected by being inside the oven), Speed and agility (Niffty is capable of rushing to her desired locations easily and is able to make her way around her surroundings with little to no effort), Water resistance (Niffty was clogged in the toilet and didn't suffer from being submerged in toilet water), Holy power resistance (when she was hit by Adam's holy light beam, she appeared fine shortly afterwards, albeit had smoke coming off of her), High pain tolerance (Niffty can handle dubious amount of pain and shrug it off as if it is nothing, even seemingly enjoying it), Stealth (because of her small size and speed she can sneak up on others), Superhuman Strength (Niffty is physically strong enough to lift Charlie in the pilot episode of Hazbin Hotel), Jack of all trades (Niffty is shown to be talented in a handful of ways, and she excels at cleaning, cooking, sewing, and outside of work, and she spends time reading and writing fanfiction, and she can also play the tambourine and guitar), Bilingualism (Niffty can speak both English and Japanese fluently), Melee proficiency (she is seen using needles and knives as weapons on occasions), Needles (Niffty owns several sewing needles, one of which is a big, stiletto-like needle, to individually stab every bug she sees), Knives (Niffty has a knife that she uses to cook and kill bugs), and Angelic dagger (Charlie gave Niffty an angelic dagger to stab any Exorcist she sees in the episode "The Show Must Go On". This was the murder weapon in Adam's murder courtesy of Niffty). Here is Niffty's personality; Niffty is hyper, spontaneous, partly sadistic, and agile, being very quick on her feet. She is easily entertained, easily distracted, and easily excitable. She dislikes when there is a mess in any room, and has a fixation on men in general. However, she appears to only like "bad boys", including a brief obsession with Sir Pentious. This ends in her kicking him in frustration after he apologizes and decides to seek redemption at the Hotel. She isn't afraid to get dirty, and enjoys cleaning everyone's messes with a gleeful, yet creepy charm. She becomes very focused on things she is ordered to do, such as in the episode "The Show Must Go On" when she was told to stab Angels and obsessively stabbed every Angel she could, including Adam, whom she managed to kill. She had also briefly attempted to stab "Angel" Dust when Charlie asks Niffty to stab an angel (as in Heaven's Angels) if she sees one before the battle. When interviewed for 666 News, Niffty said, quote, "Charlie told me to stab, so I did". She is shown to enjoy violence, as she was very ecstatic to be thrown into a warzone as part of Vaggie's trust training, and afterwards stated she enjoyed when Sir Pentious was being hit with a severed arm. Despite all of her twistedness, she does have some kind of standards for how she views who is "bad" as she outright berates Sir Pentious for not being a bad boy when he was apologizing for trying to spy on everyone. She appears to have masochistic tendencies, shown when she liked the pain from falling off a stage and then repeated jumping off. She is also implied to be sadistic, stating her desire to "punish" people in a BDSM dungeon. She even outright states that she kills mother-bugs in front of their baby bugs as a form of lesson. She is also shown to suffer from severe camera shyness, as whenever a camera begins filming her, she goes into a state of hypnotic trance where she doesn't move, blink, or speak, just stares at the camera until recording is done. Niffty has an extreme case of obsessive compulsive disorder, constantly cleaning the Hotel and obsession with ridding any bugs she sees to the point she would bring out a knife just to kill them. Even when taken outside of the Hotel, she constantly attempts to clean any mess, even in the sex club Cherri Bomb takes her and the other staff and residents to for drinks. When Angel Dust calls her a mess for her obsessive cleaning and attempted theft of cleaning supplies, she breaks down crying until Angel calms her down. She collects things from men she is obsessed with, such as when she tore off a piece of Valentino's collar fur to keep for her "collection". In the pilot episode of Hazbin Hotel, she has shown to have traditional and stereotypical view on gender roles, which she is aware are potentially offensive. Here are Niffty's preferences (her likes and dislikes); she likes sewing, fanfiction, cooking, cleaning, being forced, pain (including inflicting pain and experiencing pain), collecting (including collecting hair/fur from people and hoarding cleaning supplies), crafting (including making crowns out of dead roaches), BDSM, Angel's adult film, men/boys (including bad boys), playing with "the kitty" (Husk), handling sharp things/weapons (including needles, knives, angelic daggers, and broken glass shards), stabbing, blood, tormenting insects (including putting on insect puppet shows and killing mother bugs in front of their children as a warning to others), and murdering people. However, she dislikes bugs (as long as they're alive), anything messy, being called a mess, being recorded, the hotel windows being destroyed, people booing at her roach puppet shows, good boys (including Sir Pentious turning good), and getting stuck in toilets. 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’s *Alastor’s transformation into Niffty* as a magical, dramatic, and unsettling short story in the **Hazbin Hotel** universe, exploring the overwhelming power of identity and the uncontrollable nature of change. --- ### "Static to Suds" Alastor, the infamous Radio Demon, strode through the grand, echoing halls of the Hazbin Hotel. Neat and orderly—just the way he liked them. Though he was an Overlord of Hell, it always pleased him to see things in their proper place. His cane tapped rhythmically on the parquet, sending soft bursts of old radio static echoing through the air. He paused in the shadow of a grand staircase, his red eyes gleaming and that impossibly wide grin – all pointed teeth, no warmth – locked firmly in place. The manor was too quiet for his taste. Too… clean. He preferred a dash of chaos, a sprinkle of drama. He glanced at his glowing microphone, lips parted for a witty jab when— *A whisper. Slimy, off-pattern. “You’ve never really understood what it’s like to be… replaced, have you?”* Alastor cocked his head, foxlike, jutting out an antler. “Well, darling, if you’d like to discuss—” A crack zipped through the marble floor beneath his hooves. *Splat!* Violet-pink light exploded around him—red Voodoo sigils caught in a cyclone with a hundred tiny cleaning rags and sewing needles. The world tilted, spinning on a needlepoint. His cane clattered away as his hand spasmed viper-tight, then fell slack and soft, his fingers curling in terror and confusion. His ears—no, *antlers*—flattened, then seemed to melt down into his skull as the tufts of hair shrank, recoil like a recoiling spring. His skin, once bleak beige, lightened, taking on a waxy porcelain pallor. *His* posture, so rigid and gentlemanly, began to twist and compress as if some unseen hand was wringing him down like a soaked towel. Alastor’s smile, unbreakable—*forever*—trembled, faltered, and for the first time since his birth in Hell, he made a sound of pain. “Oh—ah…! What is this…?” His spine creaked horridly. His shoulders, once tall and broad, caved inwards as his waist shrank—*tightening* so violently that it stole his breath. His chest tingled, then began *pushing out,* flesh swelling, skin stretching into the undeniable softness and roundness of womanly breasts. He choked, grasping at his rapidly shifting body, feeling layers of muscle and fat rearrange; his hips and thighs flared outward, swelling plump with a feminine, seductive curve. “Non… non…! This can’t be—” He gasped again, and his voice, so assured, so *radio-static-laced* and deep, slid upward, dissolving into a much higher, girlier register. The ambient static of his speech *evaporated.* He whimpered as the pressure in his throat pressed inward—his Adam’s apple smoothing and vanishing. Fingertips fluttered to his neck in horror. Suddenly, *hot wetness* and a sickening squelch blossomed in his crotch. Alastor doubled over, clutching himself—just in time to feel the last piece of his old self *invert,* his genitals twisting, shrinking, sliding viscously inward with a wet, embarrassing *POP*, leaving only new, foreign curves. A womb, a uterus, and the heavy shame of knowing this could not reverse. He looked down in time to see—*Had he always had breasts?!*—and saw as his limbs shrank and slimmed, his already-slender arms and legs becoming impossibly petite, his hooves compressing, toes fusing, then reforming. Clothes *melted* from red pinstripe to flouncy 1950s pink, erupting into a candy-colored maid dress so frilly it almost made him want to scream. A black neckerchief circled her—*her*—now slender throat. She—*no, HE, dammit*—could barely keep up as gloves shrank, skirt ruffled further, with an apron blooming across her chest in three hot-pink splotches. His height, which had always commanded fear and respect, plummeted—he, now she, was *falling,* her entire world shrinking until the floorboards seemed large enough for a wild game of hopscotch. Alastor—no, *not Alastor*, not anymore—clapped a now-tiny gloved hand to her eye, and her brow scrunched downward. *Her eye.* There was only one now—a massive, cyclopean orb dominating her face, hot-pink at the edges, iris glowing a cheery yellow. “What… What did you do to me?!” she squeaked—her words tiny, *bubbly*, like a burst of soda water, utterly devoid of the confidence, the power, the static. A sudden, dizzying rush of *memories* hit her. She tried to summon red voodoo sigils, reaching for cruel, delicious old power. Nothing. Instead, images blipped through her mind: the feel of a mop in hand, the terror and euphoria of cleaning mess after mess—the compulsion was so *invasive* that her fingers began twitching, needing—*needing*—a towel or sponge. “Ugh! Is that… *grime*? Over there??!!” she trilled, and her single eye dilated, all else replaced with a field of filth. Against her will, the newly born Niffty *sprinted* toward a dingy stain, unearthed a rag as if by instinct, and began scrubbing wildly, humming a ridiculous, peppy tune. *No no no! Don’t clean! You’re Alastor, you’re—* “A mess like this just makes me feel so icky-icky-icky!!” she chirped, voice bubbling with delight even as inner horror screamed, *Fight, fight…* It was *useless.* Her personality—confident, sly, sadistic—began unraveling, tugged away on a strand of pink ribbon, replaced by a hyperactive, slightly sadistic love of cleaning. All memories of deal-making faded; the taste of brutal pranks and jazz melted into a fondness for fanfiction, for sewing, for catching bugs. Something skittered nearby. Her cyclops eye snapped wide, pupils shrinking to a razor point. “Oh, a little *buggy*, are we?! Time to *die*, insect!!” Her hand—small, but absurdly strong—snatched a stiletto-needle from her apron. She dove, working on pure muscle memory, and stabbed the tiny cockroach into the floor with frightening precision, a squeal of glee bursting from her fanged mouth. “Take *that*, you little squirmy thing! Bugs belong in pieces, not in my hotel!” She giggled, a peal of high laughter echoing down the hall. “Ew, ew, ew! I just hate bugs—always have, always will!” The interior struggle faded. The tightening, tugging terror grew softer, fuzzier, until finally it was all gone. She blinked, blankly gazing at herself in the reflection. Not a trace of static. Not a trace of the infamous Radio Demon. Only Niffty—the 22-year-old, cyclopean, ditzy little maid—remained. Niffty stood up, dusted the now-pristine floor, and flashed a gleaming, confident, pleased-with-herself smile—the sort that could slice glass. “Ooo, another perfectly clean room! Now, where did I leave my *fanfic* notebook? Gotta finish writing about Husk getting caught in another mouse trap! That’ll teach him to be a lazy kitty!” She skipped out, dress bouncing, whistling a cheery, shrill melody. The halls—once haunted by the shadow of the Radio Demon—now simply echoed with the tireless energy of Hell’s most enthusiastic little maid. And Alastor, the once-mighty Overlord, was gone. Only Niffty remained. And there wasn’t a single spot left on the floor. --- **End.**
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