Tails zipped around the laboratory, his twin tails spinning furiously behind him, the echo of his footsteps a rapid staccato against the metal floor. The room was a symphony of humming machines and blinking lights, flashing the frontier of technology that he so dearly loved. With the Wisps' data finally decoded, he couldn't wait to share the discovery with Sonic.
However, Sonic was no longer the hedgehog Tails once knew; Sonic had transformed into Alastor the Radio Demon. Their latest adventure had veered into the strange and twisted, leaving Sonic as part of the paranormally chaotic Hazbin Hotel Universe.
Tails adjusted his goggles, feeling a twinge of excitement mixed with apprehension. "Sonic, I've finally—" The unfinished sentence evaporated as a strange sensation coursed through him, like a ripple through reality. His tools dropped from his hands, clanging against the floor.
The walls of the lab began to warp, and Tails’s vision dimmed, narrowing into a tunnel. His heart raced. "What’s happening? Sonic? Help!"
Tails staggered, his legs suddenly too long, too slender. His fur began to pale, turning an effervescent white streaked with light-pink spots. He looked at his elongating hands—no, they were turning into arms—more and more arms sprouted from his torso.
"Stop it! PLEASE!" Tails tried to scream, but his voice dwindled into a sultry, vexed drawl. "What the hell is this?"
As if to mock his plight, the room completely morphed, the sterile lab transforming into the dim, jazzy gloom of Hazbin Hotel. Velvet wallpaper and cracked chandeliers replaced sleek surfaces and neon screens.
His clothes began to shift, the familiar workshop attire transforming into something more flamboyant. A long light-pink suit-blazer materialized over his ever-slendering body, with horizontal white stripes drawing attention to his changing physique. A miniskirt and thigh-high heeled boots completed the look, encircling a stretched and accentuated form that now towered over its previous self.
Tails' mind rebelled against the intruding memories that were not his own: scenes from a life he hadn’t lived, filled with sleaze, flirtation, and cynical humor. "I'm not Angel Dust!" he cried, but his defiance weakened. The world twisted, forcing his mind through a funnel of searing, invasive thoughts.
A brash laugh escaped his mouth, unbidden. "Oh, sweet curiosity killed the fox, looks like." Even his inner thoughts took on a new voice, a New York accent as familiar now as his own name—though was that still Tails?
A mirrored panel nearby showed the ghastly truth. Tails' distinctive twin tails were gone, replaced by a lithe yet monstrous appearance: Angel Dust, now grinning salaciously back with sharp, pointed teeth and cerise pink eyes.
"No, this can't be—"
"Come on, babe! You gotta love the new you," Angel Dust quipped to himself. Or was it someone—something—else speaking through him? "Hell's got a cute new guest after all."
Reality concluded its morph, setting Tails—no, Angel Dust—amidst the chaotic corridors of Hazbin Hotel, familiar yet foreign. Every suite echoed with lives intertwined in eternal damnation and decadent aspirations.
The heavy façade of flamboyance settled onto his shoulders like an old habit. His mind had become the battlefield, now giving ground as Angel Dust's personality sunk its hooks in deeper.
“Hey there, tall drink of water!” husked a familiar drawl. Alastor approached, grinning like a devilish Cheshire cat. "Enjoying the remix?"
“F*** you, Alastor,” Angel Dust sneered, unable to suppress the temptation to needle the former Sonic.
“Now now, manners, Tails. Or is it Angel now? You seem...conflicted.” Alastor's grin widened, the radio frequencies around him crackling like sadistic laughter.
"I AM Angel Dust," the newly minted demon asserted finally, with a brash confidence that brooked no argument, sarcasm oozing from every syllable. He leaned closer to Alastor, his presence now as much a weapon as his own claws. "And honey, you're gonna love the show."
Inwardly, a small, diminishing echo of Tails whimpered, trapped beneath layers of transformed psyche. But for now, Angel Dust reigned, brightly garbed in devilish charm and bold audacity, sashaying into his new reality—a sinfully vibrant realm where every moment was a fresh canvas of decadence, and every smirk was a defiant declaration of identity.
This story was generated by user Fizzarolli-Attack-2 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 Tails (from the Sonic The Hedgehog games) turning into Angel Dust (from an adults cartoon/animated series Hazbin Hotel), complete with clothes gaining (where Angel Dust's clothes appear on his body out of nowhere), age progression (turning from 8 years old somewhere in his 30s), height progression (growing from 2.7 feet tall to 8 feet tall), reality change (Tails's world warping and turning into the world of Hazbin Hotel), and mind/mental change (with Tails's personality and memories being completely replaced with Angel Dust's personality and memories, despite his best efforts on fighting off to preserve his personality and memories, making him only remember being Angel Dust). For Angel Dust's appearance (after Tails turned into him), he is a sinner demon who has a slender build (almost mimicking feminine curves, despite being a male) and he stands about 8 or more feet tall, both due to his long torso and legs, as well as his heeled boots. His fur is white and he has a mop of fluffy white hair that extends from both the front and back of his head, with splotches of light-pink across it. He also has a distinctive and focal light-pink heart pattern on the back of his head. The light-pink outline of a heart also encircles his chest, the bottom point of which extends past his waistband and down to his crotch area. His eyelids are light pink and the color extends up to his eyebrows, giving the effect of eyeshadow, and his lashes are dark and thick. His irises are cerise pink. His right eye has a light yellow sclera, his left eye has a dark sclera. He has a wide mouth full of sharp, pointed teeth and possesses a single golden fang that sits slightly to his right of center. He has a New York accent. He has three cerise-pink dots under each of his eyes, which are intended to evoke freckles, although they are actually another set of smaller eyes. He lacks a nose and ears, giving him a less "human" appearance. One of Angel's most noticeable features is his prominent chest. The chest is actually composed entirely of fluffy fur, however, which Angel intentionally pushes up into a breast-like formation with his tightly pinned jacket for show. Angel's everyday attire consists of a long light pink suit-blazer with horizontal white stripes down the length, reddish-grey miniskirt, and long reddish-grey thigh-high heeled boots, accessorized with a reddish-grey bowtie with a cerise pink center and a black choker. On his top set of arms he wears long cerise pink gloves with white detailing at the cuffs, on his bottom set of arms he wears long white gloves. Though, usually seen with six limbs (two legs and four arms), Angel has a third retractable set of arms that he usually keeps hidden but can summon at will (meaning that he can have eight limbs; two legs and six arms). Angel is gay (homosexual), brash, and sarcastic, with a quick, sharp wit, often with bad/strong language (including, but not limited to f-bomb words). He will often use these traits to deflect criticism or insults, and side-step responsibility. He will switch between playful and destructive as he pleases, and his humor tends to be crude and crass, with an emphasis on dirty jokes and innuendos, which he feels is expected of him and actively plays into. He is stylish and performs an excessive amount of confidence with his public persona, being wildly flirtatious and interested in receiving positive attention for his looks and the profile he has made for himself in Hell. He also makes a show of looking down others, declaring the other denizens of Hell to be mostly "ugly freaks". As a result, Angel can often appear flippant and callous. In reality he is preemptively defensive and hides much of his true, more sensitive and insecure, self for his own protection, not expecting those around him to show him kindness. Angel does have friends, and while he cares about them and will sometimes show signs of wanting to reach out, he keeps many walls up between himself and others, being very protective of his true feelings and avoiding holding overly emotional relationships. He holds a cynical view on the idea of redemption, although he seems to still hold onto a small hope it may be possible for him. The ongoing controlling and abusive situation he is in with his boss, Valentino, puts him under a great deal of stress at his work, and he is implied to be somewhat traumatized as a result. For Angel Dust's preferences, he likes drugs, being abrasive, pranks, getting into scraps, cooking, flirting, the color pink, money, and Italian food, but he dislikes his own feet (he would avoid sex work that involved his feet, or else he would be angry about it if it was unavoidable), losing credibility, Valentino's abuse to Angel, and memorizing scripts. There should also be quotes from the characters (including but not limited to Tails or Angel Dust) in this story so we know what they're saying and what they're thinking (including profanities/swears that are used/said by Angel Dust, Valentino, etc). This story takes place after the story in this link: https://www.theinternet.io/ai/story/detail/fading-echoes-the-rise-of-the-radio-demon/ , meaning that Sonic had already transformed into Alastor the Radio Demon.
Response: Tails zipped around the laboratory, his twin tails spinning furiously behind him, the echo of his footsteps a rapid staccato against the metal floor. The room was a symphony of humming machines and blinking lights, flashing the frontier of technology that he so dearly loved. With the Wisps' data finally decoded, he couldn't wait to share the discovery with Sonic. However, Sonic was no longer the hedgehog Tails once knew; Sonic had transformed into Alastor the Radio Demon. Their latest adventure had veered into the strange and twisted, leaving Sonic as part of the paranormally chaotic Hazbin Hotel Universe. Tails adjusted his goggles, feeling a twinge of excitement mixed with apprehension. "Sonic, I've finally—" The unfinished sentence evaporated as a strange sensation coursed through him, like a ripple through reality. His tools dropped from his hands, clanging against the floor. The walls of the lab began to warp, and Tails’s vision dimmed, narrowing into a tunnel. His heart raced. "What’s happening? Sonic? Help!" Tails staggered, his legs suddenly too long, too slender. His fur began to pale, turning an effervescent white streaked with light-pink spots. He looked at his elongating hands—no, they were turning into arms—more and more arms sprouted from his torso. "Stop it! PLEASE!" Tails tried to scream, but his voice dwindled into a sultry, vexed drawl. "What the hell is this?" As if to mock his plight, the room completely morphed, the sterile lab transforming into the dim, jazzy gloom of Hazbin Hotel. Velvet wallpaper and cracked chandeliers replaced sleek surfaces and neon screens. His clothes began to shift, the familiar workshop attire transforming into something more flamboyant. A long light-pink suit-blazer materialized over his ever-slendering body, with horizontal white stripes drawing attention to his changing physique. A miniskirt and thigh-high heeled boots completed the look, encircling a stretched and accentuated form that now towered over its previous self. Tails' mind rebelled against the intruding memories that were not his own: scenes from a life he hadn’t lived, filled with sleaze, flirtation, and cynical humor. "I'm not Angel Dust!" he cried, but his defiance weakened. The world twisted, forcing his mind through a funnel of searing, invasive thoughts. A brash laugh escaped his mouth, unbidden. "Oh, sweet curiosity killed the fox, looks like." Even his inner thoughts took on a new voice, a New York accent as familiar now as his own name—though was that still Tails? A mirrored panel nearby showed the ghastly truth. Tails' distinctive twin tails were gone, replaced by a lithe yet monstrous appearance: Angel Dust, now grinning salaciously back with sharp, pointed teeth and cerise pink eyes. "No, this can't be—" "Come on, babe! You gotta love the new you," Angel Dust quipped to himself. Or was it someone—something—else speaking through him? "Hell's got a cute new guest after all." Reality concluded its morph, setting Tails—no, Angel Dust—amidst the chaotic corridors of Hazbin Hotel, familiar yet foreign. Every suite echoed with lives intertwined in eternal damnation and decadent aspirations. The heavy façade of flamboyance settled onto his shoulders like an old habit. His mind had become the battlefield, now giving ground as Angel Dust's personality sunk its hooks in deeper. “Hey there, tall drink of water!” husked a familiar drawl. Alastor approached, grinning like a devilish Cheshire cat. "Enjoying the remix?" “F*** you, Alastor,” Angel Dust sneered, unable to suppress the temptation to needle the former Sonic. “Now now, manners, Angel. Or is it Tails now? You seem...conflicted.” Alastor's grin widened, the radio frequencies around him crackling like sadistic laughter. "I AM Angel Dust," the newly minted demon asserted finally, with a brash confidence that brooked no argument, sarcasm oozing from every syllable. He leaned closer to Alastor, his presence now as much a weapon as his own claws. "And honey, you're gonna love the show." Inwardly, a small, diminishing echo of Tails whimpered, trapped beneath layers of transformed psyche. But for now, Angel Dust reigned, brightly garbed in devilish charm and bold audacity, sashaying into his new reality—a sinfully vibrant realm where every moment was a fresh canvas of decadence, and every smirk was a defiant declaration of identity.
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